Farewell To My Mother

When I finally got to St. Croix, I told my brother I needed to go straight to the hospital. I needed to see my mother. I had practiced what my sisters and I thought would help her come back to us. I had rehearsed it in the plane, all the way from Chicago to Puerto Rico. I had so many things to tell her. I wanted my mother to hear how much we still needed her in our lives and we were not ready to let her go.

I wanted her to understand that we had truly forgiven her and accepted her apology for all the years of abuse; that through it all we understood that she loved us and we needed her love to keep us strong. I wanted my mother. I knew that I didn’t have control over the outcome but I was willing to do everything I could to bring her back to us.

We picked up my youngest brother and went to the hospital. As I walked into her room I was in shock. My insides was torn apart and I felt my heart cry but there were no tears, no sobs. Not one sound came from me.

Walking into that intensive care unit room and seeing my mother was the most horrific thing. The worst punishment you can give a human being. I would like to take you into that room with me.

Imagine yourself walking down the isle. The smell undeniable alerts you that this is a hospital. As you get closer to the room, you can hear the constant rhythmic beeping of the machines getting louder. Finally, you are standing right by the door. The first thing you see is all these machines and hoses which you follow as they lead you to the body of your loved one. Then you look at the person; your mother, who has been a special part of you. In fact, you were conceived in her womb and the walls of her insides kept you warm. You developed and got to know that in her, you were safe and loved.

You look at your mother but can hardly recognize the woman lying on that hospital bed. You knew every wrinkle on her face. You knew where every mole was located, especially the one on her ear which everybody thought was and earring. You knew what it looked like when she smile or how it felt when she looked at you but none of this was there.

Instead of the beauty she always was to you, this is what you see: Her eyes, they are rolled up, and the color? Off white, beige looking and some wet substance that looked liked mucous filled what was once a pair of beautiful big, dark, brown eyes. Her eyes were always filled with expression were now filled with an unfamiliar liquid.

Then you look at the rest of her face looking for something familiar that might reconnect you to this being and you noticed that her mouth was open. Her tongue was swollen, extremely dry, looking like a piece of old dried out beef, hanging out of her mouth. A tube pushed inside her mouth and her lips swollen beyond recognition.

Continue to look down, her chest is also swollen and bruised. Her skin was discolored with black and purple spots all over as though the blood was clogged up, not flowing through her veins. Her hands were motionless and stiff. Can you see her? Can you understand why I was in shock?

I touched my mother and I felt like my heart split in half. I held her left hand and it was cold, lifeless. I wanted her to hold my hand. But she didn't move. I wanted to feel her warmth but it was no more. I wanted my mother but she was gone. At that horrendous moment I wanted to die. I realized my mother was dead. I didn't care that some machine was beeping or that she was still plugged to all these tubes and hoses. She was dead.

Everything I wanted to say to her vanished. The moment I laid eyes on my mother, my thoughts went up in smoke together with any hope of seeing her alive again. I kept asking myself, "Who is this woman and where is my mother?" Where is the woman I knew who was filled with such fire, energy and strength? How can this possible be her?

I couldn’t cry for this woman. There was nothing in me to connect me to the person laying on this bed. Maybe I was in the wrong room; someone had to be mistaken because this was not the person I expected to see. It took me a while to get over how distorted she looked. I had to find something familiar that would create a bond to what was left of my mother; an empty shell that spoke nothing to me.

I remembered that the last thing we cried about together was her hip surgery so I lifted the sheets and examined the wound. It was so dry it looked like it had been done months ago and yet it had only been days. It was enough though. I remembered our last conversation and the prayer I prayed over her as she listened
on the phone.

This did not cause me a mayor reaction it helped me bring together my spirit to the essence of her life and to the reality of her condition. This was my mother, the way she was now. My sisters arrived and all together we decided to honor my mother's wishes not to be hooked up to machines. As it was, we had already allowed it to go on for too long according to her request. The doctor asked us to leave her room while the process took place so we waited outside in the corridor.

When she was ready, we went back into her room. Everything had been removed except the machine that monitored her vitals. Her chest raised and lowered as she breathe but it was more like there was a pump inside of her, pulling in air and blowing it out forcefully. This caused a wheezing sound to come out of her.

Little by little, the swelling began going down and she looked like she had lost more than fifty pounds compare to when I last saw her alive. Her pressure kept going down but very slowly. Her tongue went back to normal but it kept sticking out with each exhale, like when children mock each other. It was one of those things that happen and cause you to question how or why such things take place. Pay attention to the following story.

One day while still in Washington, she got upset with one of my sisters. She told her that if anything ever happened to her, she did not want my sister to show up; not at the hospital or the funeral. My sister then asked her, “if you are sick in bed or dead, who will stop me from coming there? They ended up laughing about it. Then my mother made a face –stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes- and said, “If you show up this is how I will greet you.

Well, when we saw the how her breathing made her tongue stick out, it reminded us about what she told my sister she would do. . It was weird but it caused us to laugh because my mother was a very stubborn woman and often had to have the last word.

