Back in 1986, Corey Hart gave birth to this beautiful song, “Goin’ Home,” via one of my favorite albums of all time, “Fields Of Fire“! Little did I know that thirty-nine years later, its embers would remain quietly flickering in the deepest chambers of my heart.
MEANWHILE …
To My Kids:
This is me “standing at the divide”—better known as “the post office of my life”—not so silently praying, if not begging, for you all to take up permanent residency in YOURSELVES:
“When the seasons change and we’re in for colder weather I won’t let you down when the seasons change. I won’t go down. I’ll fight through the pain. I’ll be there right by your side. I’ll never let them bring you down when the seasons change.”
This Diary entry is being written and backdated to this official release date of “Battlefield 1942” to memorialize the planting of one of the most important seeds to take root in our family’s tree … the “officially unofficial but also very official” establishment of “Embach Armory” (23 years from today).
On this day ten years ago, Three Days Grace released what has become, for me, one of the most bittersweet requiems—and landslides—of all the “mother guilt” I’ve carried in the wake of not just my own shattered childhood, but even more so my children’s. And then there was that moment a couple of years ago when I found her college entrance essay buried in my desktop downloads. I wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry as I read it. I ended up doing both, because …
I’ve often wondered if my life is just a bunch of pages in a comic book. It seemed that since the beginning, I was thrown as many adversities as my author could think of so I could become a character just like my in dad’s dusty old comic books that I would flip through under the covers when I was supposed to be asleep.I was born in the middle of a nasty divorce, and my teenage brother took up caring for me since my parents would be too busy fighting to notice either of us. I wanted to make things easier for the people around me, so I learned how to be independent and resourceful, and I was instilled with a personal goal to strive for excellence. The rest of my life has been met with similar misfortunes. Bullying and social ostracization, poor choices of friends and boyfriends, and finally, the abrupt death of my stepfather, who had raised me and despite the lack of shared blood took up the yoke of being my dad for 11 years. In the end, I had no friends, a dead parent, and a list of diagnoses of disorders that reads like a master list. The last thing I want is pity. That’s not why I say this. The reason I say all of this is because despite the years of bitterness and pain I felt being in my “comic book”, and the many times I wanted to give up completely, I have grown to love everything that has happened to me. Why? Because I know that if it wasn’t for all I had to endure, I wouldn’t be a fraction of the woman I am today. Because throughout everything, I made the decision to make sure my backstory would make me like Batman, not Joker. Every cruel word and deed taught me that the people who are hurting the most can cause the most hurt, and that I needed to be kind and patient – take them with a grain of salt because the last thing they needed was cruelty back. My anxiety forced me to become sure of myself so I could meet my own expectations for myself, and to learn how to move outside my comfort zone to succeed and connect with others the way I want. My ADHD and OCD gave me an incredible love for challenges. Yes, it is more difficult for me than others to do basic things, but in the end, I learned that I could turn the things that hinder me into my superpowers. My ADHD allows me to devote myself completely to my passions and always remain excited and looking for the next thing I can do to improve and gives me this unquenchable thirst to learn more and do more. My OCD gave me the strength to always strive to do my absolute best, while also forcing me to learn how to be gracious with myself when I make mistakes, as mistakes are just lessons that teach me how to improve and do better. My PTSD made me both gentle and tough. I gained more empathy and became incredibly resilient. It gave me a fierce desire to protect and support those who had no one else to support them, because if I had to suffer so that others might not, then I’m happy to show my scars with a smile. It made me love harder and care more, about others and about myself. I’m in no way perfect. I have my kryptonite like everyone else. But I am a fighter. I know that I can face whatever comes my way, and I am proud to say that I have grown into my own superhero. I just hope that someday, my “comic book story” will give some kid just like me the hope to keep fighting and become their own superhero, too.
… and so, with that, to my beautiful battle-born phoenix of a risen angel daughter: Only God knows when you’ll finally begin digging into the entirety of this virtual love letter I’m writing to you, your brother, and all of yours. And though I’ve appreciated you reading the entries I’ve asked you to thus far, I know it’s not quite time for you to sit down with “all of it.”
For now, just know that I’m so beyond proud of you, and there aren’t enough words in my soul to atone for—or account for—the many apologies I owe you for everything I missed while I was physically “there” with you, yet often nowhere in sight. Late at night, I couldn’t hear you crying. I suppose I was too busy crying myself to sleep while all the love around us was dying. How did you stay so strong? How did you hide it all for so long? Why couldn’t I take the pain away? Oh, that’s right. I was too busy free-falling in the dark for my own protection, trying to convince myself I’d be okay. Still, I have so many questions.
That was then.
This is NOW!
Maybe the truth is this:
Sometimes we change because something finally opens our mind. Sometimes we change because something finally breaks our heart. And sometimes, it takes both.
~ The Real Cat Williamson
Daughter, I am here to tell you, your brother, and anyone else who ever reads this that I am doing my very best to change for both those reasons. For now, I’M HERE, baby girl. I “hear” you and I “see” you.I’ll be right beside you if you ever go through hell and back again, no matter how close or far away I may be. And you will never close your eyes and fall alone in the dark. I love you, RISEN angel.
Cat, you need to think about putting yourself back out there and maybe even getting into the dating pool. Have you thought about any of the apps?
🤮
Yes, many versions of this ‘lil nuggie of a conversation have happened since losing Zack. Really, people? The thing about that whole situation is that NO ONE gets to pick my poison again but ME!
Lol! It’s been six years since I’ve either spent time or had meaningful conversations with any men but my sons, close family and friends, the “Flyboy“, my dog, my squirrel, and a grand total of THREE males of the species I’ve somewhat consistently communicated with virtually and LIGHTLY, including a rock star, Santa Claus, and a surfer boy, NONE of whom have EVER said any weird, gross, or inappropriate shit to me, or worse yet, prompted a conversation with a “🍆, 😍, or 💐”! 🤮 So, “putting myself back out there”? Yah, NOPE! I’m all set here in MY own little world with no more bloodied knives in my foreseeable future and just “my people”, my cats, my birds, and my squirrels!
And so, with that, no, I don’t EVER see myself settling down again or reaching for “the one that needs”. Actually? Now that I think of it, I finally am “settled down” for the first time in all my life with absolutely no one to answer to but me, myself, and God, and nowhere to be unless I wanna be there. I’m in my “selfish phase”, people, and yes, it’s highly addictive! Besides … my dreams are all in color now, and though I’m “alone“, nope, I’m never lonely, ’cause me, myself, and ME kinda love running through all these shadows on our own. I guess what I’m REALLY trying to say is that I have nothing to sell to anyone anymore unless and until I decide to open for biz again!
