May 30, 2012

Sawdust

AWW, 5/30/12
non-subject ~ going back

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Mid-spring, 2012

I went by Bruce's apartment, probably to pick up checks or secure a key or drop off a key. Maybe I was stopping by to check on Barnum and Bailey while Bruce was at the beach. Barnum and Bailey are basset hounds; Bruce is their human pet.

I don't recall my exact purpose for stopping by.

I do recall the overwhelming aroma of sawdust.

Trees were being cut down within the greens that separate the apartment buildings. I guess there were too many getting ripe for falling or tall for toppling during heavy winds and storms. There are still plenty of trees standing in spite of clearing the too-many ones


What is that smell?, my nose asked my brain.

It took me a moment to exactly identify the aroma.

Ah, yes, sawdust.

Carol, remember when you couldn't smell. It's nice to be able to smell; yes?

Yes.

Why is the aroma so very strong for me. I feel something from this sawdust smell. What is it I feel? What does it relate to?

It took a moment for the memory to pinpoint.

Balls Creek Campground...from when you were little. Scuffling down the dirt road between the shacks.

Us kids playing with our paddle balls that we'd bought at the snack shack.

Remember the weird gummy-like stuff that you would put on the end of the thin, rigid straw and then blow into the straw to make the weird gummy-like stuff on the end blow a bubble? I'd bet you'd be able to recognize that smell too, if you ever run across it.

And that one cousin, or rather double or triple cousin or some sort of relative, that you had a crush on at 5-years old? What was his name? Dean?


But mostly I recall Mom walking into our shack when I was masturbating. It seems I was upstairs in the loft laying on one of thin mattresses that laid on one of the cot-like wooden beds that had no boxsprings. I remember immediately stopping because I didn't want Mom to catch me. I felt I was doing something shameful. I was around 5 years old that August. Campmeeting was always held In August; still is.

That's what sawdust means to me, at least at this moment in mid-spring, 2012, as I walk the small incline to Bruce's place.

Barnum and Bailey are excited to see me.
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Links re Balls Creek Campground:
Photos
History Snippet
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May 26, 2012

Mental Illness ~ Counselor #2

(May, 2012: Working on indexing/categorizing pieces I've blogged. Transferring this piece from another blog.


Click here for the introduction to Mental Illness ~ Counselor #2.)
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In January, 1999, I sat in an examining room.  Another allergist.  Another ears, nose, and throat dude.  Two other medical doctors had referred me here.  Yet instead of ending up with the ENT, I ended up with his partner, Dr. Piva, an osteopath who specialized in allergies and heavy metal toxicity.  From a previous hospitalization, tests discovered my mercury levels were way high.

Dr. Piva was a couple years older than me.  He was of short stature, fit build, with dark hair.  He was Italian having moved to the USA from Italy with his parents when he was ten years old.

As I worked with Dr. Piva over the next three years, he became my knight in shining armor. It was the first time since 1981 that I could breathe freely; that I could breathe without steroids and constant inhalers and monitoring. I clung to him for help, sometimes too much.  It became a challenge for me and for him.  I would get afraid waiting for the next onslaught of drowning in my own fluid; but it didn't come.

Under his treatment the asthma became almost non-existent. That freed up energy and resources to then begin work on other areas - severe hives, body aches, mood swings, digestive problems and more.  In mid to latter 2000 Dr. Piva thought I might benefit from some psychological counseling. He urged me to see a secular psychologist whom he knew, Dr. McColloch.

I was afraid to see a secular psychologist; what if he required me to do something Biblically weird. "What can Dr. McColloch do that you and I can't do?" I asked Dr. Piva after he helped calm my spiritual fears. He answered, "Mental health is his field.  He has decades of experience in that area; I dont.  I don't know what else to do for you in that area."

I hated going to new doctors. I despised recounting my damn history. But I agreed and made the appointment. One of my main goals in seeing Dr. McColloch was to discover how many of my physical symptoms were due to emotional suppression.

Dr. McColloch's office was upstairs in a condominium office complex.  In one room were a bunch of toys, for when he saw children. Dr. McColloch was fifteen or so years older than I. Over the course of time I learned that he'd been married to his wife for decades.  They had raised two children who were now adults. He talked with his children via phone almost every day; they were emotionally close.