With this happening, my youngest sister and I looked at our sister and just laughed. I asked her, “Do you remember how she said she would greet you?” She jumped off her chair and let out a screech and laughing she said, “She is terrible, even in death she has to have the last word. Funny how some things just line up unexpectedly, huh? This was a popular topic among us for a while and a source of joy to see that even though she was clinically dead, something in her created and occasion to remind us who she was in life.

I had been there from the time I got to the island, about a day and a half and needed to go home to rest. So, we asked family members and friends to stay in case there were any new developments and left that night wondering if we would get a call saying it was over. People stayed but they were out in the waiting room.

I couldn’t really sleep but I lost track of time because I was on the phone talking to people that were off island; calling to find out the status of her condition. I called the hospital that morning around six a.m. and they said the numbers (her vitals) had just began going down real fast. I woke my sisters and we drove to the hospital.

By the time we got there, her body was already still. Her chest was no longer swollen and her tongue was back in her mouth. My sisters touched her and caressed her head. I don’t know what they were thinking but I couldn’t take not getting a response to my touch. I watched my sisters as they cleansed her body with such care and I couldn’t even talk. I just contemplated them.

It is customary for family to show up at the hospital to the person dead. Humans are so funny, when you really need them, you could never find them. When you're no longer living, then they all show up as though it makes any difference to you. Anyway, my sisters combed her hair and fixed her up real pretty. Now that her body was not swollen, she almost looked like herself again. So, we called everyone to let them know that it was over. My mother was no more in the land of the living.

The doctor came in and pronounced her dead. He looked at us and said, "You do know that she is dead, right?" I guess he was surprised to see that no one was crying. We didn't even seem in pain for her death. We knew she was dead but we were not ready to face that reality. Not fully, not yet. If anything, to us she had died days ago while we were too far to run to her side.

The family came and saw the body. Some cried and wanted to see us cry but we were like stones; no expression in our faces but that of anger. This is not something we planned but we were all mad at something or at someone for my mother’s death. Even though we did not talk about it, I could see that my sisters and brothers were hurting and each one of us grieved quietly and separately in our own way. It was almost like it would not be real if we didn’t say it.

I cannot speak for my brothers and sisters and how they each felt at the time but I tried my best to be strong for them. I hugged them and comforted them without making a big issue of it. I allowed them their space and time to grief.

I dealt with it by writing my thoughts, expressing my anger and pain silently on paper because I felt betrayed by my mother. Of course, it was the easiest way I found to deal with the loss. It was too great to face it head on. We were supposed to die together like we had always wished for. No one was to leave the other behind to suffer. Yet, she betrayed our pact by leaving me behind to endure her absence. All my life, we spoke about death and how we didn't think we would ever be able to cope without the other.

For two long years, this became my reality. I knew not how to cope. I drowned deeper and deeper in the pain becoming severely depressed. I was lost but I couldn't find myself. There was no me, not without her. How could I function without what I thought was the best part of me? My very essence was missing; I was just like a shell, still alive but only carried by grief.

Every night I prayed and cried to God that I would dream my mother's face but not even the simplest request was happening for me. I needed her to comfort me if only in my dreams. I needed something to hold on to.
For an entire year, all I did was lay on a couch. Sometimes I ate, sometimes I didn't; sometimes I showered, sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I wanted to die and then other times, I must have been dead because I had no wants, no will. I didn't care for anything or anyone. I just wanted my mother back or I wanted to go be
with her. There were times when I remember curling up as if I was in the womb and crying myself to sleep; like a baby, I cried for my mommy. My only prayer was for God to allow me to see my mother at least one more time and I didn't care how or where. I begged for a chance to at least dream her.

My life did not make sense anymore because I felt so empty without her. I was clueless as to what my life would be like without my mother. I knew that she was in a better place, resting and free from sickness and disease. Free from strife, from anxiety and from the cares of the world. Still, this offered me no consolation.

I even tried thinking of my mother’s death as though she had gone on a long trip but that only complicated things because when something exciting or scary happened in the family, I would run to the phone to call her. Then I would realize that I didn’t have her new number and would fall deep and hard, regressing back to where I started.

It took me a while to get over the anger and the feeling of being betrayed. Once again, it all stems from wanting hat I perceived for myself and fighting against what was. I guarantee you, that is not the way to living a life filled with peace. I allowed myself to continue that rebellious path only to find my own demise.

I thank God for His mercies and for His patience. He stood by, waiting until I called on Him for help. He didn’t force Himself on me, he didn’t judge me and certainly, He didn’t condemn me. Unlike man, God sees beyond the pain and is willing to allow us the time and space to work through our issues while letting us know that He
will be there when we need Him.

Losing my mother was a great loss and a devastating blow; difficult to recover from but not impossible. After surviving this, I know that I can conquer all else. Not alone, but with God’s help because He is my only source.

Poem: “Without A Farewell”

I saw your lifeless body, tortured like.

What a confusion my soul felt when I saw you in such condition.

I thought my presence would awake you.

I tried talking but you didn't hear me,I called your name but you didn't answer.