By the way, for those of you who wanna be in the know, Trapt released this song I’ve been listening to over and over and over again twenty years ago today, with the release of their “Someone in Control” album!
Where were YOU at “8:46am” on Tuesday, September 11, 2001? I was standing in my then 9 year old son’s room watching the news, folding laundry, and literally glued to the screen. When the South Tower was hit, I vividly remember clenching the bath towel that was in my hand, pressing it to my chest, holding on to it for dear life, and being paralyzed by an adrenaline dump that at the time l’d only ever felt once before, which was at the moment I realized I was about to be raped in a parking garage in downtown Dallas on March 5, 1992. I couldn’t stop staring at the TV and was physically sick and numb. A few minutes later, my ex-husband called me:
Catherine! America is under attack! Get in the car and pull Christian out of school NOW!
AND I DID! I sped to his school in sheer panic and daze in nothing but my pajamas and a bathrobe only to be met by countless other parents (many of whom were also in pajamas and bathrobes) standing in line at the door in tears. Christian was attending Canyon Creek Christian Academy in Richardson, Texas, at the time which was just a few blocks away from The Islamic Association of North Texas that unfortunately and WRONGFULLY experienced immense backlash from the attacks that I wholeheartedly believe were an inside job and not the international terrorism the powers that were and accompanying media outlets so vehemently wanted us all to believe.
How little did I know on that day that I would henceforth become all too familiar with that very same “paralyzing adrenaline dump” with each of the life, psyche, and neurologically altering traumas I’d then go on to experience MANY times after that day … not the least of which was yesterday as I was glued to the screen once again at the moment Charlie Kirk was pronounced dead. By the way? Guess what I was doing at the exact moment I heard the words, “We have breaking news for you. Charlie Kirk has been pronounced dead”?
I WAS FOLDING BATH TOWELS!
For those of you reading this who weren’t yet born when “September 11th” became our new reality, it is my most sincere hope prayer that you’ve since educated yourself about what REALLY happened that day. Also? I just wish so badly you “kids” could have known what it was like to live in THAT America … where we were still “ONE Nation under God” and relatively free from harm in our own homes and public places. I’m haunted by the ghost of her and miss her terribly.
My heart is literally shattered today, not just for Charlie Kirk’s family, but for our country. This is NOT “what America means to me”! Even so, I find no irony in the fact that his assassination will most assuredly be another call to arms and “Turning Point” for our very sick and broken country, not unlike the FIRST shot heard ’round the world on April 19, 1775.
On the other hand, I’m gleefully aware of the hardcore FACT that although they tried to silence him, what happened today will, indeed, carry his voice and wisdom through the ages. My grandkids and their grandkids and maybe even their grandkids will know who he was, what he said, and what he stood for. Lol. Imagine being so abysmally uneducated, illiterate, and completely void of any ability to “speak your truth” intelligently, face to face, mouth to mouth, and without the use of violence, gunfire, or your own personal guerrilla warfare tactics? So, good job to the actual idiot savant who assassinated him today. Guess what, moron? In your attempt to silence a movement of truth, Light, and factual objectivity as regards the whole of humanity, you ended up lighting the fuse of a never-ending, ever-burning cord!
Rest in peace, Mr. Kirk. You lived your life as a true Lion and fierce leader of your pride of patriots and Christians alike with courage, compassion, honesty, loyalty, and conviction for this land you loved so very much. Your legacy will live on throughout our American history as one of the brightest, most faithful, and heroic beacons on our often dark and sordid pages. Well done, my friend. Well done.
Through it all, though, I can honestly say that while there was once a time in my life when I truly didn’t know when the pain was gonna stop, I just kept working on it, all the while never knowing when the floor was gonna drop again. I stepped gently … softly … carefully.
At so many points, and even still sometimes on a day like this, managing all these emotions has just felt like putting up sails in a storm, and the many efforts I’ve made keep toppling me over. And while it’s true that all the ways I once used to cope only made me feel worse, those days are long gone. God? How do I maintain all this control? In the hardest of times, I just stay in my body … see through my own eyes … feel my beating heart … and breathe. Breathe. BREATHE!
Maybe what happened six years ago this night was always meant for me. Maybe tomorrow morning will be, too. Either way, I’ll remain steadfast in my role … my control … the only thing I ever really need to do is just … breathe.
When the nights grew cold but our blood ran warm and everything we’d touched just seemed to melt away and leave us alone, no one understood the noises in our head but US. Such a simple melody playing over and over again. But why would we wanna blend in when we are drenched in gold? Never far, never out of reach, the embers in the dark lay quiet … burning just beneath. Isolated … complicated … we found a way to make it out alive (and not feel so alone)!
These days, when I look at you, I see that you’re just like me … a misfit runaway with gold plating underneath. I love you, Gia, and literally couldn’t be any prouder to call you “daughter” if I tried.
Guess who just turned THREE today? If you said, “It’s AfterLife by Five Finger Death Punch!” then DING DING DING DING DING! You won a prize! Let’s face it, though—that prolly didn’t happen, since not everyone’s an off-their-rockerknucklehead like me!
Meanwhile, let’s talk about it! The “afterlife,” that is! To begin, let’s take a look at guitarist Zoltan Bathory’s interpretation of this BANGER:
In his track-by-track commentary for Apple Music, Bathory reads “AfterLife” as a call to use our free will and take action in the life we have, rather than waiting for a higher power to intervene. He makes clear that this is his interpretation of Ivan Moody’s lyrics.
You’d cut your nose off just to spite your fuckin’ face! That’s who you are! You know your place! You let them lead you by the throat with broken hands! So, how’s the view beneath their shoe (and what’s your plan)? It goes on and on and on and on and on (an old broken record stuck on the same song)! It goes on and on and on and on and on (we all know it’s wrong, but we’re singing along)!
NO! No, I DON’T! No, I don’t wanna wait for Heaven to change me! No, I don’t wanna have to wait for the fall! No, I don’t wanna wait for Heaven to change things! I don’t wanna wait to fall on the knife! I don’t wanna wait! I DON’T WANNA WAIT! Forever after … this disaster … BRING THE AFTERLIFE!
“Is this the place that we called home to find what we’ve become? Walking along the path unknown … we’ve lived, we’ve loved, we’ve LIED! Deep in the dark … we didn’t think we “needed” The Light … or that the ghost inside us belonged to the other side.”
