The Stalker


Seventeen years ago I worked in the administrative offices of a hospital managing all of their satellite medical offices. My office was on the main floor across from the sandwich deli, so I had a lot of people traffic that would walk by and see me at my desk. I could see the deli counter through their window when at my desk. I didn’t utilize the deli often, as a single mom I couldn’t afford to eat out ever. I was well-known by all of the hospital staff since my work was directly with many of the physicians and their support staff, and I’m a friendly person that used to be very talkative to anyone and everyone.

The main cafeteria was in the basement and it staffed the deli upstairs. Our cafeteria had moderately good food and they were promoting a new chef, often we would get lunch vouchers to try out the food and then were encouraged to recommend it to patients families or visitors.

The new chef started spending a lot of time in the deli, I only noticed because he’d always have a white chef coat and hat on, which was different from the other employees.  I have named him John for this blog, because of the notorious Jodie Foster stalker John Hinkley Jr. back in the 80’s.

John started making me food and bringing it over “to try it out and let me know what you think” line. No red flag, just thought it was a normal behavior.  Then John would come over and visit, asking questions to “get to know me”. No red flag, had a wedding ring on and seemed nice. One question was asking me my favorite dessert, which is Cremé Brule.  He showed up the following week serving me this dessert on a full silver platter, china and a rose. Hmmmm…red flag. I knew something was up, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I accepted this gift and ate it and of course had to call him to come back and get the dishes. That’s when he asked if he could take me to dinner

The answer was “No, your married and I don’t date people I work with.” I got the most dejected look and uncomfortable vibe from him that red flags popped up left and right. I always kept my office door open, as it helped with fresh air, allowed visitors to feel comfortable asking for directions and physicians liked the opened feeling of coming and going. That day I closed my door, bought a fan and kept it closed. This stopped the direct line of sight to me from the deli and became my barrier. The visits from John stopped and I avoided the cafeteria like the plague. Then I ended up hearing through the office grape-vine that John no longer worked at the hospital.  Thank God! I was free to open my door and not feel confined nor watched. It was truly a freeing moment and I couldn’t have been more relieved.

Two weeks later I left my office and headed for the parking garage to go home, it’s dark out and in the garage, get in my car and there’s a rose on my windshield with a note. “Just wanted to say hello and I miss you. ♥ J” Red flags popping up in my head:

  1. Why is he leaving me a note?
  2. How in the hell does he know what I drive?
  3. Did he walk the WHOLE garage looking for my car?

I was freaked out! If I was 16 I wouldn’t have been upset, I would have been flattered. As a grown woman and single mom…freaked out!  The next morning I went to our security office and filed a complaint and let them know what happened and prior to. They immediately got special permission to let me park in the physicians lot that no one could get into. Gave all of the other security personnel his picture and name and to have him removed from the premises.  Now I feel better and safer at work, and let it leave my mind. Deep breath and relief.

Month later I get home from work to find a bag on my doorstep. Sis lived across the street, so I figured it was from her. My son was 5 and he and I opened it and it was a large remote control race car. With a note “I’m sorry I upset you, please forgive me. ♥ J”.  Red flags:

  1. How in the fuck does he know where I live?
  2. How does he know I have a son?
  3. This is bazaar abnormal behavior and I need help.

Called a friend who is a Private Investigator for help. He did a full back ground check on this guy and then helped me find ways to prove it’s him coming to my house, started driving different routes to and from work every day, became extremely vigilant of my surroundings and if someone was following me.

This was just the beginning stages of his stalking. What’s to come became an extremely intense nightmare that has altered my life in the most negative way. I can only write this story in small amounts because HE is why I live in constant fear and anxiety and telling the story scares the shit out of me and what it’s going to bring up in my mind.

Pigs With Lipstick EVERYWHERE!


My personal experiences with pigs and lipstick hasn’t just been familial, I’ve experienced it almost everywhere.  I know that I am more sensitive to it and see it quicker than most people, but that doesn’t lessen the blow when it hits. In fact, it’s worse because I can’t seem to get away from it.