I thought just maybe you were still there,

when I touched you and your body trembled.

How mistaken I was; it was but a muscle reflex.

My heart was shredded to pieces;
I felt the pain but couldn't cry.

Tears rushed to the corners of my eyes
But none ran down my cheeks.

A profound cry invaded me;
But with a tremor my heart was silenced.
I was afraid you would hear my cry.
I didn't want to break your heart.

I wanted to shout, I wanted to yell…
“Don’t leave me, come back, look into my eyes.

Wait for me, remember our promises.”

I wanted to feel your warmth;
The warmth of your lips and arms.

Your beautiful hands were cold and they didn't move;

They didn't interlace with mine

Your beautiful eyes no longer shined
They no longer expressed your emotions;

Love, sadness, tenderness in your eyes, were no more

All I wanted was to find the love in your eyes, one last time

But you were already long gone,
Without saying good-bye.

You closed your blessed eyes
Without giving me your blessing.

You left me without a good-bye,
Without a farewell
You left me desiring, that I too would die.

How Can I Forgive?

Matthew 18:21-22
Then Peter came to Him and said, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times? Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.

How can I forgive? This question haunted me for quite a time because I couldn’t understand why I should forgive people who hurt me deliberately and repeatedly and for such a long time. They made me miserable to the point of sickness and desiring death more than life but I was expected to just forgive.

Well, as a Christian, I wanted to obey God because I love God and I wanted to follow His laws. So, I went on my knees and confessed to God that I was forgiving my stepfather and I felt that it was over.

Now, his brother, that was another story. He didn’t deserve my forgiveness and I opted to totally ignore him and not even acknowledge him and I was satisfied and proud with my so called act of forgiveness.

Then the flashbacks came like floods bringing with it all the emotions and awful memories of the past and I would find myself back where I started, bitter and hurt.

I struggled with a duality in my character. One day I thought I had forgiven them all, then they would hurt me or if something went wrong and I would feel the same old hate/anger again. It’s obvious I didn’t understand the meaning of forgiveness.

To forgive is:
to stop being angry about or resenting somebody or somebody's behavior;
to excuse somebody for a mistake, wrongdoing, or inappropriate behavior;
to cancel an obligation such as a debt; to release, to let go.

Well, if that is forgiveness, I couldn’t forgive, not for real. I wanted to but I couldn’t find how to do it. Every time I tried, I was defeated by what kept pouring out of my heart. If I wanted to let go so bad, why was I holding on so strong?

I realized that I first needed to forgive myself in order to forgive another. My problem was that I was too comfortable being a victim. It was easier for me to seek to forgive those that hurt me than forgiving myself. The Bible explains that you have to love your neighbor, which includes those who hurt you, as you love yourself. Well, what happens when you don’t really love yourself? How can you love another? When you cannot forgive yourself, how can you forgive another?

I often hear people say that it is easier to forgive others than yourself. Although I understand what they mean by it, I don’t necessarily agree with them . In my opinion it is not easier to forgive another than forgiving yourself. Instead, it is acceptable in our minds, identifying what someone else has done to us and accuse them, to then forgive them rather than it is accepting and accusing ourselves. Therefore, we justify by thinking that forgiveness of others is easier.

I believe that is just the excuse we use to hold on to whatever it is that kept us connected to that hurt or person. That is the link that keeps us attached to that which became engraved in us and we refuse to let go of. Not because we don’t want to let go but because we have ownership and control over that thing and we feel the need to remain its master.

As humans, we don’t always rationalize things intelligently, especially when we are emotionally unstable. When our lives are involved in chaos, we don’t always feel capable of being in control of situations. So, we hold on to the thing we have mastered and often it is that which binds us to our past hurts because that has been our safety net for a long time.

We identify and relate well with our victimization because whether we want to accept it or not, it gives us some level of control. Have you ever been seriously hurt by someone and forgiven them only to feel righteous because you forgave them? Of course yes! Why? Because it gives you some kind of control over the situation and even over the person.

“I am the victim and even though you hurt me so badly, I forgive you.”
Can you read in between the lines of this sentence? Try breaking it down in your own words. So, what did you come up with? I tell you my version.

I am the victim: You should feel bad for picking on me. I deserve better treatment from you; you were unfair in your actions towards me. You don’t care about me and you don’t feel sorry for what I have been through. Can you not see the scars of my wounds, I am seriously hurt.

Even though your hurt me: You are a bad person. You are so guilty and deserve to be punished. You hurt me and did me wrong, really wrong… Because I am a better person than you, I am willing… You don’t deserve my forgiveness, You are not worthy of…

I forgave you: I am righteous enough to be good to you. I don’t have to but because I am a nice person… You should be thankful that… You must appreciate what I am doing because I don’t have to.

Wow! How is that true forgiveness? I call that a sense of pride powered by the ownership of our sufferings and our privileges under the victim’s rights law in our minds.

Can you imagine if that was God’s attitude towards our continual sinful behavior? I don’t think we would stand a chance.

