Thursday, December 19, 2013

Pesticide and E. Coli Found in Medical Marijuana

WE NEED YOUR SUPPORT WITH A SERIOUS MEDIcAL MARIJUANA ISSUE
Sign the Petition..Please SHARE with 5 friends and ask them to share with 5 friends..
(_̅_̅_̅(̲̲(̅_̅_̲̅м̲̅a̲̅я̲̅i̲̅j̲̅u̲̅a̲̅n̲̅a̲̅_̅_̅_̅()ڪے☮Puff & Pass Then Sign the Petition

Does Some one have to get seriously Ill or DIE From Growers using Pesticides or Non Sterile soil enhancemets (Animal Manure) Or how about Proper Hand washing during harvest??. 

I am a Medical Marijuana Patient who got severely sick and was threatened by a Dispensary Manager who berated me to "stop complaining" because he knows who I am and where I live based on my Records in his dispensaries patient files... I am NOW supposed to smoke his poison tainted product or he will come kick my arss. A Police report filed yesterday (12/19/2012) for threats and bullying by a Medical Marijuana Dispensary Manager. He is about 25 years old I am a 60 year old disabled woman..A Growers"TAINTED" MARIJUANA can KILL.. COPY/ PASTE/SHARE ☮Puff & Pass ..Then Sign the PETITION NOW. OR use READ THE PETITION DESCRIPTION FACTS~~>>  COPY/ PASTE ( https://www.causes.com/campaigns/71054-ensure-medical-marijuana-patients-recieve-quality-products/description)

Then Sign the PETITION...SHARE WITH 5 Friends & Ask them to share with 5 Friends
As American Medical Marijuana Patient Do you care what Foreign Substances are in your Weed that could Kill you?

see: U.S.: New Nationwide Certification Program Aims To Bring Quality Assurance To Medical Marijuana - See more at:






Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Year Ending 2013 Healing

Finished my New U-Tube Profile, it will take me a while to fill up a play list.  but anything to keep busy these days is a plus. I will be going dark until The new year so this is my last post until 2014. I will get a happy New year Graphic out to all my followers in a week or two. This page will be renamed and no longer be titled HOME.

GanjaGoji on UTube

I hate my Birthday. Please don’t take this out of context, I do not begrudge anyone having fun on their Birthday. However, Please respect my wishes. 

Personally speaking my own Birthday has never been treated as a Special Day, at least as far back as I could remember. The excuse given was that I was born too close to Christmas. You see it was the time of year when fanatic materialistic people, hustled and bustled into a consumer frenzy. As a Mother, I tired to make every Birthday special for each of my children as special individuals. 

My last child, my son, beat me on dates, he was born Dec. 23, 1974. He pretty much suffer the same fate as I did, from extended family. He was the light of my life beyond compare, he knew without a doubt that he was special to me. 

On December 23, 1996, I traveled alone from Missouri to California to scatter his ashes on the Santa Cruz Beach boardwalk Pier. Only those who held him most dear stood along side me, as we watched his ashes scatter into the wind. They floated upon the waves for a few seconds, then gently sank into his final resting place, within the depths of the Pacific Ocean. As the words to Celine Dion song: Fly were read. No other words were necessary.

A somber good bye, from a chosen few, to a wonderful Son and Friend. Although over three hundred people signed the quest book at his funeral, many of them were there to only judge again. Intensively they were analyzing me unjustly, it was like watching them looking for a teat on an ant.

The date thus marked on the first birthday after his body ceased to exist, I vowed to my heart that this Birthday so close to Christmas, would not be forgotten as long as I live. I shall cling to my memories of how I labored to bring him into the world. I fell deeply in love with him the first time I held him in my arms and gently kissed his soft newborn head.

The twenty third day of December became my crutch. It only seemed like a twig at first, here I am in 2013, seventeen years later and it is now a mighty oak that keeps me upright. I finally made it through October without being heavily medicated these last two years, usually sedated in a semiconscious coma. Unless you have ever had PTSD flash backs, you can not began to imagine the real need to agree to allow a Physician to prescribe strong, anti-anxiety medications. It took a while to get clean of my prescription Drug habit.

I came to the conclusion a few years ago, that I do not care how I am judged. Love me with the utmost compassion, and respect or I will leave you.

Today is my Birthday and I am too old to care to count the years. I am going to spend the day, celebrating with only my Son. I am planning a trip. In Twelve days I will be on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, staying at the same lodge I shared with my son on Christmas 1992. The huge picture windows in the front of our room, over looked the Rim of the canyon. Although this time it is only about a three hour drive, back then it took about twelve hours. I really have no intentions of staying the night, however, at my age and with my disabilities, the trip is going to be grueling, so I will need to be flat on my back for a couple of hours.

Before I check in, I will find the exact spot I first shared a glance of the magnificent view, with my son so many years ago. When I have rested, I will go back the Rim and shout at the top of my lungs. Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas Michael Manning. I will love you eternally. 

I won’t care who thinks I am crazy. I won’t care who judges me harshly. I know this because it is how I feel right this moment. I care very little about anyone around me. I focus on taking care of myself physically and emotionally. If that means, showing no emotions out side my own nirvana, so be it. 

On the way back home, I will drop our favorite Oldies into the cassette player and reminisce about the many trips we took together just him and me. Which is why I started a U-Tube playlist. I have not listened to music in a very long time. 

I have earned my own way, since I became a single Mother in 1980. I depended on many who let me down, but I pushed forward for those who depended on me. I paid my dues and earned my own way. I have been a home owner a dozen times since then, some shared and some not. This time it is the latter, for the exception of my little dogs and the closely held spirit of my Michael. We still have a lot of celebrating to do.