  • Nursing Home Pigs
  • Post-Nominal Pigs
  • Christian Pigs
  • Pigs within the Church

One of the first experiences I can remember that wasn’t a family member, was when I visited a family member at a nursing home. She was frail, deaf, on a feeding tube and near death. It was scary to see her extremely helpless yet so ignored. The pamphlets of the place showed this sunny beautiful home and everyone smiling in harmony. The entrance area is pretty and bright, the front desk person is presentable and the Director could sell a glass of water to a drowning man. If you’ve never moved someone into a nursing home, you’d have no idea what to really look for and ask.

This family members new residence was the reality of these places…dark, dingy fluorescent lighting, dirty, smells like old urine and body odor, with some faint whimpering coming from some residents rooms. The staff is equally the same; disheveled, scowled faces, smelling of stale cigarettes with sighs of disgust roaming the halls. I do not know of other countries, but I do know that in the U.S. we treat our elderly and disabled like shit! She died in this place, like so many of us on this earth died under the lipstick.

Nursing homes are a human disaster area. Over priced flee infested motels with prison quality food.My father has always told me he’d kill himself before he’d enter a nursing home, I believe him.  I on the other hand would be the elderly woman terrorizing the staff and keeping them on their feet. Needless to say nursing homes are disgraceful pigs with a lot of lipstick.


The Post-Nominal lipstick wearing pig simply amazes me. I’ve worked in medicine for over 20 years and I’ve seen it all. Doctors are humans and humans are a mess, I do not expect perfection. Yet they are professionals and some rarely act like it. What a doctor does on their own time is none of my business, as long as it’s not illicit drugs. Let’s face it, if you’re treating me and my conditions, I pray you’re sober.

I’ve wondered how or why someone becomes a doctor when they clearly hate people. Bedside manner is NOT AN OPTION. I don’t need you to be touchy feely and cuddly with me; I just need you to know what in the hell you’re doing and be nice about it. I had surgery a while back and read the doctors bio to see if he’d be worth seeing before I needed the surgery, met him and basically interviewed him and watched him closely for red flags. Not one red flag popped up, my mistake, should have had a 2nd appointment with him before accepting him as my surgeon.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was all I could think when I “came to” in the recovery room. What a complete rat bastard he was. Rude, condescending, uncaring, unexplainable…NIGHTMARE! His bio read “It is my desire to address each and every patient with the care and concern that I would give my own family. I strive to give excellent care every time.” Load of manure! The guy must be divorced and his children either disowned him or are really jacked up people, if he really treats them the same way he does his patients…God help them.

Just because someone has Post-Nominal letters, doesn’t mean they are well-educated nor have common sense. Those letters are really a window dressing and mean nothing to what the core of the person really looks like on the inside.


This meme says so much.  I am a child of God with Christian non-denominational values. I walk the talk that comes out of my mouth. I am not perfect, if I was I’d be Jesus.

I am an open book, like I’ve said before, you’ll just never know my true identity for safety purposes. I don’t mind that people love to fill up their fb page with their spiritual beliefs, I think it’s awesome.  Being proud of your beliefs means you aren’t afraid of what others will think.

However, if you’re filling up your feed with your beliefs you best have the behavior also to back it up. It’s not hard to weed out the window dressing Christian. These people don’t have much of their own nice words to say and are extremely insecure of their own thoughts. Instead of possibly being judged for their true hearts desire they plaster their feed with passive aggressive meme’s like “If you love Jesus like and share this post”. I pray harder for these Christians, because it’s painful to see how lost they really are.

These are the people who will most likely shame you, break you down instead of build you up, look down their noses at you, belittle you..then stand in front of their congregation claiming to be the best Christians on earth. Wearing their nice clothes, making sure you’re looking when they drop their money in the tithe basket and bringing their used coats in for the coat drive.

These are the same people who have told me that I’m not praying hard enough, if I did a better job praying my CPTSD would go away.  Nauseating pigs.


This one is HARD for me to be honest about, since my husband is a Pastor, I don’t want to turn you away from God. Just know that I don’t believe this to be true in all churches and definitely not in the church I’m in now.

I’ve met many people who have made it to our church because of their terrible experience at another church. By the grace of God they found us and feel at home.