I know that we don’t really stop to think about our actions and the true trigger of them but if we did, we would see that many of the things we do are not done as God intended them to be. We act and react based on our perception of what should be and not by what God specifies it should be. Then we find all kinds of reasons to justify and excuse the outcome or consequences of our actions.

Listen to this story. I shared it in another chapter but since then I’ve learned something new. My stepfather was on his death bed. I felt in my heart that it was a matter of hours before he died and I was doing the night watch so I had private access to him. I made up my mind to do something about the pain and the weight I was carrying around because of him.

That night I waited until everyone left and I gave him time to settle down. I could see that he felt his life coming to a close and he was scared. It was the perfect time to help him be at peace. I held his hand gently and with as much love as I could feel for him; I did love him very much. He was looking at me and when I began to speak, he closed his eyes. I said to him, “Daddy, I love you and I forgive you for everything you did to me.” He didn’t say a word but he squeezed my hand and a tear rolled down his cheek. He fell asleep and the night was quiet and peaceful. The next day, he died.

At the moment, I was doing this in all honesty and with all the sincerity I had in my heart but this sacred moment got contaminated when I allowed myself to revisit it with expectations of what I had previously perceived that moment would be like.

When I thought of forgiving him, I imagined him turning to me, opening his mouth and either asking me to forgive him or at least accept the forgiveness verbally. I was expecting him to say the words. It wasn’t enough for me to know that he had lived with the guilt of what he did, or that he had accepted the Lord and wanted to do right. No, I had a need. I needed him to validate what he did so that I could authenticate and seal my victim status through his confession.

I am sure that if he had spoken words of repentance, I would have been having the greatest pity party ever. Telling my mother and my siblings how sorry he was for what he had done to me and at the same time establishing the veracity of the accounts of my life.

This hunger was rooted on the fact that when I told my sisters about the abuse, I didn’t get the response I expected. In my expectations I didn’t stop to think about what they would feel when I accused their father of unspeakable things. I thank God that although they couldn’t fully relate to me, they didn’t refuse me nor did they deny that something happened to me and their father was responsible for it.

You see, when I offered him forgiveness, I did it with good intentions; I wanted him to die in peace and I wanted him to understand that I loved him and I no longer held evil against him but because I didn’t understand true forgiveness, I couldn’t hold on to the sacredness of the moment. I often found myself falling on my knees to renew the forgiveness I had offered him before he died. Some how, I had managed to turn my forgiving him into another pillar that sustained my sufferings. Instead of letting go, I had risen to a higher level of victimization, all on my own.

Well, I grew weary of the struggle and began searching for a way to forgive those who trespassed against me and I stumbled upon a very popular verse which I have read countless times without being moved. The difference was that this day was not the same as the other days. This time I was ready and open to welcoming a change and therefore, the verse shed new light in me and spoke depth into my spirit. I was enlightened because I was ready and positioned to learn and receive.

Matthew 6:12 And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.

Forgiveness has to first begin with ourselves. If our heart is not right, how can we make a right decision? If we have not tasted from the cup of forgiveness, how will we ever know what it is we should offer another? If we have not been forgiven, why would our heart want to forgive those who have wronged us? If we don’t understand forgiveness for ourselves, then how can we truly forgive?

After reading this verse, these questions bombarded my mind and what I thought I had knowledge of, was no more. My old foundation of forgiveness was demolished. I realized that what I thought was forgiveness had no true value and consequently did not offer permanent closure to the matter at hand.

I repented in my heart before God for rebelling against His gift of forgiveness. I desperately accepted the forgiveness God offered me and because He forgave me I too forgave myself. I simply let go of everything that gave me the right to feel violated and victimized. I released the ownership I had over my suffering of the past and I heard the shackles begin to fall. Then I was able to start the process of forgiving others.

I forgave my mother. I forgave my stepfather and his brother. I forgave my father for not being in my life the way I thought I needed him to be. I forgave people in my past who participated in causing me grief and suffering. I forgave every man who were ever part of my self-destruction behavior and so I continued forgiving down the list until I had no more forgiving to do.

With each forgiveness, tons of weight fell off my shoulders and by the time I was done, the burden was lifted and I drank of a freedom which produced in me a peace I never knew existed.

Certainly, forgiveness is always thought to be about the one who did the hurting, the transgressor, the debtor. The truth is that when we forgive, truly forgive, we let go of what kept us wrongfully attached to that person. More beautiful yet is that forgiveness is about healing yourself by releasing hate, contempt, desire for revenge and negative thoughts which only serve to poison your body, your mind and your spirit.

Forgiveness marks the beginning of a new life. It is a state of being reborn.

I forgave those who I once despised. They felt good about it but not as good as I felt, once I simply let go.

Caution! This can change your life!

Some of you approached me, requesting more stories. So, here is more. Don't forget to comment!

Living With Depression
Let me make one thing clear right off the bat. Depression is not one of my roommate’s name. Lighten up, that was suppose to be funny! Didn’t get it? Read it again and this time laugh!

Although depression wasn’t one of my roommates name, it took more time and space in my life than anything or any person ever did. Depression is actually a very serious condition which could lead to serious issues in one’s life and even causes death.