FYI: I am no longer a prescription Drug Addict (Xanax and Opiates). I receive regular (monthly) counseling, with professionals who do not judge me, but encourage me to stay the course. I have my Angel on my shoulder and together; “We are Sailing home again, I am flying to be near you to be free.” “In my heart you’ll always remain, Forever Young.” Rod Stewart. 

Thank you all for another good year. 

Friday, November 22, 2013

Demons By Imagine Dragons Tripp'in

My interpretation of the Song: Demons 
By Imagine Dragons
For Michael 1974 -1996 ... Only those who truly knew Will understand 
or maybe you Feel  me too


Both saints and pagans I see
Are all made of gold

When dreams all fail
And the ones I use to hail
Are the worst of all
Bloodlines ran stale

I won't hide the truth
I will hold onto you
With the beasts outside
There nowhere to hide

No matter what we breed
Most are made of greed
When the lights fade out
On the final day all sinners crawl

This is my kingdom come
I am not their sacrificial lamb
This is my kingdom come

I lost you to the eternal grave
Blood feuds created a funeral masquerade
There are no fences left to mend
About you they will always pretend
They heard of your premonitions 
They took credit without inhibitions

Don’t want to let you down
Nevertheless this is all for you
I believe that you are my truth

Your eyes, they shined so bright
I want to save your eternal light
I believe what was between you and me
Demons outside, your fate was meant to be

I put them all behind me for the last count
I won’t live with love of  a dollar amount
I do not want to escape this now
Unless you show me how

They say it's what we make
I say it's all up to fate
Your woven in my soul
I will never let you go
I will never let you go
I AM STILL STRONG


Monday, November 18, 2013

Imagine Dragons of the Past Violent Secrets Kept

My ocean of adversity now flows gently into a stream of significance. We are one from childhood to elderly woman: Born to Tortured Souls- Violent Secrets Kept - Scribbled Shadows of the Past- Alive & Well-- I reached my Goals: A Survivor - not a Victim ♥GanjaGoji.. Just Google Me


Don't hold back. 

Don't feel like 
you're letting 
people down. 

Don't change 
who you are!...



Listen to this Song: 
Imagine Dragons- Its Time








You can find me on FaceBook (friend me)
Rebel Cause/ Ganja Goji FaceBook

Monday, November 11, 2013

Peaceful Sunrise

Peaceful sunrises an awesome sight each day alone 
Past the autumn of my life, today I feel every groan  

Yesterdays are far from gone, yet farther behind today  
Cloudy skies, darkness falls, a heart becomes gray  

Here now, vibrant colors to awaken, orange hues  
Above the horizon lurks the lightest of blues  

Aged memories, aged actions, aged regret 
A long life wasted, some things never to forget  

Why are the details so important for you to keep 
Do the math it needs to up, for a peaceful sleep  

Love for some feels like being stuck in the past  
Shallow close relationships never really last 

Holding onto the past steals the present too fast 
Even today’s calming skies will become the past  

Peaceful sunrises an awesome sight each day alone
Life is about me now, so I can feel every groan
www.facebook.com/SLPgraphics

Friday, November 1, 2013

Surviving the Un-imaginable

Here are the facts of the matter; When my son died in 1996, I was so traumatized by the event that I allowed my youngest daughter and her husband to pretty much rule my life. I walked around heavily medicated on Xanax 1mg four times a day to help me cope with the symptoms of “Mourning” I think I did nothing but sleep for almost a year. I certainly walked through life in a fog.

Literally everything I suffered through in life thus far, paled to this one single life's tragedy. Only a Mother who has lost an adult child through death can understand completely what I speak of. My reactions to it all had to be a individual journey out of the darkest of days into the present.

I eventually woke from my coma of drugs, to make a few necessary changes in my life, that were causing my daughter and her husband to now judge me with a fine toothcomb. Hum, I did not even know this guy and my daughter translated his disapproval of me for purchasing a computer. In their opinion, I did not need a new computer. Humm, these comments boggled my mind; Dude had his eyes on my money. I knew I had to get as far away as I could from them, I barely had enough to get by on, and they are watching every dollar I spend. Due to finances, I was trapped in the Mid-West again. Comments like this shinned a bright light on the relationship.

Within a week following my son’s death, a U-Haul was loaded with all of my possessions, and it was driven cross country, from West to Mid-west, by my son in law. My comatose Xanax induced, state of mind was settling in for the long haul. I would do or say anything, because I cared about nothing anymore. I had lost “ultimate of love” my youngest child. My mind was bouncing around from 21 past years to the present, cramped up in a U-Haul cab with my daughter and her bully of a husband.

Over the next 10 years, I endured being sucked into another dysfunctional relationship, however, this time I was in the middle. Occasionally my physically and emotionally abusive son in law turn his foul mouth filled with insults in my direction. It was not until, the dude tried to choke me to death, as I dialed 911, that I knew I needed out of this relationship. It was filled with too much drama. I needed my freedom.

My Dad gave me five acres in the country so I put a mobile home on it and tried to find some piece and quiet. Again, my youngest daughter sucked me into her abuse relationship. Stories flew back and fourth again with me being in the middle. Of course, I knew it would eventually come to a point when she would have to choose between moving in with me or getting a divorce the Neanderthal who bred with her. My daughter has married a man just like her own father.

From here on - out, I will have to refer to my son-in-law as “Mr. Big Man” he certainly was not the first Mr. Big Man I had met in my life. I was raised by the first one, married to the second one and so my experiences with men have not changed much. Mr. Big Man was blaming me for his wife’s attitude towards him.

I had to assure him that I was in no way interested in having his wife back under my roof. Facts were as Follows:

1. These dysfunctional relationships had now dragged on for a few more years following D-Day (Death of my son day) October 14, 1996.