Pastors, Priests and staff members can be BRUTAL on a broken person’s heart. I’ve seen judgement so deep come from these people, I struggle with my own faith, wondering why God keeps them in their positions. This is also where building someone up is so much more of what God wants and Jesus taught us to do. Tearing a person down, belittling them or shaming them is the enemy at work. I choose to meet people where they “are”, not where I think they should be. We are all equal, no one person is better nor worse than another.

Narcissism runs rampant throughout churches. Manipulation that could destroy a person’s life in one swoop.  Martyrdom is played out over and over at the fullest expense of others.  Unprofessional behaviors bordering on the verge of pure sexual harassment. Double standards, preaching that God and family should come first, but NOT if you work for the church.  Gossip like a daytime soap runs through the halls.    Last but not least, DON’T GO UP AGAINST THE LEAD PRIEST / PASTOR…you’ll have your ass handed to you.

Integrity shouldn’t be optional within the walls of a church, but it is.  The pig and the pulpit can go hand in hand.

I live by these simple facts:

  • Treat myself the way I WANT to be treated
  • Treat others the same way
  • Love is NOT conditional with giving and taking
  • Building someone up is better than tearing them down
  • Caring is easier than hating
  • Money really is the root of all evil


The Pig of Teen Sexual Assault

I recently watched a documentary about teen sexual assault in today’s world and the use of smart phones and social media.

The title is “Audrie and Daisy” and aired on FX and now available on Netflix. If you are or know a preteen or teenage girl or boy, you have to watch this.  As a parent or adult in a young adults life, this documentary will open your eyes to so much!

Rape culture isn’t new, but in the world of technology that’s clearly smart and new, we ALL have to take a stand against it. I can’t even comprehend what I would have done if my rape was taped and plastered all over the internet.  I do know that suicide would have been pondered and most likely accomplished.

The bravery and strength these young women have shown by speaking out is astronomical!  The parents that have spoken out are just as brave and strong. So many people choose to point fingers and judge; WHICH IS NOT HELPFUL IT’S DESTRUCTIVE!

Please watch this documentary. Please teach the young people in your life about rape, sexual assault, alcohol, narcotics, safe boundaries, bullying and how to stand up for what’s right.

You can obtain further information at as its time to cut this pigs throat.

My heart, love and prayers go out to all these beautiful young ladies.

The Mask of the Wolf and the Sheep


A wolf in sheep’s clothing has been a parable used for centuries.  Except the poor wolf has been labeled as an angry beast and only out for blood, meanwhile the sheep is innocent and prey to the wolf. Both used to describe humans as either predator or prey, the emotionally angry beast could cover up his gnashing teeth with a mask of emotionally lacking sweet innocence.  Is this where we humans learned to cover up our emotions with the proverbial mask?

Did you know that both of these creatures from God represent all of our emotions? Take a look at this wheel of emotions, the center emotions are our core base emotions. Moving outward are the next phase emotions generating from one of the core emotions.


Wolves have our similar core emotions as humans, they don’t show all of it on their faces, but they do with body language and vocally without words.

Sheep also have our similar core emotions, again based on their physical and vocal actions.

So why does the wolf have to be the bad guy in this? He’s the predator plain and simple. Raw end of the stick I’d say!

The “bad guy” is the expectation that we must cover our true identity with a mask.

  • “Never let them see you cry”
  • “You have no right to be angry”
  • “What are you so scared of you pussy”
  • “You know you look stupid”
  • “What are you so happy about”
  • “Don’t just stand there”
  • “Look how you made me feel”
  • “I don’t understand you or where you’re coming from”
  • “Wipe that look off your face”
  • “Keep your chin up”
  • “You have to stay strong”
  • “You’re being dramatic”
  • “Your feelings aren’t fair to me”

Each of these common statements inflict shame, embarrassment, condemnation and conditional love. None of us want to feel this way, so we “put on a happy face” our mask, disconnect from our feelings and become someone we’re not.

Maybe this is why I loved Halloween for so many years, I could dress up and be and act the part of my costume. Freedom for one night of the year.

I took my mask off 16 years ago when the Matriarch of our family died. I was no longer ruled over by her, I didn’t have to please her any longer. I got to confront her destruction head on and find the lost little girl who was never good enough. I cried for the first time in front of my psychologist of 6 years!  I found my angry voice and let people have it who’ve hurt me. I was like a shaken can of soda opened for the first time, I exploded in emotions.