Dr. McColloch was originally from Oklahoma. He had practiced psychology in California, the Northeast, the Midwest, and now the Bible-belt South.  I once asked Dr. McColloch, "Do you go to church?"  He gently replied, "No."  I was glad he didn't go to church.

During my first six to eight visits, we plowed through my history.  My husband came with me for a couple of those appointments, the ones where I had to reveal my shameful behavior of AWOLing two different times from The Way Corps.  I began to wheeze during those sessions.

I hated those years, the years I had failed my calling and copped out on my Corps commitment. They haunted me like a wretched invisible rabid monkey. It was during those years I had developed the asthma. And now shame upon shame, I sat in another office relaying my god-damned, fucked-up history. What a horrible excuse for a believer I was.

Once I was finished with my history Dr. McColloch stated, "Let's begin with the obvious.  Do you realize that you have over-active emotional responses?"  I was stunned. I really hadn't realized that; I thought everyone struggled inside like I did.

During my first two years with Dr. McColloch, I stayed on my spiritual toes; the Ministry was never to be blamed. I had been indoctrinated that unbelievers cannot understand spiritual matters; Dr. McColloch was an unbeliever. I had to learn to navigate.

Part of the time I saw Dr. McColloch, I also saw a psychiatrist, Dr. Edwards, for about 10 months.  But we didn't spend time in counseling; I saw him mainly to manage medications.

Like Dr. Piva, Dr. McColloch listened to me; he heard me.  I knew this because he asked the right questions. I began to trust him. Though he wasn't old enough to be my father, he felt like a father in a sense.

I asked him, "What will I do when you retire?"  I really thought I'd never be able to live without him. He said he didn't plan on retiring, but rather he planned to cut back on his hours.  He loved his work. He assured me that if I was becoming too dependent on him that he'd let me know and we would address that. He was confident there would come a time where I wouldn't need him.  He was right. I began to wean from him in mid-2004.

I dug through tunnels of emotional debris with the help of Dr. McColloch. He held my hand as I'd navigate through emotional obstacle courses.  He gently helped me acknowledge past experiences which I was afraid of; he helped me see that my built-in responses were 'understandable.'  He helped teach me to regulate my emotions, not to suppress or deny them. He helped me through suicidal ideations. He helped me learn to think and recognize distorted thoughts.

I still utilized his services coinciding with Janet, counselor number three, who I started seeing in 2004.

At some point I informed Way leadership that I was seeing a psychologist.

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May 8, 2012

Thumbing the "Word Over the World"

I opened my eyes this morning, as I've done for close to the past 19,370 days. As I typically do I thought something along the line of, "It's another day. I wonder what the day will bring."

I sat up in my king size bed. My immediate thought was, "I've hitchhiked a lot of miles."

I don't recall my dreams from last night. Perhaps I dreamed about hitchhiking.

As the crow flies, I hitchhiked over 6000 miles between the years 1976 and 1983. Over 4000 of those miles were required hitchhiking while I was in The Way Corps in 1981 and 1982.

As Way Corps, we were to believe God to get to our assigned destinations within a certain amount of time. If we didn't make it within our time limit, we were reprimanded and sometimes had to turn around and hitch back to the place where we had set out from. One time, my partner and I were 4 minutes late after hitching from Kansas to New Mexico; we had to turn around and hitch straight back to Kansas.

As Way Corps, we were to "witness the Word" to people we encountered all along our thumbing journey.

As Way Corps I was part of God's elite. I was a light in this dark world helping to keep the hand of the adversary (the devil) at bay. When I would enter a town, or store, or home, or situation, I would silently speak in tongues causing devil spirits to tremble. As I would speak forth the Word of Life, God would prosper it as God saw fit.

I am an Ambassador for Christ taking the accuracy of God's Word over the world and into the next generation so that the accuracy of the scriptures can thrive until the Return of Christ. Only God knows when the Return will happen.

When Christ returns the first time, He won't come all the way to earth. Rather His saints will meet him in the air with their new bodies. Christ will come at the Return to gather together all the people that have been born again since his resurrection; the dead in Christ shall rise first and then we which are alive at the time will be changed and given our new bodies in the twinkling of an eye.