I don’t exactly know where it started, when it started but by now I am sure you’ve figured out, part of why it started in me. I began experiencing depression from very young; to the tune of being prescribed valiums and sleeping pills from the time I was nine years old. I didn’t know what depression meant and to be honest, I don’t think that anyone on earth understands the depth of depression or the full extent of the consequences of such plague.

In my life it was constant turmoil, sicknesses which doctors couldn’t find a reason for, suicide attempts, loneliness, frequent crying, nail biting, hands shaking, confusion, spilt personalities, a life filled with hardship cause by my inability to make the right choices.

My family and friends had no idea of the danger they were living with. They never saw the intense level of threat that hang over their lives. There were times I wanted to die but there were also times when I wanted them to die.

I lived in a constant battle, fighting against thoughts of death and battling the images in my mind. I was always scared of snapping at any moment. The frailty of my sanity was continuously threatened and I was tortured by what could happen next.

About seven years ago, I was at my worst stage mentally. My life was but a fog. I frequently got lost while going to places that were common to me like milk is to coffee. My mind would go blank and I wouldn't remember what I was saying or doing before it happened.

I know this sounds very common to people who do drugs, drink alcohol, or are under some kind of medication but my reality is that I don't smoke, I don't do drugs -never have, I don't drink any kind of alcoholic beverage –never have, nor was I at the time taking any medication that would cause this kind of side effects.

I went from doctor to doctor and all they did was put me on anti-depressant medication which wasn't really helping me. Doctors just kept increasing the dosage and adding new medications to what I already had but I was not getting any better. In fact, I was actually getting worst because all I did was sleep and/or stay in bed all day.

The simplicities of daily living were too much for me to handle. Taking a shower was one of the toughest things I had to deal with every day and there were days I literally had to force myself to shower and to do anything related with me taking good care of myself.

I got so tired of going to different doctors and not getting positive results that I just stopped going to the doctors (I am not recommending for anyone to do so; this is just my experience). Because I was struggling with the fact that the medication was not helping me, I also stopped taking all depression medication (again, not advisable without doctor’s consent). I went through a period of withdrawal where I had hallucinations and extreme fatigue.

I couldn't function socially and mentally my brain was like scramble eggs. I was lost within my own mind and I didn't know how I would ever be found.

The thing is that all the while all this was happening to me, I was serving Christ, I considered myself, living under God's favor and protection. The truth is that somehow along the way, I took a wrong turn and the enemy had taken hold of my mind and was playing all kinds of tricks on me. I was living in fear, terrorized by nightmares, by my own thoughts and hopelessness. Death was the only thing I thought could help me but I didn't want suicide to stop me from Heaven.

One day, out of desperation and wanting it all to end, I called out to God and He answered me. He turned on the light in my life; I began to recognize what the devil was doing and how he was doing it.

God made me realize that all the giants and tormentors were within my mind; I had granted permission to satan to torture me. I believed the lies being told to me by demons and the time had come to make a choice; do I continue listening to the lies which were taking me further into hell or would I believe God and His promises for me?

I cried out to God, the Almighty One, for His Mercy, His Grace and His everlasting Love. I reached out my hand to Heaven and He grabbed me. He kept me from falling into the endless abyss that my life was becoming.

Soon, my memory was getting stronger and my body was following. I got a whole lot better but there was a lot more work to do. I had a long way to go before I could even get to where I could function in my daily routines.

I went to several churches seeking help. I knew that if I could find a church who could help me find my way to the right path, that I would be restored and renewed but the churches I found myself in, had no real depth and a very superficial sense of what I truly needed. It was more of a religious routine instead of a deep and real relationship with God.

I needed more than the usual 3-5 worship songs and a scripted message, which offered no substance to the need of my soul. I needed God in high degrees; not Christianity 101.

When I had given up hope of finding what I need to make it, I was determine to go back to Tacoma, WA in search of a church that would offer me emergency intensive deliverance but God had His own plan. By ways of a church I was attending, I got in touch with a Prophet, and it was exactly what I needed; someone who could teach and lead me to the revelation of the truths in the Word of God. Someone to point the way to FREEDOM from bondage.

In reading the following, I strongly recommend you remember that this is based solely on my experiences and my opinion. You do not have to agree with me but as with everything else I am exposing to you about my life, I will not withheld the truth about my experience with depression.

My confessions are not intended to impose my believes nor my experiences on anyone but to offer hope, help and support to anyone looking to experience change in their lives. God did it for me, He can also do it for you.

Once I went into what was supposed to be a Christian chat room (internet) and got kicked out because I testified that God had freed me from anti-depressants.
The people were offended because those pills were the best thing in their lives. Hey, if it works for you, fine but I wanted something more. I wanted better for myself. I was tired of staying the same or going backwards. It was time for me to step up and go forth and that is what I did with the help of God who promises a sound mind to those who seek after Him.

I consider living with depression to be living under the control of evil forces which are constantly pushing, forcing, obligating, inducing and persuading a person into destructive behavior against those they love and themselves.