Ironically at this time a homeless wolf hybrid showed up at my house.  While most were afraid of her, I saw her pain in needing love. I took her in, I loved her, fed her, bathed her, took her to the veterinarian and gave her a home. She in turn protected me, saved me, comforted me and loved me unconditionally.  This emotionally connected creature was a gift to me from God.

The sheep in all of these parables, is the mask. The mask of being stifled. Such an interesting word to describe “the sacrificial sheep”.

stifle [ stahy-fuhl ]

Definition: prevent, restrain

Synonyms: asphyxiate, black out, bring to screeching halt, burke, check, choke, choke back, clam up, clamp down, constipate, cork, cover up, crack down, curb, dry up, extinguish, gag, hold it down, hush, hush up, kill, muffle, muzzle, put the lid on, repress, shut up, silence, sit on, smother, spike, squash, squelch, stagnate, stop, strangle, stultify, suffocate, suppress, torpedo, trammel.


I will no longer be insignificant in regards to my feelings.  This doesn’t mean some of my feelings don’t scare me. I do know for many getting into touch with real feelings is beyond painful and more than they can handle. Doesn’t make them weak.  I’ve always liked the song Bridge Over Troubled Waters, because the bridge is much like the mask, protecting you from unforeseen trouble.  That water represents so much in our lives. Crossing that water without the bridge is going to be very difficult, scary, unforgiving, you’ll get pulled under, swallow water, have stinging pain from the cold, you’ll trip, question yourself and your sanity. Yet after you get to the shore and crawl to higher safe ground, you’ll be physically and emotionally wiped out. You’ll feel a sense of accomplishment and relief you made it through all of it.  Then after you practice crossing the troubled waters more and more, you’ll learn how to survive the trek across again and again. Make sure though before you take this adventure with another person, you know this person is safe and won’t attempt to stifle you. I believe you know what I mean.

The stifling pig in my life has been sacrificed and my emotions and feelings are my very own and no one can take them away from me again.

The Promiscuous Pig


Sounds like the title of a children’s book. a jacked up sort of way it is.

Experiencing an abandonment in my preteens, then being raped in my teens coupled with poor self-esteem because I was never good enough for my mother and stepmother…I viewed sex in an unhealthy way.  My parents NEVER spoke to me about sex…NEVER!  Plus it was the 80’s where big hair rocker bands had women falling all over them, when MTV actually played music videos of sex & drugs with provocatively dressed women being promiscuous.  THAT’S where I learned about sex.

In a sick way I was trying to “make” a guy like me and want to stay with me. I thought it would happen through sex and that was my “tool” to get them to stay.  Well they didn’t stay, in fact they knew how to “use” me to get what they wanted.  Then tossed me away along with the condom we used…IF we used one.

Are you now questioning in your mind “how stupid could she be”?  I wasn’t stupid, I was uneducated, no one invested their time in me to teach me nor make me feel valued.  I know my reputation was dirt by the end of my junior year of high school, but that didn’t stop my behavior.  Plus I wasn’t the only one.

I look back now through my life and can see that promiscuity played a huge role until 10 years ago.  Anytime I felt not good enough, insecure, break up with a boyfriend or divorced…the promiscuous pig reared is ugly head.

Besides a bad reputation, I suffered and still suffer for my poor choices. I never got pregnant but I did get venereal diseases.  I first contracted venereal warts, treatment at that time was slicing them off with a scalpel without numbing, then cauterizing with a small burning tool.  Also used liquid nitrogen to freeze and burn them off.  Basically PAINFUL!

Secondly I caught chlamydia, which was treated with antibiotics through a painful injection. Caught this a couple of times.

My life long mistake was genital herpes.  Caught this in my twenties and has been a humiliating, shameful and destructive disease since.

Why did I choose pictures of Jodie Foster roles as my top picture for this topic? Because 1. She’s my most favorite actress and 2. These 3 roles defined me psychologically. I was a young promiscuous teen who could have ended up as a prostitute, I had a dysfunctional family who didn’t teach me the basics in life about sex and I behaved many times as her characters did in those movies.