(Words adapted from Bad Omens’ “Specter”)
Looking back, it literally blows my FUCKING mind how many heaping piles of toxic, twisted, and dysfunctional behavior I was surrounded by—ironically, most often in the very places I was forced not just to believe, but to tell other people were “safe and loving homes.” I was expected to perpetuate those disgusting “FAUXrytales” because the powers that were my life demanded it under the threat of: “What would people think if they knew the truth?” For years, I choked on silence and secrets amid the ABUSE, CHAOS and VIOLENCE that wasmy childhood—and that still reaches into my adulthood—all to protect the image of the PERFECT family “behind the gates”!
And so, with that … YES! Yes, I AM the angry daughter … ever the work in progress … and I’ll STAY this angry until MY daughter has finally moved THROUGH all the anger she inherited from both me and the generations before. She’s wielding it like a torch through her own haunted spaces … just like her momma … so that someday HER daughter (who I carried within MY womb, by the way) won’t ever have to stay angry for longer than is necessary to keep the specter of herself at bay … unless, of course, like me, she decides to pull out its little diamond-studded leash and walk proudly with it like a wild and beautiful BEAST with MY fire in her eyes and resilience coursing through her veins!
In my opinion, the very first thing you should do before passing judgment or deciding how to respond when anyone betrays you (and trust me, it WILL happen to even the best of us at least once in life) is follow my “Peter v. Judas For The Dummies” system:
They BOTH betrayed Jesus … BUT … Peter’s story is an example of how forgiveness and grace can be shown when there is true remorse and a resulting change in behavior. It reminds me that even after serious mistakes, GENUINE repentance and a TRUE desire for forgiveness can open the door to restoration.
So, who are the Peters or Judases in YOUR life? More importantly, who have you been to others? Peter … or Judas? I can admit that I’ve been both at different points in my journey, but thankfully I’ve grown past my Judas-y, “poor ‘lil victim” days gone by. Accountability is one of the best things I have for breakfast these days (even when it hurts to swallow).
Many people consider a rainy day to be a bad weather day. Therefore, for anyone to think otherwise, that person must view the world from a unique perspective. There are many kinds of people in this world, and each has unusual habits and characteristics. That uniqueness is what makes pluviophiles different from the rest of the population. While some people love The Sun and enjoy being outdoors, others would rather stay inside where it’s cool and dry. These people are called pluviophiles, and they thrive in rain and storms.
July 29, 2025, a.k.a. “Rain Day”! Who woulda ever thunk there’d be a day made just for me and all the other Jean-Claude Van DAMN storm-cloud-loving weirdos out there? It took me a minute to figure out why I love this kind of weather so much, but I finally did, and it was amazing!
… and BY the way! Did you know that around 234–232 million years ago, during the Late Triassic, Earth experienced an extraordinary wet interval known as the “Carnian Pluvial Event”? Over roughly one to two million years, repeated phases of increased rainfall helped reshape ecosystems. That upheaval may have helped pave the way for early dinosaurs and other organisms to diversify and thrive.
Meaning? To me, even our beautiful Mother EARTH has a phoenix story—life rising from the mud, grit, and “ashes” of upheaval! Pretty cool stuff, huh?
So, the name Ozzy Osbourne is a name I have known my entire life. Me dad and me grandad first started playing me Sabbath when I was young. Ozzy is the definition of a rock and roll star. Fact. Underline it. He represents defiance to a world of regulation and normality.
He taught me that it’s okay to be mental … he taught me that it’s okay to be crazy. It’s okay to be an outsider … it’s alright to be different. Nah, fuck that, man … it’s BRILLIANT to be different.
His music, his attitude, is something that genuinely shaped me. It fookin’ did. Like, he was there when nobody else was. When everyone was like, ‘this kid’s a bit too mental … this kid’s a bit too out there.’ Fook it … Ozzy was there, man, for me and millions of kids and fookin’ all of ya.
A lot of people say ‘don’t meet your heroes’, but when I asked something of him as a man, not just as a rock star, he turned up for me. He was there when he didn’t need to be. He gave me half of his fookin’ salami sandwich and a ginger beer and the cross I’m wearing around my neck tonight which is something I’ll treasure forever.
He told me NEVER apologise for anything … people will understand you later, and I’ll never forget that moment, ’cause that’s all I fookin’ needed no matter what—like a proper rock and roll star saying that to me.
Have you ever heard me talk about Ozzy Osbourne? Nope. Was he one of my favorite rock stars? Yup.
But not for the reasons you may think. Oh, don’t get me wrong, folks! I’ve been a fan of his music all the way back to his Black Sabbath days, and there are quite a few of his songs I listen to on repeat.
So? Since we’re just shy of a month away from the sixth anniversary of his death, let’s do some math. 52 times 6? Yup. I’ve probably listened to it more than 300 times now!
Gene Simmons remembered Ozzy’s warmth, nonjudgmental spirit, and originality:
Can you even imagine having such epic and powerful words spoken about you in life, much less in death and your “ever after” legacy? If only I could be lucky enough one day to have even a single person say such beautiful words about me!
So, here’s to me thinking about working a little harder on my “nonjudgmental” piece of it all, ’cause EFF my often sanctimonious and judgmental, err, “Virgo-ness”!
Meanwhile, perhaps one of my favorite “humanities” about our now immortalized Prince Of Darkness is how he set the standard for all the rest of the freaks out here like me who simply cannot march to any cadence but our own.
Simply said? Ozzy made it seem almost normal to be the Jean-Claude Van DAMN effing mental freak of the worldoddball I’m so “Ozzily” proud to be!
If only there were a way to get Merriam-Webster to just use a picture of him for the word “immortal,” oh, what a beautiful thing it would be! There are literally no descriptive words necessary that way.
Does anyone know who we can call to make this happen? I’m not EVEN joking! Dare I say that all of us oldies but goodies who were given carte blanche by this man to reign PROUDLY and HAPPILY either out loud or in the little private bat cages of our minds had BEST be telling our grandkids all “aBAT” how he set us free!
In the meantime …
Rest in peace, Mate! Here’s hoping you’re flying as free as the inner bat in all of us who came after you—just a flap, flap, FLAPPIN’ our crazy little wings (and wearing black clothes and winter caps in the middle of a 666-degree Texas summer). As for me? I shall heretofore only ever refer to you as the Prince Of Dark AND Lightness!