2. Mr. Man had now reproduced three offspring by then. I told him in no un-certain terms to get over himself, there was no way I was capable of raising his children under my roof. I knew I was not capable of going back to work. I felt so psychologically damaged by then, that I had lost my patience for the smallest of bullshit and I was very rude to people in public. Especially any check-out person complaining to another worker, while I tap my foot for my turn in line. Then I usually said something very rude and bitchy. 

3. I could only muster enough patience to deal with my daughter in very short visits. As grandchild number four was in the near future, my youngest daughter’s foul mouth was turned in my direction. However, there was a slight difference; no foul language was being used as was my experiences with her. She said mean and ugly things about me and to my face. Once she told me she believed that my distance towards her was due to my jealousy in her giving birth to a son, and my son was dead. This single statement made me so physically sick that I could not respond and I hung up on her. I think it took us almost two years to speak again.

Again her behavior began to suddenly alienate me, I was fine with that; maybe in alienation I would find the peace I so desperately needed. 

However, you slice it my 123 or ABC synopsis of life that pointed me back out West was my destiny. Maybe there has always been something poisonous in the Mid-West water system, or it was the generations of in breeding, that caused the people around me to appear so dysfunctional. 

If I were the dysfunctional one then being alone was the only choice I could make. I certainly did not deserve to be driven over an edge, which would result in suicide. I have always been in the mind set of “If you can not dazzle me with brilliance, please do not attempt to baffle me with bullshit.”

Suddenly within her New Found Family, my daughter was attempting to change her well-known bad reputation. Within a cult like environment of “Holy Rollers”, she had to paint a rosy picture of herself and a very bleak picture of her blood family. Please know that I am not stereo typing every Christian Religion. The people she began to associate herself with, ran waving their arms around the church pews and hoping over the ones flopping around on the hard floors in what looked like some sort of epileptic attack. Wow, something must have been in the water. 

The back stabbing first reared its ugly head as I was insulted by her Preacher’s wife as she turned backwards towards me from her pew and commented to my daughter “ I have no excuses for your behavior except that I know you were raised weird.”  Wow, I could have been knocked over with a feather and had to no longer condone or participate in this type of Christian behavior, not by my daughter or her best friend the Preacher’s wife. 

I shunned myself as my daughter and her religion, as she pleaded how she needed to save me from the fire and brimstone of Hell’s fury. Oh Please, how hypocritical, she needed to focus more on saving herself and finding forgiveness. I knew her all too well as a person who never admits a wrong-doing much less apologizing for any wrongful deeds. At least that was my motherly experience with her as a child growing.

As I moved into the Anger Phase of my motherly “Mourning Period”, my heart began to grow cold and intolerable of the bullshit that continued to be thrown my way via covert messaging. I shut them all out, my father, my stepmother, my daughters, my grandchildren and my great grandchildren.

All those years my youngest daughter initiated backstabbing me, along with my stepmother and her Christian sisters who taught her to be a master conniver. You see some bad stories were circulating about my mental stability. Because in the middle of all that drama and chaos, being created around me, I had decided to end my own life. I almost succeeded and either way would have been ok.

Christianity or not God would decide when it is my time to leave this world. He chose that I continue to survive and thrive. According to my actions my insanity was solidified and the Step Mother, who used to Pay cash to my babysitter, who eventually became my redneck first husband, to date me. I need to mention that the babysitter-boyfriend-baby daddy- husband was 18 and I was 12. Well my step mother and my daughter became BFFs.

I desperately needed to put a great distance between my daughter, my ex-husband, my step mother, and myself. As for my youngest daughter, she moved through her sisterly mourning period quickly, while I was drugged, or she sailed though mourning stages during the funeral. She insisted that we never speak of her brother again. However, she painted her own delusional relationship with her brother and spoke it to everyone else around her. In essence, she was giving the impression that I was a seriously bad mother, in which case this was my opinion in reaction to derogatory remarks that floated on the winds of gossip. I do not know who she was, I do not think I ever really did once she became a teenager, even from the time she was born she was a hand full. In an un-medicated HDHD/Bi-Polar sort of way.

I began to plot my escape without guilt of abandonment, my daughters were both over the age of 21 when their brother died in 1996.  By 2007 I knew I had a medical class action law-suite ending within the next couple of years. I busied myself turning hobbies into small business to work up some seed money to get back out West. I was determined to be completely on my own; this last determined effort would either kill me or take me back out west. God helps those who help themselves. I have known So-Called Christian thieves to twist this Biblical quote into a meaning to condone bad behavior. I really believe it is meant to say , if you want something don’t rest on your phony morals, get up and start working towards what we think we need/want.

Every night I prayed to a Supreme Being to help me find the strength again with every new sunrise. Some nights I called him God and asked him why were my first 55 years of life were destined to be a living Hell on Earth. There were days I thanked him for the taste of fresh brewed coffee every morning. As the days dragged on, I thought I would never find my chance to be free of the past roads I traveled. The horrific violent physical and emotional trauma I had endured and been a victim to; from my first memory at about age 3, when I took my first physical beating, and many more until about age 50. 

I hung on. People would ask me how I am doing. I would reply “Hanging in, Hanging-out and Hanging on. This sarcasm usually resulted in a chuckle or two from my unexpected reply. I listened a lot to Cheryl Crow’s song “ I am Going To Soak up the Sun” as I awaited one or two miracles to occur; My Class- Action Suite would pay off or I would die trying to start over from nothing. I took on a big challenge to withdraw from all prescription drugs that were numbing both my physical and mental pain. 

Well folks in 2009, only 13 years later I am back out West. Where I can live closer than ever to my Son’s spirit. Our relationship was for the most part drama free, out West. I cannot say the same for all of the relationships I endured and suffer through in the Mid-West.