Saints are believers that are still alive; that is the accurate definition. Saints are not dead people to whom we are to pray, like the Roman Catholic Church teaches. The RC so-called saints are actually devil spirits.

The devil is the god of this world controlling and manipulating the happenings on earth. The devil and his cohorts are responsible for all evil. Sometimes the evil is cloaked in good. My temptation is no longer between good and bad, but between good and best.

The devil was once the angel of light and he can move as fast as the speed of light. He manipulates whatever he needs to manipulate and transfigures whatever he needs to transfigure so that people worship him, directly or indirectly. He keeps people in bondage that way; he keeps people from knowing the freedom in Christ. He really wants to keep men, women, and children from becoming born again and having eternal life. The accurate translation for "born again" is "born from above."

Christ will return again later, a second time, and come all the way to earth at that point. We, the saints that were caught up with him in the air the first time, will come with him. Depending upon our faithfulness and heart as a believer in our earthly bodies, which we had before the Return, we will have responsibilities. Whatever those responsibilities will be, we will carry them out in our perfected heavenly bodies. Maybe I'll be able to visit between planets. It's a big universe out there.

If mankind can write stories and make movies about truth's ultimate prevail over evil, about super heros, why not God? All these super heroes are just counterfeit tales of what is actually true. The true super hero is Jesus Christ. The true tale is not a tale at all and is far, far greater than any tale man can imagine.


Fortunately I never came to harm on my hitchhiking excursions. I enjoyed them for the most part. I remember some incidents clearly. I have hardly any recollection of other trips...especially the one when I hitched alone from Connecticut to North Carolina. It wasn't a Corps-required trip. I was trying to leave at that time, to leave the demands of The Corps, to leave the standards to which I felt I couldn't live up to.

But, leaving took another twenty-two plus years.

May 4, 2012

Reflections II

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My mind is not reeling, but it is divided? Is that the right word? Divided?

I stood naked in front of the mirror. I have gained much too much weight in the past two or so years. I'm no longer toned, especially since the onset of the serum sickness. Spraining my ankle has complicated my getting back in shape.

I've told myself to be gentle with my psyche regarding my weight gain and unfitness. I've been through a lot the past few decades. I want the weight to fall off and my tone to come back instantly. But it will take time. Since I had the hip replacement in August, 2008, I've had one thing after another. I feel I've not even fully recuperated from the hip replacement.

It's o.k. to rest.

I got dressed deciding not to put on make-up, though I brought some with me for the workshop. But I really hate wearing make-up. I prefer going bare and just not looking in the mirror often.

It's a good thing that mirrors are not in nature, except for reflections in water. Even then, the reflection isn't exact. It moves. It doesn't show fine lines and details.

I washed the apple I'd bought last night at a convenience store. I'd also purchased some trail mix. I sat on the hotel bed to eat my lunch, the apple and trail mix. I turned on the TV and clicked stations to find the History Channel.

A fascinating program was on, at least fascinating to me, about coin-operated machines...like slot machines and vending machines. I immediately thought of my job.

And then I felt disconnected.

And as I type this I feel confused.

Lisa is trying to discover her identity. She was born in; she has a reason to not know her identity.

I don't have a reason to not know my 'identity'...or at least that is how I feel. It's not actually true, that I don't know my identity. It's not true in the sense that I had lots of so-called freedom as a child. Lisa didn't have that; her every move was to be an act of obedience.

What of my parents? My parents, my parents, my parents. I know they had to influence my life and teach me things. Yet, I feel such a huge void when relating to my parents. Now I only relate in thought and heart. My parents are both deceased.

When I read others' stories and hear what others say about their upbringing what they write about memories, good and bad, regarding their parents and their parents influence; I have a difficult time relating. I draw such blanks...other than....I recall my dad's passion.

He had a passion for nature, in the sense that he enjoyed the outdoors. He golfed and skied and hunted. He introduced me to skiing and somehow to the woods, though I don't recall ever hiking with Dad. We did go on family camping trips when I was 5 years old. Perhaps we went on a few prior to when I was 5 and perhaps some more after I was 5.

Dad loved to dance; he would listen to music and dance in our living room. He used to watch the gospel quartets on TV on Sunday mornings; we didn't go to church often.