I find it no coincidence that on this day exactly 22 years ago, not only was the love of her life and my Number Five child (in order of arrival in my atmosphere) born, so too was the BAND of her lifetime, “Three Days Grace“! With that, and in keeping with the epic love story they’re already writing, I’ll just drop the words to her “soul song” … “Life Starts Now”:
Dear Daughter,
You used to say that you felt so down every time I turned around, and you’ve said you should’ve been gone by now. You used to think that everything was wrong, would often ask me how to carry on. Still, we’ve both made it through so many dark days and just … held … on! But LIFE STARTS NOW! You’ve done all the things that could kill you somehow, and you’re so far down, but you will survive it somehow … because life starts now. I’ve hated it every time I watched you fall down, then tried the best I could to pick you back up off the ground. I watched the weight of your world come down too many times to count. Now it’s your chance to move on and change the way that you’ve lived for so long. You’ve found the strength you had inside all along … and LIFE STARTS NOW! All of that pain? Take this life with that boy God blessed you with on the same day this band of your lifetime was born and make it yours! I love you, Daughter! And I love you, too, Number Five! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I thank God every day that you showed up in all our lives not just in “this time”, but twenty two years ago! What are the chances that two of her FAVORITE things would be born on the same day? IT WAS WRITTEN IN THE STARS!
This one, however, is now—and has always been—so moving and powerful to me that I’ve yet to find the proper words to honor it. And I know I’m not alone in that. It’s one of the most difficult songs for me to hear because it buries me in feelings so deep beneath my skin that I can’t make it through the first three seconds without literally “landsliding.” Now that I think of it, it’s one of my “go-tos” for those days when I just need to check my own pulse or make myself shedtears that need to be shed.
But guess who else was born twenty years ago today at the exact moment this entry is being published—4:29 p.m.? My firestorm of a muse daughter, who has long reminded me of Stevie with her wildflower gypsy heart and wise-beyond-her-years soul. So, what better way to honor them both? Still, how exactly do I bring together this song and the triumph that is my masterpiece on this day that ends both our journeys through “the teenage years”?
As far as I’m concerned, the true purpose of art in every form—and of the artists who create it—is to embody the fact that God is always here with us in all things, big and small. Whether we or even the artists themselves are aware of it, art can pull us through our faith journey by all but begging us to seek and find Him hidden in this masterful, complex, collaborative Creation He paints across the canvas of our souls.
Case in point: Michelangelo’s “The Creation of Adam,” part of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. God reaches toward Adam, while Adam’s hand is more relaxed, his finger slightly bent. Their fingers almost touch. To me, that small space holds something enormous: an invitation to reach back.
While studying this painting in college, I recall reading that the tiny gap between their fingers might have been intended to embody our “free will.” We can’t know with certainty that this was Michelangelo’s intention, but that interpretation has stayed with me. I see God reaching toward humanity with His love and divine energy, while we must actively choose to reach back.
In short? God’s love and presence are always patiently waiting nearby, but the connection requires that we choose it. And such is the story of the human parent-child journey as well, my friends. There comes a time for us to really cut the cords, hold on loosely, and just let them go on and fly. If we’ve done our job well, they’ll always come back to us. If not, pray God we find the error in any of our ways that caused them to run away and never look back—and, even more so, that we’re offered the grace of an opportunity to make things right.
Now then, back to “Landslide” …
Stevie has described writing it at a vulnerable crossroads, unsure whether to keep pursuing music with Lindsey Buckingham. I hear it as a conversation she had with herself while looking out at the mountains in Aspen, which I, of all people, can appreciate as an avid “talk and sing love songs to yourself” kinda girl.
Her bittersweet take on navigating uncertainty through ever-changing and fleeting times—and her fear of how quickly things can come crashing down around us—is a gentle yet haunting reminder that the best any of us can do is savor every last drop of love like it’s the last we’ll ever taste, remain prepared for change when it’s time to let some seasons go, and continually search for ways to fortify ourselves with the resilience it takes to survive here.
And so, with that, I say THIS to not just my baby girl on her 20th birthday, but my son, their future spouses, AND my future grands:
No, I’m NOT afraid of changin’, though I’ve built my life around YOU. Time really has made me bolder as I’ve gotten older, and you’re getting older, too.
So, when you see my reflection in the mirror of your skies, don’t you DARE worry about all those landslides! You’re MY kids, you see, which means YOU GOT THIS, because just as the child in MY heart learned to rise above the many changing seasons of my life with the “Power + Grace” of a battle-born warrior forged from fire, so too will the children OF my heart! Now, go on and sail through those ocean tides and climb some mountains! But also? Don’t forget to stop back home ANY time you want.
Just because you’re heading off to build kingdoms and castles of your own now, it doesn’t mean you won’t ALWAYS have open doors and rooms here in mine!
I love you to The Moon and back! … Momma
A reflection inspired by Mary Oliver’s “In Blackwater Woods.”
When you don’t speak your truth, you tend to live a life in the shadows … a life of fear … a life of mediocrity.
Author unknown
Well, well, well! I bet you didn’t know there was such a thing as Tell the Truth Day, now, didja? July 7 is as good a day as any to practice saying what you mean. Stand up for yourself, my friend. Your voice deserves to be heard!
Always remember that sometimes the best thing to do is let your truth rip (as eloquently and diplomatically as possible, of course), then simply walk away. You don’t have to turn every honest conversation into an argument.
In my opinion, the best way to win an argument in the first place (IF, that is, your ego can handle it) is to educate yourself on the topic, listen, ask questions, and make YOUR points clearly. Once you’ve said what you came to say, consider DROPPING THE MIC and walking away quietly. After all, there’s no such thing as “two idiots arguing” if one of the idiots is smart enough to know when to fold.
Just sayin’! Wait! How did we get from truth-telling to “the art of war”? Hi, everyone! It’s me … CAT! Good luck out there, ya li’l truth bomber, you!
“Everyone gets lost sometimes. STAND UP! You may find it’s not as hard as you think, ’cause no one is born the King Of Silence! So, choose your voice! Just speak up … don’t back down … don’t wear that crown! LET YOUR VOICE SCREAM OUT! Be true to who you are! Sometimes in this life, the world may not be with you. Sometimes you must fight yourself with your fear behind you. You can’t feel on top of the world with the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
But, alas! There is NOTHING to fear in the wake of the deafening silence that oft becomes our worst nightmare while waiting for the retribution we cry out for when we’ve been wronged or our name has been smeared.
FEAR NOT!
I mean, ALLS I’m saying is no, you do NOT have to defend yourself when people have done you dirty and inked out your story according to their narrative! Yah … NOPE!