I sent a few post cards that I mailed from Texas, as I traveled alone across the country again from East to West. I have been on this Road several times in my life. Some by Plane during my parents divorce. Some on the freeway in Vehicles I thought just may not make it accompanying people I despised. 

Until 2008, in a nice new dependable car, to my final destination. Here is were my last words delivered on those post cards were given. I wrote; “I want to Thank you all for being just who you are. If not for you, I would have never found the strength to continue being just me. I would have not found the courage to be on my way again”.

With thoughts of the poem written by my son and read at his funeral by his girlfriend, running through my head, it was easy to drop those post cards in the mailbox. I occasionally look into the rear view mirror of my life, but I shed no tears of regret. Tears can never alter the past. It was what it was. Keep moving forward. 

I felt the words my son wrote before his death were words from the wise and what an evil riot they stirred on the day they were read out-loud to a crowd. A message to all, especially the travelers in funeral attendance from the Mid-West to here out West. Some of whom had never journeyed West before. 

I hope others find the courage to live this way:

FROM ME TO YOU.
LIKE A WAVE, PEOPLE COME AND PEOPLE GO.
THROUGH LIFE’S TRAVELS TRUE LOVE MANY NEVER KNOW.

SO MANY CHOICES, WONDERING WHICH PATH. FOR THE BIGGER ONES, IT’S WHICH ROAD.

I WILL SEE YOU AT THE FOUR WAY OF LIFE. THERE WE WILL HELP WITH EACH OTHERS LOAD.

WHAT RIGHT DECISIONS? THESE QUESTIONS WILL ALWAYS BE ON OUR MIND.

PERSONAL QUESTIONS OF LOVE, ANSWERS ONLY ONE’S HEART CAN FIND.

LISTEN TO ALL THAT TALK. UNDERSTAND THEY SPEAK WITH KNOWLEDGE, TAKE THEIR HAND. IF THEY COULD ONLY LET THEIR HEART BE TRUE, THEY WOULD UNDERSTAND.

MANY, SOME FRIENDS, THINK THEY KNOW AND STRESS WHAT THEY SAY. IF THERE IS A WILL, TRUE LOVE WILL FIND ITS WAY.

DIRECT HEART TO HEART, BOTH WE HAVE FOUND ARE TRUE. WITH MUCH THOUGHT, THIS POEM IS FROM ME TO YOU. WRITTEN BY : MIKE MANNING 1974--1996 ©
He left too soon♥

As the years past by now in my 6th decade, the dark memories of my life fade away more often than not. I was not dark today in writing this to you. I needed only to re-enforce my life changing decisions. 

I am grateful to God that I am spending my golden years in a tolerable warmer climate. I have a comfortable  and I am living out my teenage years 9 the ones I missed) in my golden years. I had 3 children before I was 21 years old, and lived a redneck life. Looking back on my life up to 2008 maybe there is a positive answer to it all. I have been granted a fresh start surrounded by a peace of mind and living out my second childhood (or teenage hood). 

I have not been judged harshly for the sake of Love, for the past 5 years. Maybe this life on earth is meant to be a living Hell, so we can look forward to some sort of Heavenly, off this earth, future. 

I like where I am now and I like who I am. There is not one person within my breathing space, who would beg to differ my opinions of “myself”. Nor is their anyone to coerce me into living by their standards. I am free to just be me, take me or leave me alone. 

Life is as it should be for me, in the autumn of life’s journey. Find a niche for yourself on the roads that you travel. Sometimes you may have to settle for a path you have chosen and see it through until you can find the road again. 

Eventually the short paths we choose lead to a time in our lives when the best we can pray for is to not start wearing diapers again. As I approach my fifth Anniversary as Western Girl again, so far I am not wearing diapers. So Thanking God for small favors again. 

My son died on October 14th. I left on my last adventure, which I might add was one of my bravest moments, on Oct 03. Although the Holidays each year since Oct. 14th are emotionally difficult, I am not finding the devastating crying spells or overwhelming sorrow has smothered me very much at all. I have been in Therapy on a monthly basis to help me cope with the traumatic events surrounding my son’s death, however I rarely have to medicate my self to cope.

So from here on out I celebrate the Adversaries of my complete freedom. I am not exactly the Spinster with cats. I am just an old dog loving woman enjoying the sunshine of every day to the fullest.  Me and my little dogs call ourselves the “Dream Team.”

Sunday, October 13, 2013

October 2013

Finally finished the page titled: The Art of Manipulation today feeling very cerebral.
http://ganjagoji.blogspot.com/p/blog-page_30.html )

Have a safe October Harvest Celebration.
♥GG

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Feelings

You can forget the 
things they said  to you 

♫ You can forgive the 
things they did to you

You may never forget 
how they made you 
♫ Feel. 

GanjaGoji Graphics 
COMING SOON (Nov. 2013)








Thursday, August 1, 2013

Cannabis Farming The Future Billion Dollar Business

Cannabis Farming: 
The Future Billion Dollar Business

Every morning since the beginning of time, a gazelle wakes up in the forest. It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning a lion wakes up in the tall grass. It knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death. It does not matter whether you are a lion or a gazelle: when the sun comes up, you’d better be running while your still young. 








Fuck the Accolades. Find the knowledge in Criticism. From there you can grow & learn from your Mistakes.


Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Kinetic Energy




Kinetic Energy

Like an old tree, sitting high a top a hill. 
Potential energy, my aging body has lost its will

Wondering the dark fearful of the dawn’s surprise. 
Impending doom waits with every sunrise

Traveling to the depths of my heart, with a heavy sigh, 
Reflections of two souls converged, him and I

Emotions lingering weighing me down. 
Yet my feet are barely touching the ground.

Expressing trauma hidden here, for readers engaged. 
Released in my Art, made public when it is paged

The eyes of truth watching, who are you and who am I. 
Within my pages, energy kinetic potentially reaches the sky

I follow a path less journeyed, holding to my resilience. 
Will the un-shattered parts of me make all the difference? 