It wasn’t until I discovered and learned why I behaved this way that I stopped being promiscuous. Not until I was in my 30’s. Then I discovered Jesus and learned that God loves me no matter what I’ve done and He’s not ashamed of me. That through grace He understands, but that it doesn’t mean I can still behave that way without consequences.  I learned why my body is a temple, it’s the vessel God gave me to be on this earth and I am to treat this gift with respect and love. Not defile it to get what I want.  There’s so much more there, but I was redeemed and still am!

Promiscuity will kill you, emotionally and eventually physically through contracting a terminal illness. Whether it’s HIV or cancer from venereal warts, or severe depression which could be a life sentence of hell.

It’s a pig I no longer wish to put lipstick on. This pig has been sacrificed.

Learn more about teen sex and promiscuity at:


Teen Rape in the 80’s



In the middle of 8th grade I decided I could no longer live with my mom, I yearned for a home where I was included and loved…significant.  My dad moved to California with his new wife Velma.  I visited them over summer and spring breaks and it was always so wonderful.  Always had dinner at the table together, took day trips to tour Cali, cleaned house together, worked in the yard together…real family stuff.  I felt included.


I took the leap of faith and left all my friends to move from an area of mountainous beauty to the ocean.  Moving to a new area at 14 is scary and invigorating at the same time.  I didn’t know anyone, I stuck out like a sore thumb.  I came from a place where you wore Levi’s 501 button fly jeans to miniskirt central.  Yet I was a friendly survivor able to adapt to any situation at hand, a core trait I learned at such a young age of alcoholism and narcissism.


By freshman year, which was still considered Junior High School, I had friends from all circles and clicks.  The teachers loved me, I increased my GPA from 2.1 to 3.5, I was a teachers assistant, the administrative office hung my artwork in their offices, I played softball AND was 1 of 6 girls chosen to be a cheerleader.  Cheer leading in Cali is competitive, not about popularity, flat-out skill.  I felt like I was on top of the world.  Yet I couldn’t seem to get a boyfriend, I was a virgin and I didn’t dress provocatively.  Velma and dad made sure I always looked classy and fashionable.  Most of my friends weren’t virgins, spoke of sex a lot, dabbled in drugs, had parties, etc.


There was one boy I was interested in and I’m pretty sure I made myself look like an idiot each time he was around.  By January of that year I know he knew I liked him, then all of a sudden he took interest in me.  Talked to me, sat with me at lunch, flirted, kidded around and showed me interest.  It meant a lot to me.  I wasn’t the prettiest in school, extremely skinny and underdeveloped.  I considered myself pretty enough, many of the other boys flirted with me and were awkward around me; but this other boy….I was drawn to him.  On a Saturday night he invited me over to his house for a movie night with a group of friends.  WOW!  I was so excited an all giddy to go, dad was okay with it…so I went.


I dressed cute.  I wore a jean-skirt, kind of mini but not too short, tank top with a button-up sleeveless shirt over it.  When dad dropped me off, he was to come back and get me at 11:00pm, no problem.  I thought I was one of the first to arrive.  Because it was only Jake and this other boy Jon.  We all sat in the den, drinking sodas and talking.  An hour went by and no one else showed up, I asked Jake where everyone else was, he said they all must have changed their minds or their stupid parents wouldn’t let them come over.  In my mind, okay no big deal, lets watch a movie.


Then he offered to give me a tour of his house. In my mind his parents were there, most likely in their room allowing the teenagers to chill together.  He took me to his bedroom, it was covered in posters of Depeche Mode and The Cure. He closed the door and walked straight up to me and started kissing me. My heart was fluttering and beating so fast. He sat me on his bed, kept kissing me and leaned me backwards to lay down. I don’t remember how long we were kissing for, I just remember the force.


In a flash he was sitting on me over my waist, hands above my head and wrists in his grasp.  With his free hand he shoved a sock in my mouth and then shoved my skirt up and ripped my panties off.  I tried so hard to straighten and squeeze my legs together, wiggling around.  I was just to small and had no ability to fight.  He kept saying, “Relax. This is what you wanted.  Just let it happen.”  I couldn’t scream, couldn’t say no and had to stop fighting it. It seemed like forever, but it was only like 10 minutes at most. I just don’t remember.