Dad used to cry when he and I would watch "Little House on the Prairie." He would quietly allow a tear to trickle down his cheek. I could tell he tried to control it; but I saw his eyes. Something about the goodness in that show touched him.

Dad would get fiery angry too, his face turning red with rage, his veins popping out of his neck, his deep voice boisterously hollering, "God damn it to hell." I remember that phrase. I don't know what he would get angry about.

When I was in my 40s, I learned that he used to beat on of my siblings. The last beating was when my sibling was in high school; they had used Dad's razor. I don't think Dad ever hit me; at least I have no recollection of such.

And then ... it was Dad that came to visit me at Parent's Weekend at The Way College of Emporia. Why just Dad? Why didn't Mom come?

During Parent's Weekend Dad and I went dancing together at some Kansas bar. That weekend Dad decided he'd take The Way's Power For Abundant Living Foundational Class. A month later, he was in a car wreck and became a quadriplegic. At the time, I thought the wreck was the adversary working to keep Dad out of the PFAL Class.

I saw Dad cry again after he could no longer walk or use his hands, like normal people. I sometimes think he felt he had brought the quadriplegia on himself, that his karma had gotten him back.

Dad had a conscience. I think he was an honest man.

Mom memories. I recall her playing with me in a pool when were on one of our vacations in Florida. It seems I was around 6 years old. My brother would have been around 10 and my sister around 12; I think they were somewhere playing what older children would play. I don't recall playing much with brother and sister as a child.

Mom used to rub my back at night; I often wanted a back rub when I laid down to go to sleep with my stuffed animals and my empty baby bottle. I just held the bottle; I didn't suck it. I was embarrassed I still went to sleep with a bottle at 7 years old. I liked it because it was cold.

Mom would lie for me sometimes, when I laid out of school. Sometimes I'd pretend to be sick to not go to school. She knew I wasn't sick, but she went along with it. I liked that.

I never saw Mom cry in her 83 years of life. She did laugh though and that quite often. I used to think she had a positive out look on life. Perhaps she did.

My mind feels less divided now.
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Reflections I

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My mind is not reeling, but it is divided? Is that the right word? Divided?

It's Friday, May 4, 2012. I'm in Birmingham, Alabama, for a special workshop. It will be small, only around 35 attendees. The workshop begins Saturday at 10:00 AM. I am staying at the Birmingham Airport Hotel which is where the workshop is being held.

I met another attendee this morning at breakfast. We talked together for a couple hours. Her name is Lisa and she was involved in a Bible Fundamentalist Church. She was born in; her father was the minister. She left in the 1990s when she was in her 40s.

After leaving, she married back into the BFC, but into a different faction with a different minister, a faction that was not an advocate for her previous group. The marriage ended; her Ex was abusive, domineering, and expected Lisa to be the submissive female. She had complied until a few years ago.

Last year Lisa's adult daughter had invited Lisa out for dinner, but instead of going to dinner the two ended up in front of a mental health hospital; the dinner invitation was bait. Lisa's daughter had lied to her. The daughter was carrying out what the dad, Lisa's ex, had instructed the daughter to do - lie to her mom, Lisa, and then have Lisa admitted to a mental health facility. Lisa got out of her daughter's car and walked away. She had no reason to be admitted to the hospital other than her ex saying she's crazy and wanting to control her.

Lisa's daughter did not pursue Lisa; the daughter knows what is going on. The daughter is caught in Ex's grip. Ex has an awaiting trust fund for Daughter, as well as Lisa and Ex's other adult children. As long as the children are looking for that trust fund to some day be their own, Ex pulls the strings. God, what a jerk.

Due to fear of harm from Ex, Lisa has since stayed away from her children and eight grandchildren.

Lisa has been in process of endeavoring to discover who she is. Since she was raised in a 'cult' she is trying to discover her identity for the first time. This weekend's workshop is part of her facilitation toward that.

I don't have a specific workshop goal. Maybe my purpose for being here is just face-to-face connection.

I shared with Lisa a bit of my story, including a little bit about what happened with Knapp.

Lisa and I ended our morning conversation. She went out by the hotel pool. I went to my hotel room.

And I cried. I don't know why I cried, but I cried.

I then bathed and shaved, making myself more presentable for the rest of the day.
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