God really is in every room, whether you believe it, like it, or not, and HIS signature at the end of that page is the only one that counts, sooo …
The plans for your defense were laid out perfectly ahead of time, so all you have to do is just sit back, shut your trap, hold your breath, watch, and WAIT! Meanwhile, don’t you think for even one second in that silly ‘lil head of yours that He doesn’t know exactly how it feels to endure mockery in silence.
I mean, HELLO? Have you seen “humanity” running all amuck down here mocking HIS name and Creation? Do you remember what they did to His Son? If anyone knows how hard it is to just “hurry up and wait” for justice to be served … IT’S HIM! So, yes, He knows how much it’s killing you to hold your tongue.
No one gets left behind—I PROMISE! So, if it feels like God is just too quiet for you right now, have some faith and be patient! He’s not done loading up His quill yet, and YES, He’s got your entire CLOCK (which is even better than just your six)! So says The Queen (who also just happens to be God’s FAVORITE daughter)!
It was June 6, 2008 on American Airlines Flight 438 from Nice to Dallas after chaperoning my son’s class trip abroad when he walked onto our plane, took the window seat in the empty row beside mine, and slid the cocktail napkin onto my tray …
Looks like you need to talk. I’m a good listener.
He’d just watched me trying not to fall apart listening to “The Real Life” for the first time in my life. Just hours before that Godforsaken (or was it GodSENT?) note appeared, I’d just shed my first layer with our Israeli tour guide, “Adoram,” the first of two innocent bystanders foolish enough to ask me, “What’s wrong?”
With them, I was just “speaking,” and they were listening. No judgement. No advice. Just two people I never thought I’d see again and felt “safe” to slit my wrists upon and verbally vomit what was then an entire lifetime of “secrets” that were killing me. If only they’d known what they were signing up for, right? I was like a really bad song on a radio they just couldn’t shut off — two unwilling soldiers in the war of me reconciling my own soul.
By the way …
YES, I was married when we met. NO, I never slept with him. (Although he’s one of the only men I have or will ever let really “hug” me.) YES, emotional affairs are cheating. YES, it was wrong. NO, I’m not ashamed of it. YES, I’d still send that “email heard round the world” and flip over the proverbial game table of my then “perfectly BULLSHIT” life! YES, I’m still very much in contact with “The Flyboy,” who still lives in Sweden, and YES, I very much do love him. We speak on the phone as often as we can, and I see him whenever he’s in Dallas for his pilot simulator training. YES, he loves me, too. YES, he’s going to see this because he’s been here reading The Diary and on my social media “hiding in PLANE sight” all the while. And so, with that …
Dear Flyboy,
Hi there, it’s me again! Thank you! Just THANK YOU! This REAL life I live now truly is so far away from the liar, liar, pants on fire fake one I used to, err, “live,” and I have God, Adoram, you, and that silly little napkin to blame for it!
It was January 1997 the first time I heard it. I was sitting in the first Bible study I’d ever attended, in a dear friend’s living room, after I’d finally met the REAL Jesus—the One I’d never really known beyond seeing the 30-foot-tall crucified version of Him hanging over the altar at my Catholic elementary school.
Sadly, this was during a very fragile time in my life, when I was still tortured by my abhorrent reflection in a mirror. I was only a couple of months removed from an unsuccessful attempt to end my own life on November 8, 1996, after a toxic entanglement with the second undiagnosed DSM-5 textbook malignant narcissist of my life—straight from literal Hell. The first, of course, was my “father,” whom, for the longest time, I correlated with God. So, of course, I was scared to actual death of Him AND about as far as a person could get from feeling truly “lovable” by anyone, much less myself. During that Bible study, the lights went down quietly so we could immerse ourselves in “the song of the night.” It was a moment that still gives me chills and reduces me to tears when I think about it, and I will never forget the first time I heard those MOST impeccably strung-together words:
These lonely hours like a fire refining, something that’s precious, something that’s shining. There in the darkness surrounded by coals, it’s starting to glow … and I think I see gold!
It was GOD singing those words to me that night. And although it would be almost two full decades before I finally came to terms with EXACTLY “what, who, when, and where” I am when I look into the glass, I eventually found the answer: “Nothing, Everything, ALL OF IT!” … fearfully, wonderfully, and IMPERFECTLY made in the image of the MOST magnificent Father any child could ever belong to.
The late French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, whose birthday is today, famously penned those words! As an existentialist, he rejected the idea of a fixed, universal “human nature,” while recognizing a shared “human condition.” He also emphasized individual freedom and the responsibility we carry for our choices, our actions, and the people we become.
I couldn’t agree with him more! I mean, HELLO? And have you READ all the things I’ve written about “mother THINGS” that (not “who”) torture, abuse, or abandon their own babies, or “people THINGS” that abuse animals? Have you heard any of my rantings about women who bash on men?
So? What is existentialism, anyway, Cat, and why are you tryina shove all this philosophy crap down our throats?
(… said no one to me EVER!)
Existentialism is a philosophy concerned with human existence, freedom, and the responsibility we carry for our choices. In Sartre’s atheistic version, people create meaning and values rather than receiving them from a higher power or religious authority. The broader tradition includes religious thinkers, too. While I don’t completely align with one specific philosophical mindset, I suppose I do align with some of this.
As far as I’m concerned, “total freedom” is awesome, but it comes with complete and total responsibility. And I am heretofore assuming all responsibility for the fact that, frankly speaking, some of you may have missed this memo: Un … Know … ME!
(… not that anyone really does or ever will!) Bye, everyone—it’s me, CAT!
On this day in 2018, humanity lost a magical soul. Her name was Koko the gorilla:
Koko was no ordinary gorilla, she was hand-raised by Dr. Francine “Penny” Patterson, who soon realized that Koko was destined to be extraordinary. Trained in American Sign Language from a young age, Koko learned to communicate with her human caretakers in ways no other gorilla had before. Her vocabulary eventually grew to over 1,000 signs, and she understood more than 2,000 words of spoken English. Through this unique ability, Koko opened a window into the mind of another species, showing the world that gorillas could express emotions, desires, and even humor. She was a creature of deep emotions and profound connections. She loved cats, adopting several over her lifetime, and treated them with the same care and affection one might expect from a human parent. Her bond with her caregivers was unmistakable, filled with moments of tenderness, laughter, and even sorrow. Yet, it was Koko’s final message to the world that left everyone in surprised. In her later years, Koko began to express concerns about the state of the Earth. Using her signs, she spoke of nature, urging humans to “protect Earth”. This message, coming from a gorilla, was not just surprising-it was haunting. Many believe that Koko had a unique understanding of the fragile balance between humanity and the natural world, a balance she implored us to preserve. There are those who think Koko’s words were not her own, but rather a scripted message she was trained to deliver.