Depression is a demonic possession of your will and emotions and a sin against God because it denies the power of who He is. It causes one submit to this evil which has killed many.

Depression is such a force that not even medicine has been able to find a cure for it. Why do you think that is? Demonic possession or demonic activity cannot be cured with a pill because it is rooted in the spirit and not in the flesh. You either cast it out or allow it to take over which means that you die with it because you are no longer in the driver’s seat.

I don’t understand how we as Christians accept depression as just another illness when all it produces, is against God. God produces in us all which is good – health, prosperity, love, wholesomeness, sound minds, confidence, understanding, wisdom, victory, hope and a PEACE which surpasses all understanding. How does depression fit into that picture? IT DOESN’T!

Depression is exactly the opposite of everything I just mentioned. I lived filled with many fears which 1) stole my peace, 2) caused me to be always sick, 3) lacking in all aspects of life, 4) feeling unloved, especially by my own self, 5) segmented with different personalities-all of them as sick and tormented as the other, 6) confused and tormented, 7) walking from failure to failure.

How could one in such state dare say they are God’s representative on earth? What God is this we represent? Not the God of Abraham, of Jacob or Joseph. Not the God of Job, David or the people of Israel. Certainly, not the God of Peter, Paul and John. Definitely, not the God of the New Testament, the Father of Jesus.

God is Power and Authority! He is Peace and Freedom! He is Health and Providence! He is Creator and Protector! God is Breath and LIFE!

Today, depression is no longer an issue and my life has color back in it. Of course, it isn’t as easy as it sounds. It took bleeding my heart out by accepting the revelation of the truths of God. I’ve also have to discipline myself to stay in faith to be able to hold on to my miracle.

I also found my purpose in life and I have come to understand what God has called me for. Knowing who you are and understanding why you are here can definitely bring you back to life.

Finding a church is not the answer but finding where the truth of God is being revealed is. It is the difference between struggling and stumbling through life and actually living as a true child of the Almighty God. Learning, BELIEVING, and applying the truths of God’s word, is the only cure to depression.

I am working on a new book in which I will share in depth the details of the process I had to go through to be freed from the stronghold of depression.

From a world of darkness into a life shines by the light of God and filled with all kinds of good and positive attributes. I have a new perception of who I am, a new prospective for my life and I have become a new person.

My Reality

Hey, I didn't make the rules. Don't think that I don't feel responsible for being abused as an adult. I do. I believed that if I wasn't such a weak and needy person, I might have told on them. At the same time, I also dealt with guilt issues because I know that there were times when I allowed them to do whatever they wanted with me because I was addicted to being abused. I confess that there were times when I wanted them to show up and do me something. I was feeding on that thing for a long time and I developed a hunger for it.

I will not be hypocritical about how I felt about being abuse.
I hated when it was done to me but at the same time it brought some kind of relief. I felt degraded and violated for a long time but the time came when I needed it like an alcoholic need his booze and then, I only felt shame for my feelings.

Part of me wanted the abuse and the other part wanted to kill me. Indeed, I am responsible for allowing the abuse to go on for so long but I was still a child. I was very alone and afraid of being without a mother. If I told, my mother would leave me. She couldn't deal with the truth and found it easier to put all the blame on me and I had no defense against it.

It is not an easy thing expressing myself the way I have in this book. At times, I just have to stop writing because the truth hits me hard in the face and I can't hide from it. I could keep things from you but I am committed to giving you the truth and that means that the mask is off and I will not hide behind my innocence or the fact that I was a victim.

True, I was a victim but not only of my parents and others who hurt me throughout my life; mostly, I was a victim of myself. I abused myself more than anyone else did because long after I grew up, I allowed people to come into my life to continue the abuse.

I have been my worst enemy. I accepted the abuse as a normal thing in my life and I kept it as part of my existence. I have lived my entire life positioning myself for abuse, the perfect victim. I was always willing to be victimized. I needed to be otherwise, I would feel like a foreigner, like a fish out
of water and so out of place.

All my life I lived with the feeling that some day I would be raped. I constantly waited to be raped. Can you imagine that? The thing is that I have actually been raped but I accepted it as part of a relationship.

I was raped many times and never recognized it as rape. To me, it was just the norm. It was just another person who wanted to be my friend and was aggressive in order to prove how much they loved me. “Yep, they must really like me a lot because they wanted to have sex with me and they would force me if necessary.” That was the type of reasoning that justified, in my mind, that it was okay for a man to force me to be with him.

I realized I had a serious problem when I was working for a guy who was abusive to his employees. He yelled obscenities and would even physically push them around at times. I remember him giving an order, which involved about four of us to get it done. I did my part but the rest of them did not know how soon he would be back. They were taking their time and making jokes.
When he got back the work was not done. Only my part was completed but was no good without their task. He asked all of us to follow him. Then he sent me back to my desk. I could hear him yelling at them and the way he treated them, you would think he was dealing with a dog or some animal. He kept going and going, getting louder by the second.

I was overwhelmed and wanted to start screaming. I had to restrain myself because I wanted to throw myself in front of him for punishment. Right then, I understood that my thinking was sick and that I was stuck to being abused. I got scared and confused because I couldn't believe that a twenty-six year old woman could feel this way.