Like a mighty tree, in fierce winds ready to crack. 
From all of this there is no finding my way back.

On life our differing analysis of what is true. 
Within their realm, my heart and soul never grew

Of breaking what binds me, I am no longer afraid. 
I would cease to exist if I continued their charade

Endeavoring to unify time and space. 
I am now fettered in this beautiful place.

Gaining momentum through Art, blurring the line. 
Energy expressed may be a difficult concept to define

From my hand kinetic energy, my mind always in motion. 
Thoughts travel creating all sorts of commotion

With technology harnessed as my way to release. 
Like minds extremely keen, urges to chatter or preach.

Moving forward through graphics and rhyme. 
Without energy, there would be nothing, not even time. 

Through visual expression, there is a meager attempt at aesthetic. 
Sometimes beautiful or maybe unnerving is my expressions Kinetic
www.GanjaGoji.blogspot.com©1996 -2030 
Ganja Goji Graphics© 
SLP Graphics© 
SLPgraphics© 





Thus far, past my thirty-day mark in Medical Marijuana therapy, I believe other People with PTSD could benefit from the influence of this Herb. If you call me a “Pot Head or Druggie” I am going to become very defensive and could go verbally ape shit on your ass.

As with any medication, be it prescription pain or anti-anxiety meds or now Marijuana, no one should be under the influence when there are chores to get done. On days, I know I have to get into my car, drive and mingle with the general population I do not use Medical Marijuana.

Not only should the driving under the influence Laws be kept in tack they should be elaborated on. As with alcohol consumption, being under the influence of any mind-altering substance, including many prescriptions that may cause us to be distracted from reality, especially Xanax needs to be monitored by patients. Thank God, I am no longer taking this drug, but it almost killed me.

“PTSD isn’t about what’s wrong with some one; it’s about the Trauma that happened to that person.” - 

The label itself indicates that there was a trauma. After the trauma, there was damage. The damage caused stress. Stress manifests itself in many different ways; depressions, moodiness, dissociate disorders, Flashbacks, Hopelessness, difficulty concentrating, Being easily startled or frightened, reliving the traumatic event, physical illness and sleep disorders, just to name a few.  

With me, it is the middle of the night 2:30 am to be exact. This was not my first life trauma, it was one of dozens and it took the cake on October 14, 1996, when 7:30 am the shock struck me like a bolt of lighting shot a hole through my heart. The details of the story may be displayed here each day. I have it written out in my journals, so it is just a matter of copy/past.

Having PTSD has taught me many things about life, family, my people and myself in general. Everything before PTSD seems trivial and insignificant. Many lessons I learned after PTSD astounded me because life situations never turned out the way I thought they would and that often burdened me even more tribulations. I found myself in constant Turmoil with everyone. The trauma, did not affect them, they were not there and just knowing it happened did not change their attitudes. They were who they were, unaffected with no compassion for the abrupt changes in Me.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is not contagious. I did contract it because I did something like have unprotected sex with a pimp, get drunk and lay in the gutter covered in vomit. I have never snorted cocaine in the back alley. My crime, which really was not a crime at all, was that I LOVED my son and could not bear the thought that he was dead. 
My soul, my brain and my body snapped as I took one breathe into my lungs, held it as long as I could, I knew on the exhale of that breath, I would totally lose my sanity. Forever damaged as if I had been struck in the head with a bullet.

Looking back, I can see how hard I fought facing it and how much I wanted to stay in the dark about the bottom line truth of it all. It is human nature to try to protect ourselves when the truth is too painful. When we are children, it is much easier to cope by not thinking about the trauma. Children have an uncanny ability to love in spite of trauma and can just “block it out”. 

There has been a terribly negative response from people in my life, especially from family, as I attempted to face the facts and the truth about that traumatic event. When I tried talking to my parents, my siblings, or other relatives: These people, who are close to me worked hard to convince me that my issues are better, not dealt with.  I was encouraged by many to let it go, leave the past in the past, put it behind you and the worst one “get over it”.

The only way to deal with PTSD, is to face and validate the truth about the trauma and quite often that includes facing facts that my parents let me down many time before why should this had made a difference. My emotional needs were neglected or even ignored; as far back as I can remember, around the age of three. Losing a grandson was not going to affect who they were. They attended the funeral out of respect, and walked away un-scathed by this tragedy. If I cannot see what you see, I cannot have the feeling you expect from me.

Then I seriously dug deep into myself, and I remembered them. Remembered why I steered emotionally clear of them years prior to the Trauma.

As I watched my elderly father, sitting on a pew, at the funeral, I could not read glimpse of emotion in his eyes, on his face. Stoic, emotionless, cold hearted, materialistic man. I remembered that look on his face, for I had felt it many times.

Sometimes it felt worse than the trauma, when I knew I had to face the reality, that according to their actions, they never even love me. Sometimes facing some truths is more painful than the trauma itself was. My family was so impatient with me whenever I even hinted at the past. They never talked to me they always talked at me.

I know who you are Daddy, now dead and gone. You were the one who stood by and allowed un-imaginable atrocities imposed upon your children by their Mother, for me it was birth until 12 years.

The first time I really looked at his face, in realization that he would never be my hero, my comforter, or safe haven was at about three years old. I know I was little, because my mother had me stand on a stool to reach the kitchen sink to wash the dishes. She always stripped me down to my underwear because I would get my clothes wet, and that enraged her.

I had to have permission to get off the stool, it was somewhat tall for me to climb down from and several times, I had fallen because, as Mommy put it, I was a clumsy brat. Therefore, she would lift me down to avoid another trip to the hospital. One morning while everyone slept, I was awakened to do my chores before breakfast could be served. I must be quiet and not wake up anyone else. I had to go to the bathroom, but talking was not allowed. Oh, I hated making decisions, no matter what I chose there would be consequences if I got caught.