A little context for the clip often called Koko’s “last message”: The Gorilla Foundation explains that it was a conservation PSA created for the 2015 Paris climate conference, using a script and footage edited from several sessions. It wasn’t a spontaneous farewell. That context matters, and so does the love her story stirred in me.
The first time I saw this clip on social media, over a year ago, it was set to that song I love to hate the most, “In This Shirt“. I wanted to share the conservation clip with its original audio, so I’ve included it above. I dropped the song here below in The Diary again in her honor. If any soul that’s ever graced this planet is deserving of such a bittersweet ballad to break our own souls in half as much as her story moved mine, it’s Koko. Without ever having said a single word, she spoke with such beautiful conviction of her heart.
Long story short? I don’t think anyone really knows how fucking CRUEL the world can be until you’ve had to grow up and protect your children from your own “family”.
If YOU are one of us who is fighting desperately to change your family’s legacy, I’m truly sorry that you’re having to spend your adulthood fixing things you didn’t break so that your children can have a better future. “The battle that lies within you” is not for the faint of heart, and I FEEL YOU! Stay strong. Keep the faith. RISE ABOVE! Oh, and by the way, “malignant parent” who is reading this right now, always remember that how your kids treat you when they no longer need you is a direct reflection of how you treated them when they needed you to survive.
I have long believed that the truth of just about anything can be found in all the questions you aren’t allowed to ask. A more sobering truth, however, is that often the person refusing to allow “the questions” we so desperately need answers to is the one we face in the mirror. With that being said, I cannot encourage anyone who’s searching for the reasons they’re sinking to the abyss strongly enough to do that most important work of all, which is to sit with yourself in solitude and have what just may be the most important conversation of your life.
‘Who, what, when, and where do I need to let go of so that I can finally learn to breathe again?’
Oh, don’t you worry, though, dear readers! I got this, bitches! I PROMISE! At least I’m brave enough to say it out loud:
I … am NOT … okay!
Well, at least I’m 77% sure I’m not okay … BUT … I will be, ’cause Imma cat and cats ALWAYS land on their feet (even with a “buttered-side-up” piece of bread strapped to their back)!
Meanwhile, in rolling from “squares” to “circles,” I find it no coincidence that, despite the fact that it had been drafted, locked, and loaded well over seven months ago, THIS was my Diary entry this morning:
A year ago today, my son sent me another one of those cryptic “music thing” messages.
Talk about the absolutely beautiful trajectory of this wonky yet ever-so-FULL CIRCLE that both my children’s lives and mine are moving in! He was brave enough to tell me that he was not okay … now I’m brave enough to say that I, too, am not okay … which, believe it or not, is exactly why “imma be alright”! What doesn’t kill me will always make me stronger, ’cause I’m their momma, and my work here won’t be done until I can rest assured knowing they have all the tools and examples they will ever need to BE OKAY! Dear GOD, how I love my fucking life (and also all my birds and squirrels)! Goodnight, everyone! It’s me, CAT!
A year ago today, my son sent me another one of those cryptic “music thing” messages.
4,680.
THAT’S how many ’lil grey squares—weeks—you get IF you’re lucky enough to live to the ripe old age of 90. Now then …
The lyrics of “Where Will I Go” paint a vivid picture of Hopsin’s experiences as a child and the challenges he encountered. The song starts with a powerful hook, where Hopsin expresses his feelings of isolation and his desire to be understood. It’s evident that he has been feeling down, but nobody seems to know or understand his pain.
… meanwhile, here I stand firmly in the fire of others’ opinions – yet seduced by their prideful games no longer! Who da fuck do they think they are with the turns of their knives, slips of their tongues, and bitter, blind judgment juries of one? Lol! Keep on speaking your minds, but don’t waste too much time speaking them to me, because I AM MY OWN VOICE IN THE DARK – and to you, I pay NO mind at all! WOWSER! Now that was some cryptic Diary entry, right? Bye, everyone. It’s me, CAT!
“She’s somebody’s daughter. She’s somebody’s everything. She’s somebody’s little girl, even if she’s grown up and moved away. She’s somebody’s whole world. She’s somebody’s baby, and if you don’t treat her right, hers won’t be the only heart you’re breaking.”
Impeccable words, right? I’m the mother of a daughter, too, by the way, and you best believe that when her heart breaks, so does mine. I MADE IT! Meanwhile, can’t we, though? Just CAN’T WE? Can’t we PLEASE just normalize “singing” this song and its mantra in reverse:
“He’s somebody’s son. He’s somebody’s everything. He’s somebody’s little boy, even if he’s grown up and moved away. He’s somebody’s whole world. He’s somebody’s baby, and if you don’t treat him right, his won’t be the only heart you’re breaking.”
Remember … MEN HAVE FEELINGS, TOO! So, let’s just try being a little more mindful of this factually factual FACT! Now then, ladies — do me a favor and go hug the man in your life right now, please, or if the man in your life isn’t close by, just call or text him today and send him a little hug over the line. Just sayin’.
Empaths go through two transformations: naïve innocence and awakened strength. At first, they love without limits, driven by the need to please and the fear of abandonment- making them easy targets for narcissists and manipulators. This cycle continues until a breaking point, where deep betrayal or emotional abuse shatters them entirely. But destruction leads to transformation. They rebuild with boundaries, self-respect, and emotional intelligence. No longer naive, they become empowered empaths-kind, but intentional. Compassionate, but no longer exploitable. They don’t lose their empathy-they learn how to wield it.
(Author Unknown)
Hey! You! EMPATH! It’s “World Empathy Day” once again, so don’t you even worry about those chaos-filled bullshit buses today! Just get in your even BETTER bus, turn that bitch around so you’re squared up, grill to grill, with those people, places, and things that come to drain your tank, then honk your horn back at them as loud as you possibly can! In the meantime, be sure to be continually healing yourself:
👉🏼 Just … Say … NO!
Keep on learning and learning and learning this! Saying NO is Rule No. 1 for an empath! Beware of all that people-pleasing, ’cause you WILL be taken advantage of, so: “Umm, NO thanks!” with ZERO guilt should be your holy grail!
Being able to identify and validate your OWN needs is crucial for your continual rebooting! How do YOU feel? What do YOU think? What are YOUR limitations and deal-breakers? KNOW and PROTECT THEM! You CANNOT fill anyone else’s cup if yours is fuckin’ EMPTY!
👉🏼 DISENGAGE and DISCONNECT!
Power down and recharge your grid when the world at large has tapped you out! Is it selfish to shut everyone out? YUP! You BETCHA! It’s selfish, selfish, SELFish (and allowed)!