Then he got up and was buttoning his shorts. Told me to clean myself up and come out to the den when done.  My panties were ripped so I shoved them in my skirt pocket. I was shaking. Frantic and just wanted to go home.  This was all my fault, I should have never flirted with him, I should have not let him kiss me or sit me on the bed.  I put myself into that position.  It was like 10pm and if I had called my dad to come get me he would have asked me why along with 10 other questions. I went and sat down on the couch back in the den and watched the clock as if it were in slow motion get to 11pm.  Jake and Jon were sitting there talking like nothing had happened. Did Jon know what Jake did?


I was embarrassed and humiliated. I took complete ownership for what happened.  I lost my innocence and identity in one night.  Dad honked the horn and I’m pretty sure I ran out of that house.  Got home, took a bath and cried into the hand towel.  I told no one.


On Monday at school I created a facade of happiness and fun, had to pretend to be me.  I never spoke to Jake again. This is when I started to change for the worse and started to create an alternative identity.  No longer innocent.  Clearly not wanted by boys unless I’d have sex with them.  Insignificant AGAIN!

White Knuckling the Suck



Have you ever had to drive in a storm or situation that scared you so much, you grasped the steering wheel so tight your knuckles turned white?
After driving through a gnarly blizzard up the mountain to a church event, I realized how white my knuckles were. Which seriously surprised me, as I have been driving for a few decades in this type of weather. In fact, I am an excellent driver in snow and have a four-wheel drive. But this current situation caught me off guard and made me question…why?
To be honest with you, I’m afraid to die, it’s that simple. Not because I think I’m going to hell or hades, I have accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, I’ll be with Him. I just can’t bear the thought of leaving my toddler, my 21-year-old nor my husband. I know in heaven I will be forever happy spending eternity with my one true Father. My fear-is how will my family survive without me? Not because I’m a perfect being and the be all end all, but it’s how I’d feel losing any of them.
My little guy, Calvin, would be lost without me. I am his everything. I can’t pee alone EVER, because he fears losing me. If I am out and about for more than five hours, he’ll be glued to me for 2 days straight.
I also have agoraphobia, I fear going places. I fear running into the stalker, the DV nightmare or being at the right place at the wrong time; like the Aurora Theatre massacre.
“What if” scenarios can play out in my head ALL day. I have no control over them at times. I simply panic and that panic takes over me and paralyzes me.
I’ve recently been white knuckling everything in front of me. Such as the drive up the mountain, leaving my little guy for a couple of nights for the first time, going to an event with well over 500 people and stepping up and “going first”. Paralyzing fear which results in and pounding heart, increased heart rate, sweating, shortness of breath, rapid breathing, abdominal pain, tears, confusion and thirst.
This white knuckling is not to be confused with nor compared to “white knuckling addiction”. THAT is a whole other topic of blogging I will get to. That type of white knuckling will get you into trouble one way or another.
White knuckling the suck is courageous, heroic, adventuresome and horrifying. It’s taking on your fear, giving fear the middle finger and turning your back on it. However, know that after being so extremely brave, you might transgress a bit. The shock of your courage might keep you hulled up for a bit afterwards, DO NOT LET THAT UPSET YOU!
My psychologist gave me a tip recently on when my panic or anxiety steps up to the plate to jack with me. I have a 5×5 box with a lid, little note pad and pen; whenever I have to or want to go somewhere, yet fear is trying to stop me I write my fear down. Then I put it in the box put the lid on it and say to it “I’ll deal with you later”. Simple. It’s not the perfect antidote and doesn’t always work, but it’s helped me through small steps.
Each small step I take is celebrated. I shake in my shoes afterwards, trembling a bit. Yet I bring myself back and this huge accomplishment, even if it was to simply walk down the front walk to the mailbox.
This “suck” is growth, don’t minimize you’re accomplishment. Be proud of yourself, stop shaming or doubting yourself. Sometimes just getting out of my bed is a huge accomplishment.


We CPTSD-ers are a continuous work in progress, we are forever unique; even if we feel like lipstick on a pig.