I chose to climb down, I would be careful so as not to fall. Before I could make it to the bathroom, I soiled my pants. A bowl movement, how could I fix this disaster? I decided to try to take care of it myself, wash out my panties in the bathroom sink; I could hardly reach, even on tiptoes. I found clean underwear, stuffed my soiled underwear into the bottom of the laundry basket, and went back to washing the dishes.

Mommy noticed the different under pants I was wearing. A conversation revealed my mistake, now enraged she ordered me to bring my soiled underwear to her. Without warning she rubbed them in my face, she threw me onto the bed, buried my face in the soiled panties, and beat the holy crap out of me [pardon the pun]. My body ripped of the bed and carried to a corner of the kitchen, with my face pressed against the wall, sitting with my legs folded. Here I would stay the rest of the day.

Of course the commotion woke the rest of the family, who passed by me off and on throughout the day. I listened behind me during meal times. I turned once at the sound of my father’s footsteps, pleadingly I spoke his name: Daddy. He told me to shut up, turn around; your mother is the boss. I went numb with the realization that this man would never have my back. 

The blank look on his face, 40 years later at the funeral of his first-born grandson, was the same look I saw back then. Here too he would not have my back.

I had been dismissed; I had been shushed; I had been ignored; No one ever said to me “oh honey, I am so sorry that happened to you. It must have been frightening for you. It must have been a nightmare.  Is there anything I can do?” 

The reactions I did covertly communicated to me that I was a failure, unable to deal with what Life dishes out. Somehow, I was the one that was repulsive and disgraceful. No one held me if I cried. I found no one who felt soothing to my soul, not even the ones who claimed they glorified God. 

Not one validated that something out of the ordinary happened; Mothers were not supposed to have children die at any age. So there I was with this unresolved trauma (a post traumatic stress) and I was being told that I needed to let it go “just get over it”. 

Leave this in the past without even a few suggestions on how I might go about doing that. All of it was shoved under the carpet and ignored. However, I have to now cope with all of the traumas, leading up to the one that took the cake. 

I had to go on living with the trauma and the wounds that had been inflicted on me for the sake of Love. The damage was there and it was not going away. I was left trying to figure out a way to comprehend why no one seemed to think that I was important or valuable enough to give some validation or assistance to grieve a tremendous loss. 

I had to figure out why I was not loved enough to be worth that safety. In this is post traumatic stress disorder. My depressions were seen as a weakness.  When I finally had to take medication just to get through a day, it was viewed as the proof of my insignificance as a person and proof that I had always been the problem in their life.  Conceived unwanted and by love. 

No one was ever going to consider that one invalidated difficulty after another from as young as I can remember was at the root of my inability to Cope now.  I was different, I did not possess the ability to be emotionally numb, and obviously, this talent does not flow from DNA during conception. 

No one considered that my issues may have been due to a lot of post traumatic stress disorders that have plagued me on and off for more than 40 years.  No, they just saw me as weak. Too weak to cope with life on life’s terms, Shit happens. They saw me as too weak to deal with all. I was forced to remain with these people oppressed by the bloodlines that surrounded my existence. Like vultures on prey. It took me another fifteen years to physically and emotionally distance myself from them.

I felt my world crumble that day.  I write, “Emerging from broken soul” because they were wrong. I have moved forward, accepting that this is something I will never get over 

I do not think that the writers meant to suggest that abused children could have done things better so that we were not abused, that is the way that I heard it. I had been raised with the belief that I could have done better and that if I was better or more worthy: I would not have been ignored, dismissed, or even abused in the first place. 

It was as I faced the trauma that I became mentally healthy. It was when I found out that it was what had happened to me that caused me to struggle with life on life’s terms, the healing began.

I am finding understanding and compassion within myself. When I began to comprehend the magnitude of what a plethora of traumas caused me to believe about myself. I then validated that those beliefs were lies told by those who claimed love for me and imposed on my life. They were all evil incarnate.

I have found hope for freedom from depressions and post traumatic stress disorders. This morning was a bad one. I shot out of bed at 2:30 am, the time of death listed on my son’s death certificate. I was drenched in a cold sweat, shivering, angry and extremely thirsty. As I drank mango juice, straight from the carton, I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. “Leave me alone”.

They haunt me, so I made coffee and Began to indulge in some Medically prescribed Cannabis. I went to work on some art. Here I am almost eight hours later, having written the thoughts that spew from my brain.

Everyday I am able to change few more of the lies that suck away at my worth and self esteem. 

I am hopeful that I will be able to repair the damage and reclaim my worth and my value. I will not be able put stress behind me until I deal with the damage that traumas have caused. 

I have been severely sleep disturbed due to PTSD now since October 14, 1996. Along the way, it was a serious issue feeling sleep deprived. Here now back out West I have discovered the Siesta. Night terrors do not seem to plague me while sleeping in the middle of the day.

I enjoyed this time with you; maybe I pulled you into my world a little, maybe not. However, remember this I am no longer here to fit into your world. I am here dreaming to build my own new world. Dreams are deceiving, Like faces are to hearts. They are sweet relieving when fantasy and reality lie too far apart.

In the middle of the night miserably awakened by night terror, I found a word “Kinetic and this is where it lead me today. Now royally toasted, no real chores to do, feeling no pain and not sweating the small stuff just for today ♥GG




Monday, July 22, 2013

Just Dreaming Not Sleeping

I had some time to reach inside myself this morning, before heading out to mingle with society. I have a Dr appt with his PA. I actually look forward to those visits. It is always a pleasure to speak with Edith. Sometimes I dump and purge on her, but being a PTSD sufferer it is a blessing to have a person in life that will allow me to do so.