I realized that although the years had gone by, my mind was living as though I was still a child and holding on to the abuse like it was the only thing that was true and valid in my life. I decided to quit that day, the job and my behavior. I was beyond scared, I was petrified for myself. I think a part of my brain was asleep and had just woken up for the first time in years.

I began thinking back at how I was living my life and by the time I was done, I was physically ill. Thinking was the scariest of all things to me because the things I was reliving in my mind were not normal and I couldn’t understand how or why I was allowing myself to live like I was not worth a dime. Things were so bad for me that I was literally in pain and had to stay in bed for several days. That was truly a rude awakening for me and although I wish I could go back to sleeping the way I was before, I wanted more for myself.
I wanted my life to be real but I was in trouble.

Adjusting to a more positive thinking is hard and takes a lot of patience, which sometimes I ran out of. Reconditioning my mind to feel safe and deserving and being treated good or right by others and myself has been a continuous battle,
I face it daily.

God had to step in to take away the self-loathing and abandonment I had for my self. God had compassion for me and poured of His love into my heart. He showered me with attention and cared for my wounds. He washed away the unworthiness and every unholy spirit. God set me free from bondage and broke me out from the prisons of abuse and sexual addictions. My awesome Lord renewed my mind and made me a new creature, one that can love and be loved in the purest of ways.

After so many years of hating and feeling disgust for myself to the point of wanting to take my own life, I have learned to love and appreciate myself. The feelings of unworthiness were always more overwhelming than any other emotion except that of fear. I never felt that I was worthy of being loved or having someone to love. Life had no meaning or purpose for me.
Don’t think that I am saying that I have arrived. Every day our mind is renewed by the Word of God and if we open our minds and submit to God, He brings more light into our lives and we become more and more enlightened.

And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is good and acceptable and perfect will of God. Romans 12:2

Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. 2Corinthians 4:16




“To Abusers”

You might not know it,
You might not even care

You might have forgotten it,
But I have something to share.

You did not look into my eyes,
You never heard me cry.
Reality is what you can't deny,
No matter how hard you try.

You came into my life as a friend,
Or a family member I can trust

With me you never cared to pretend,
You gave ample freedom to your lust.

It didn't matter that I was a child,
My feelings, my innocence, didn't matter at all.
You took what you wanted, leaving me defiled,
Wanting to break me, such a fall.Instead;

Compassion grew from suffering;
Pain thought me humility,

Forgiveness brought me healing;
Today, I am and I regained my dignity

.God picked up the pieces of my shattered dreams,

He mended the wounds of my broken heart,

And my life now shines with a beautiful gleam,

Designed by my maker like a piece of art.

Getting Published

3 words describe most of the events in my life; intriguing, interesting, and incredible. Some of my stories will keep you guessing, others will amaze and encourage you and many will make you wonder if such things can even happen to anyone.

It took me 7 years to complete this book. Having to face the reality of who I was caused me to go from depression to depression but the healing I’ve experienced has brought me great peace and now I can truly be of service to those who now need to face their truths.

As a victim of abuse, unworthiness and despair made me hide behind split personalities. As an abuser, guilt caused me to hide behind the pain of my own tragedy, and as a Christian, the guilt of my sins pushed me to hide behind my position in the church and my sermons. Then God called me to write this book and now, I hide no more.

The miraculous hand of God saved me from misery, insanity, condemnation and from a life of sin which was leading me to hell. God took me and loved me just the way I was. He cleansed me, washed my wounds, and renewed my shattered heart. God opened my eyes to a new reality; my past does not dictate my future, I make the choice of living under constant torture or living in the fullness of who He is. I chose to live for God.

My story is a declaration of truths about pain and healing, about falling and rising and about the process that led me to victory. It is about not hiding behind excuses and bad situation to continue down the road of perdition. It is about accepting who you are, surrendering to God and allowing Him to transform you into who He created you to be.

I finished my story but I was told by other writers and some professionals in the publishing world, that autobiographies are extremely hard to sell unless you are a famous person. They suggested for me to do some promotional work of the book by setting up a blog with some of the stories in my book and have people read and comment on them.

So I’ve set up this blog. If you find the stories to be of interest and helpful to others, leave your comments. If you would like to read more, then mention that you would like the book.

I also would appreciate your kindness in forwarding this email to as many people as you can.

A Gift of Love

My sister gave me a gift that I will never understand nor will I ever be able to repay the goodness she showed me through it. While my sister was pregnant with her last child, a boy, I left the island to go meet with my husband to be in Washington, my second husband that is.

Because of the poor care offered in the island, she decided to travel to Miami until she gave birth. When the baby was almost due, I received a call from her; she wanted me to be there with her. I knew that she was a little scared but now that I think about it, I wonder if she had planned things to work out the way they did.

I didn’t hesitate. I got on a plane the next day and was very happy to see my girl who was all grown up getting ready to bring forth another child. When I hugged her she said, “I have been in pain for two days but I refuse to have this baby without you. I have been waiting for you to go to the hospital.