Okay, kids! So, what have we learned today? Being an empath is one of THE greatest blessings AND curses! “To whom much is given?” Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Now, who’s gonna GIVE back to YOU? TAG! Sometimes YOU’RE gonna have to be IT, my empath friend! So, grab those bus keys and DRIVE it! Or, take a nap in it. Just take care of YOU today!
“So, Cat, what’s your favorite love story of all times? Is it ‘Noah and Allie’? ‘Rhett and Scarlett’? ‘Jack and Rose’? ‘Rick and Ilsa’? ‘Yuri and Lara'”?
Well, I’ll tell you! Perhaps when some normalpeople are asked about their favorite love stories of all time, their answers might pull from the ranks and pages of some of the greatest historical literary or cinematic romances of all time, fictional as they may be, and sound a little something like this: “Noah and Allie“, “Rhett and Scarlett“, “Jack and Rose“, “Rick and Ilsa“, or “Yuri and Lara“.
Nope! Not me! For me, it’s “James and Margaret“! THEY are one of my favorite “power couples” of all time and proof positive that unconditional love between two truly connected souls is REAL! And THIS despite the fact that I’ve been blessed with a few true yet bittersweet “great love stories” of my own. Meanwhile, I couldn’t be any more thankful to “The Daily James” for bringing them into my atmosphere if I tried, especially in that these two crazy kids have been such a source of inspiration and joy for me in my “alone, but not lonely” widowhood these last few years.
Meanwhile, and as is par for the course with this Diary, it didn’t take me long to think of the perfect song to pair with this entry, albeit a 34-year-old blast from my hair-sprayed metal past! With that, let me just drop this ‘lil love note to The One who’s taught me the most about truly unconditional love over the course of our lifetime together:
When I look back on everything I’ve done, I know You must have cried a river of tears. But You were there when I was feeling low, to walk me through my darkest fears. So, when The Sun goes down and those nights grow colder, I know You’ll be there looking over my shoulder!
… and now a ‘lil love note to the four little birdies I love the most in this world whose “relationship goals” I often pray about on my literal hands and knees:
There may be times you’ll almost let each other go because you’ll think you need to just break free. But stay right thereand whisper to each other, “Why don’t you share your dreams with me?” When The Sun goes down and those nights are growing colder, please always just keep looking over each other’s shoulders! ‘Cause the deeper the love … the stronger the emotion! And the stronger the love … the deeper the devotion! In other words? BE LIKE JAMES AND MARGARET!
~ MOMMA!
[NOTE: Even my son is now fascinated with “love birds”! Ironically, he’d sent me this video of the power couple HE’S been following just minutes before I hopped onto Insta and saw the post about James & Margaret! So freaking cool!]
… and BY the way, if you think I didn’t just screenshot this pic and order a print so I can frame it and keep it in my home, you’re about as delulu as I prolly am for doing it!
While I’m not sure exactly why it’s so hard to let go of the anger after narcissistic abuse, much less abuse of ANY kind, what I do know, speaking from personal experience, is that I ALLOWED the “THING” that temporarily made me ITS little bitch to anger me longer than IT deserved to!As I’ve worked through, grown, and thrived in the wake of years of not just my lifelong HOOVERING narcissist’s damage report, but the damage inflicted upon me by my malignant narcissist “father“, it’s the stoic mindsets and principles that I’ve drawn strength from and adhered to the most. As such … NO MORE! No one gets to take up space in my head in ANY regard unless I fucking say so!
As for “Hoovery MacHooverson”, the “two grapes and a ‘lil cocktail pickle BOY dick in between ‘em”that’s been slithering after me like a Jean-Claude Van DAMN actual vacuum cleaner for going on 30 years now, my disdain for it avails itself in my head as comic relief at this point, NOT anger. It wasn’t ever really “my master.” I was just too weak, vulnerable, and uneducated at the time to realize that the power it once had over me was all MY doing, not its. NO ONE can pull your reins unless you ALLOW them to do so. Still, I gave it the power to believe it was “my master” long e-fucking-NOUGH!
I’m not gonna lie, folks, but if and when the day ever comes that I get news that it has finally kicked it and slithered on back to hell with its own kind, I’m going to laugh my FUCKING ass off. That’s awful, right? Yah, don’t worry. I’ll take my medicine for that flagrant disregard for “life apparent” when I meet my Maker. That being said, I’m just thinking there WILL be grace for not giving two FUCKS whether the spawn that walks among us lives, dies, or chokes on its own fucking vacuum cleaner dust.
Meanwhile … to any of you in narc abuse recovery right now, I say this:
WAKE UP AND TAKE BACK YOUR POWER! Haven’t those THINGS that tried to devour your soul had enough of you already? You deserve to RESERVE your “anger and retribution” for actual PEOPLE who matter enough in this world to own real estate in your heart. SPAWNED CREATURES FROM HELL DO NOT! You are SO much better than that! Rise above your anger for them and spend it on someONE whose lifeblood actually adds value to humanity … not THINGS that only subtract from it.Just sayin’!
By the way, here’s an EPIC song about breaking the chains that once held you captive and taking back your power. Hopefully Quora won’t delete it, because trust me when I tell ALL of you “angry narc victims” out there … it needs to be your fight song during recovery! BE PISSED … THEN LET IT GO!
Perhaps amongst the heaviest burdens in my life is the one that as an empath I feel compelled, if not psychologically hardwired to bear when it comes to all but SCREAMING to others I see carrying all the heavy stuff that they refuse to just PUT DOWN!
You can say it all fades away in time, but this grave is a ladder that I must climb! Since the day that you left, I can’t seem to move on. All the weight that I felt, will I sink ’til I’m gone? THE ANCHOR!
Look, I don’t know who needs to hear this right now, but truth being told, although the lifelong effects of grief in every form do tend to fade away in time … be it grief for the dead, the living, or all the tangible things a person can lose … just six feet beneath every grave is the first rung of a ladder that you must climb up before you can move on – BUT – you’ll never make it up that ladder and out of the endless amounts of burial plots we humans dig for ourselves unless and until you CHOOSE to let go of the chain that keeps you anchored to that unhallowed ground below.
Remember …
No weight of any kind can just jump into your hands, wrap itself around your neck, or straddle itself across your back. YOU have to agree to either pick it up or allow yourself to be burdened with it. Do you understand this? It is CRUCIAL to your human survival, mental wealth, and growth that you understand this!Make the choice to drop that anchor and unburden yourself!