Then there is this huge chore I have to do afterwards, which is Grocery Shopping grrr. Too much work. I only go once a month because I am agoraphobic, which the Medical Marijuana seems to be helping me with that. The whole ritual of getting ready to leave the house usually fills with me with tremendous anxiety at the thought of dealing with the "Public".


Normally I would have had a bad night and then woke too early and stressed myself to much. Some negative situations in my realm have worked themselves out, maybe I will write about them sometimes, [maybe not does not seem worthy of my time to rehash them at this time] but for now I am in a very good mood.


Of course everyone know not to medicate and drive RIGHT!. Therefore I can not tribute my good mood to toking a bowl. I do however believe that Marijuana has residual affects that linger much longer than a chemical prescription, for both physical and psychological illnesses.


My experience so far over the past two decades of seeking medical help, is that I know I do not want to be taking addicting medications on a regular basis. I want to use it when I feel it is needed. And my biggest fear is addiction, so I am not Marijuana Medicating on a daily basis either. 


Ok gotta go start this day, here is where my mind wondered off to this morning, thinking about the relief of a negative force that has left my life, hopefully for ever.


Just Dreaming Not Sleeping. Imagination & Day Dreams. The mind is potent in finding Nirvana: [An ideal condition of rest, harmony, stability, or joy.] Where there is life, there is hope. Where there is hope, there are dreams. Vivid dreams repeated become goals. The future belongs, to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. I found this place in the recesses of my mind before the sun came up today. Thank -you for your support; Follow me google+ 



Sunday, July 21, 2013

A Chillaxing Saturday July 20,2013


Short stories with moral lessons.

I took a creative writing class in college. Here I have posted one of my assignments. take a simple popular story and rewrite it into a long version, adding your own ending.
MY LITTLE BIRD
A little bird was flying south for the winter. She was not a very experienced flyer as she was kicked out of the nest much too early to learn anything about the ways of the world.

Being so naive, she barely notices a storm approaching behind her. Suddenly it was so cold the bird’s wings began to freeze, she was quickly losing any ability to navigate, and she attempted to land, but fell hard to the ground into a large field. She just laid there dazed and confused.

The Bull felt the storm coming too and confidently retreated to the woods for shelter, with all the other bulls. As the storm passed and the sun came back the bull moseyed back to the field to graze.

The little bird was still struggling to find warmth from the sun to melt her frosty wings. She did not have the tough hide of a bull, her feathers were fragile. She was abruptly startled by the hoof of the bull as he past too close to her. Trying to work through her panic attack, the bull took a huge dump right on top of her.

The bird quickly went from panic mode, to righteous indignation. She thought she would be crushed to death and before she could catch her breath, she was shit on, the sense of injustice was overwhelming.

Normally she was quite peaceful, but wallowing in bullshit made her angry. Her anger emerged from the depths of her upbringing, which forced her to use all her might to escape this overwhelming injustice forced upon her. As she struggled and squirmed, she failed to notice the warmth of the bullshit weighing her down and disturbing her peaceful environment.

As she emerged from the top of this resentful pile of bullshit, she flapped her wings at the thought of flying free again. A few flecks of bullshit were stuck to her wings, so she rested a while and began to peck and primp her feathers.

She heard a door open and slam from the nearby farmhouse, but ignored it. Wrapped in her anticipation of another peaceful flight for the day. From the door emerged a tomcat, who quickly noticed her soft singing and chirps.

He crouched down to spy, and then began to slowly but steadily creep closer to her. He stopped close, his hind legs quivering, ready to pounce. The little bird, flapped her wings again this time with renewed strength, as she was enjoying the warm sunshine, then without warning the cat pounced.

Again, she was in a struggle to survive, she burst free but could not fly for one wing was broken. Falling again, getting barely in flight to suffer another blow. She began to crawl as she was hit repeatedly by sharp claws who wanted to possess her.

Finally, she made it to a low growing bush. Now her attacker, cunning and proud began to pace around her barrier, wanting to get in, intent on keeping her trapped. He noticed her beauty, his obsession to devour her, caused him to growl and hiss.

She assessed her situation, her mind spinning into survival mode. The bush was covered with berries so she knew she would not starve. If the storm returned she would be sheltered. Days passed into weeks, as she intently focused on her surroundings now. She learned quickly as she began to heal, that there are warning signs of impending danger. When doors opened and slammed, here came the devious cat. Not really, hungry, but his nature was pure. He just wanted to claw her and tear her apart.

Rested and healing from enormous trauma, listening hard, analyzing intently she knew the exact perfect moment would come soon. When she felt the timing was right, she emerged from sanctuary and took flight. She stumbled a little, but with renewed strength she, began to rise above it all. Her broken wing although healed, was now a bit crooked. It forced her to fly cautiously and be more aware of the surroundings, this was starting over again.

The moral here is much different in my version than the original. In the original version, the cat ate the bird and the story ended there.

In my version, the bird becomes the survivor no longer the victim. She continues to fly free upon a broken wing, forever cautious of approaching storms, piles of bullshit and the predators.

Without my Medical Marijuana I feel myself drifting far back into the past. So I will discuss the past, get it off my chest as I toke on this bong. Now an outsider looking in, never to be caught again

To Be Continued; stop for a song if feel it is apropos:
Starting this one with a song: Willie Nelson, Angle flying to close to the ground




Without my Medical Marijuana I feel myself drifting to far back into the past. So I will discuss the past, get it off my chest as I toke on this bong. Now an outsider looking in, never to be caught again

From this morning before getting royally toasted:

Imagine if you will, your entire life form strapped to an action plane, attached by a chain, flying in a spiral around a central axis is the only path the plane can fly. Never free to soar over the shores like a bird in flight. Never realizing your own dreams or ambitions is stifling. Spinning the same circles of bullshit year after year, is exhausting, I lost eh energy to fight to preserve myself.