I have long believed that the truth of just about anything can be found in all the questions you aren’t allowed to ask. A more sobering truth, however, is that often the person who is refusing to allow “the questions” we so desperately need the answers from is the one we face in the mirror. With that being said, I cannot encourage anyone who’s searching for the reasons they’re sinking to the abyss strongly enough to do that most important work of all, which is to sit with yourself in solitude and have what just may be the most important conversation of your life.
Who, what, when and where do I need to let go of so that I can finally learn to breathe again?
(ps)
IF I CAN DO IT, YOU CAN DO IT! Trust me – I’ve have had my share of burdens in my head, heart, and soul, but it wasn’t until I DECIDED to do the work, ask myself “the questions”, then drop all the weight that I finally started living freely and became my OWN “master“. No one else could have done it for me … not even God Himself! It’s called free will for a reason, people, and one will only ever be “anchor free” when they CHOOSE TO BE! Just sayin’.
Twenty five years ago today, Matchbox Twenty gave birth to this song via its Mad Season album release. Although I’ve always been a fan of both the band and this song, how little did I know back then that it become a permanent part of my playlist for an entire quarter of a century! If you’ve never heard of either the band or the song, I cannot recommend looking them both up highly enough. Meanwhile, the words have taken on an such a twisted and rebirthed life of their own in the years since I first heard them. Back then, I really did feel “hopeless, lost, stupid, broken, and undone“. [SEE ALSO: The the words in bold below:]
I feel stupid, but I know it won’t last for long. And I’ve been guessing, and I could have been guessing wrong. You don’t know me now. I kinda thought that you should somehow. Does that whole mad season gotcha down? And I feel stupid, but it’s something that comes and goes. And I’ve been changing. I think it’s funny how no one noticed. We don’t talk about the little things that we do without when that whole mad season comes around. So, why ya gotta stand there looking like the answer now? It seems to me you’ll come around! I need you now. Do you think you can cope? You figured me out … that I’m lost and I’m hopeless. I’m bleeding and broken, though I’ve never spoken. I’ve come undone in this mad season. I feel stupid, but I think I’ve been catching on. I feel ugly, but I know I still turn you on. You’ve grown colder now … torn apart, angry, turned around. What? That whole mad season knock you down? So, are you gonna stand there or are you gonna help me out? We need to be together now! I need you now. Do you think you can cope? You figured me out … that I’m lost and I’m hopeless. I’m bleeding and broken, though I’ve never spoken. I’ve come undone in this mad season. And now I’m crying, isn’t that what you want? And I’m trying to live my life on my own, but I won’t, no! At times I do believe I am strong. So, someone tell me why, why, why do I, I, I feel stupid … and I’ve come undone? Well, I come undone!
These days? The words to this song are amongst my top “songs of myself” mantras! I mean, don’t get me wrong … even as impossibly strong and “put together” (it sometimes only seems) that I’ve become, there are still many a days I wake up feeling stupid, but never “hopeless and undone”! As a matter of fact, dare I say that in true Matchbox Twenty style, happily staying “BENT” is a preferred and celebrated way of life for me! Carl Jung believed that true understanding of the sacred comes not from sanity, but from experiencing the depths of madness. I couldn’t agree more.
Welp! That’s all she wrote! Well, except for this ‘lil last minute nugget: As far as I’m concerned, there is literally nothing more attractive to me than an unabashedly authentic human soul speaking passionately about their passions … win, lose, or draw … with a glimmer of absolute insanity in their eyes!
For me, the train is headed to 78 Lookout Avenue in Johnston, Rhode Island, the place where I was born, at the home of my Uncle Norman and Auntie Connie, where pretty much all my “happiest childhood memories” still live. It was “the house with the slate floors and the little lawn jockey holding a lamp at the end of the driveway”! I can see it in my mind right now as if I’m pulling in for Easter dinner this second and can smell her cavattis in gravy as I’m walking over the threshold of the back kitchen door where we’d be greeted with THE biggest hug EVER from my Aunt. (“Gravy”, for all you NON goombahs reading this is what we Italians call that red, saucy stuff in jars some of you buy at the store to serve with pasta!)
They weren’t just my Godparents, but so much more than that, and it was their home where our entire family would typically gather for major events and milestones before it sadly all blew apart one sad day the summer of ’79. Their son, “My Cousin Norman,” lol, was and is still perhaps THE biggest KISS fan alive. Not only was his room—where my sister and I would often hang out when my Aunt was babysitting us—literally plastered wall to wall in KISS album covers and memorabilia, but down in the basement he’d built an actual KISS stage where he and his friends from the hood would dress up like Paul, Gene, Ace, and Peter and play concerts for all us cousins in the audience!
It’s been almost 15 years since the last time I went back to Providence when Zack and I were on our honeymoon, actually, but every single time I do go home, I always make sure to drive by their old house … and? I CRY MY FUCKING EYES OUT! You know me, right? I’m nothing if not a pile of nostalgia and emotions (topped with a heaping serving of F-BOMBS)! Good times! No. The BEST of times!
So, where’s the train dropping YOU? Tell me in the comments!
“But Cat, there’s a pretty good chance that all this crazy ‘God’ stuff isn’t real.”
But let me ask you this: WHAT IF IT IS? Are you really willing to hedge that big of a bet with your soul and have all your hopes and dreams just end in the heart of a graveyard?
“True freedom is understanding that some things just aren’t meant to be understood, because they’re NOT, and that having blind faith in all the things we can’t know isn’t as scary as it seems. Even if we’re wrong about the things we so deaf, dumb, and BLINDLY believe, we’re still ‘halfway right.’ As far as I’m concerned, ‘halfway right’ is still 50/50 odds, and I will gladly bet on it.”
As for me? Indeed, I’ve been called “crazy” by far too many people for far too many reasons to list. Lol. At this point, I all but embrace it! Being called “crazy” for not being afraid to die? I’ll wear that little badge with honor!
… ’cause at the end of the day, there is NO “unanswered” prayer. You just have to learn how to recognize the answers. I’m so beyond thankful for every one of mine … win, lose, OR draw … and even more thankful that I was forced … no, wait … that I “got” to learn how to “see” things truly blindly. If that isn’t reason enough for me to believe, then what am I even doing here? Bye everyone … it’s me … CAT!
One of the gifts I received from my sister yesterday was this stained-glass window ornament that says, “Happiness gives our hearts wings. Love sets them soaring.” Literally nothing could be further from the truth in this moment, because I feel like I could literally fly today with my “love wings”! If only every woman in this world could be so lucky. Bye everyone, it’s me, CAT!