I can generally find that “little things” make a spark in my brain the most. Then I focus on them intently as the hours slip by. I try to create a dazzling graphic that can express the same idea, without words. Sometimes I can drift over into left field with a graphic and then have to save it, but creating it etched is into my brain, so I know I will come across something here, your words my friends, that will touch to go through my memory of files. It is very satisfying for me to join word and pictures that can depict the same meaning.

As we grow old, memories become lost and I think this has become a blessing. However, there are moments I have regrets and memories of the past cloud my day.

My biggest regret is the weakness within myself, when I loved another soul. I only looked for love in the wrong place once, which resulted in a very bad marriage and three children, who for the most part I would do anything to please. That did go well for me either. Living within the squalor, my first husband provided for me and his children resulted in a very dysfunctional environment for all of us.

Dazzle me with blinding brilliance, Bend my mind. ALTERNATIVELY, Baffle me with bullshit, Fuck with my head. Everyone expected the world from me, so they pushed at me. They steam rolled me through my childhood.

What prevents me from speaking the truth with a smile? Under their control, I was eager to please, emotionally constipated people who do not really give a shit. Rampant Personality Disorders Narcissists, Sociopaths, Hoarders, Thieves, Liars, and Hypocrites.

How many narcissists does it take to change a light bulb? (a) Just one -- but he has to wait for the whole world to revolve around him first.

Personality Disorders are defined by experiences and behaviors that differ from societal norms and expectations. The theory and diagnosis of personality disorders stem from prevailing cultural expectations, egotistical morons who care more about what can be seen on the outside, however never willing to look deep into their own soul for acceptance.

Inflexible, rigid, narrow minded. Paranoid people, unforgiving, and prone to angry or aggressive outbursts without justification because they perceive others as unfaithful, disloyal, condescending or deceitful. One needs only to Exam their behavior, they assume everyone has the same personality default that they do, that is why they are presumptuous and quick to accuse.

Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorders. Compulsive personalities are conscientious and have high levels of ambition, but they also strive for perfection. Never satisfied with their achievements, people with compulsive personality disorder take on more and more responsibilities. They are reliable, dependable, orderly, and methodical, but their inflexibility often makes them incapable of adapting to changed circumstances. It is there way or the highway.

OMG give me some medication, what have I inherited from my dysfunctional ancestors. Much scarier how could I have bred into an entire clan of people displaying a completely new set of dysfunctional behaviors. For this, I have forgiven myself, as I was barely a teenager, when my first child was born, from a relationship with a much older babysitter, provided by my Father. It is unacceptable to me that a father could put is young daughter, in such a precarious situation. He was a full-blown Narcissist and his needs came first.

Analyzing the new family I had married into at age 15, after my first daughter was born, I saw similar unique qualities of dysfunction. Call me judgmental if you will. Believing in our heart that we Love someone, makes us stick around way too long in hopes that we can change them into nice people or that situations will change and make life less complicated. However, in reality they change who we should have been.

Judgmental people like to stick around, so that they can backbite others. An analytical person works hard at trying to sift through the bullshit, to get a proper perspective. Nevertheless, if it becomes too deep, escaping becomes very difficult.

I found a version of a story a long long time ago. It touched me and I had to rewrite for a creative writing class in college (back when we used typewriters, not computers). I began to keep a copy of it

I consider myself to be, a sensitive, gifted individual, who was tortured in her upbringing, by the depraved mythology of her family ancestry, and the hubris of oblivious people in positions of dominance. Parents are supposed to protect their children from harm, but what if they are the harm? I became one very brave individual who has escaped from Obscurity to tell her story.

My goal in sharing, my ridiculous and obnoxious life events, thus far, with you is that somewhere within these words if you can relate to any of it, do not be baffled by the bullshit for the sake for love. If love is blind then a bright light would be comforting, so be dazzled by brilliance and then maybe love will not let you down as it has done for me. You cannot get back one second wasted on a lost cause.

I tried to fit into their mold; it always became an uncomfortable restricting feeling. I make mistakes and do dumb things. There is no right or wrong way of living this wondrous journey called life.

They thought I was clueless as I did them.  Materialism, Reluctantly Clueless, and unforgiving individuals, who only ant to possess me, not love me. I am convinced that true love can only exist when two people can agree with what love is. There are so many different interpretations of what love should be. If we cannot agree on what love is, how would we expect to agree on anything else. The relationships become a constant battle for dominance.

After my son passed away, I was totally sucked back into my family. It was a time in my life when all emotion had been suck out of my heart and I could barely breathe. I was shuffled around like an abandoned dog.

The dangers of staying in a place that is an immoral realm lacking verbal communication, in a useless reflection, could not be quantified. Therefore, boredom overshadows sophistication with such dynamic analysis of a sequence of data. Confident that you may sit in judgment of your exploration will unavoidably result in having an effect on the affect on our own personality and mental health. Yes, it has taken decades to break those chains that bound me. I am free and I want you to also feel free to be yourself. Having a relationship, with a mother, father, sister, brother, marriage or lover, should never stagnate your creativity, mental and physical ability to function. It is enough to make you feel worthless, afraid and tapped.

When I left for the very last time, in 1996, I waited until I was about 500 miles down the Highway, to mail off postcards for each and every one of them. Each with the same wording. It was sarcasm of course.

Here is a synopsis of my postcard; I wanted to thank you all for everything you did for me and to me. It has made me the person I am now and gave me the courage to fly like an Eagle. As I look into my rear view mirror of this new adventure, I know I have taken many life lessons with me. Always remain who you are and I am on a journey to become myself. ♥GG