Early the next morning, it was time and she was more than ready. I didn’t know that this day would be one of the most beautiful and fullest days of my life. After the doctor examined her, she informed him that she wanted me in the delivery room with her.

My jaw fell open. Not even remotely, had I imagine that I would witness the birth of a child. She knew my heart’s desire, she knew how much I loved children and how much I wanted children of my own. I guess she felt that this was as close as a woman could come to giving birth if she couldn’t experience it for herself.

I didn’t know what to say and I certainly didn’t know how to react to this. I guess I was in shock because I felt numb. There is no other gift besides the grace of God and the sacrifice of Christ on the cross for my sins, that has meant more to me than being present in the same room where the birth of my sister’s son took place.

I was holding her hand while she was pushing and when the doctor said she was crowning, she let go of my hand and asked me to go see what birthing was all about. There was blood everywhere, it was a mess but at the same time it was the most precious thing to see the head of the baby push through such a small pathway.

The doctor asked her to stop pushing and I went back to hold her hand but she told me the baby was coming so I went back to see the completion of this painful but wonderful process.

The doctor was not ready yet, but the baby was and out came the baby. I grabbed it to keep him from falling to the floor. At that moment, I was reborn into a newness of what life is all about and into a deeper understanding of the love between mother and child. It felt so good, it hurt. My sister then said, there is your son.

It will never be the same as when a woman experiences the conception and the formation of life within the walls of her insides or like the feeling a woman has when the fetus moves in her womb. Yet, this was something that no amount of happiness, or money, or health, or men, or even love could ever be compared to.

That moment was a sacred moment in which I felt whole and complete in every aspect of the word. I looked at my sister and although she was still in pain, she glowed with happiness, peace and a love for me that transcended far beyond any sorrow or hurt I had ever experienced. Nothing could have tainted that moment and it wasn’t because of the actions of my sister but because of the sincerity and the depth of love by which she did what she did.

Funny Love

I can share with you many stories about how loved and wanted he made me feel. He was funny and caring and he played his guitar for me all the time. I had no choice but to fall in love with him. At least, I think I did. He had made me go beyond cloud nine. It was almost heaven for me.

There are many things about him I will remember forever because he made me feel things I didn't know I was capable of feeling and he made me laugh like no one ever cared to. I would like to share one of the most embarrassing, funny, romantic stories I experienced with him. This happened while we were still dating.We had a date and because it was a full moon, we decided it to make it different, more romantic. We made plans to give each other something special. I wrote a poem for him and he found a song to sing for me. Well, the song never made it into the picture.

We were parked in a dark and isolated area. The only light we had was that of the full moon. We sat in the car kissing and undressing each other. Guilt began creeping up on me. We were not married and I knew this was not good and I was hoping that I could control the situation. I didn't have to though, God had plans of His own.In order to take some heat off, I came up with a brilliant idea. Let's get out of the car and allow the romance brought to the night by the inspiration of the full moon to shower our naked bodies. Let's moon bathe.

He was in for that, so we got out. We leaned on the car, holding hands and admiring the beauty in God's handy work. We spoke about our love and about our happiness and any other love topics I could come up with to avoid going back inside the car. I didn't want to hurt his feelings but the guilt and knowing how wrong it was to do this, was almost causing me to cry. Finally, I shut up and agreed that it was time to get back in the car. Like I said, God needs no help from us. He pulled my door and it was locked. He laughed and went around to his door, he pulled and it too was locked.

He looked at me and his faced told the story. I sure didn't have to worry about his excitement anymore. There was no longer a sexual sin threat over our heads. We had a bigger fish to fry.I remember him stammering while trying to tell me that we were locked out. I pulled my door and it was still locked. I walked to his door and on my way there I was pleading and asking God for a miracle. Yeah right, like I deserved any mercy. Guess what? Wrong. It was still locked. I remember trying to put my faith to use.

For a couple times I tried opening the door in the name of Jesus but Jesus was not messing with this one. How hypocritical we are sometimes. Knowing that we are wrong, we still continue to get in trouble and then expect God to rescue us.Well, he realized that no miracle was about to happen that night. Now he wanted to break my glass window and I was about to knock him out. How would I explain a broken window to my mom? I was thirty years old, married and divorced once but to my Mom it was like I was still her little virgin. I couldn't tell her about this.

We were not too far from where he lived so we searched the trunk of the car which we had left open and found an apron. He tied it around his waist and decided to run to his apartment. His butt was showing and he was ashamed of having to run home in such a fashion statement. He said he was praying all the way there that no one who knew him would see him. He had to pass by a bar and restaurant where people used to sit outside and hang out. A guy called out to him and he played like he was crazy answering in gibberish. He ran faster than before until he got home.

Meanwhile, I decided to hide in the bushes because other cars would sometimes come in the area and I was completely naked. I was stooping down in the bushes praying that no insect or centipede would bite me. Every time a piece of grass touched my skin, I jumped and squealed shaking myself off. It was a really funny picture if you can imagine it.

Finally, he showed up in his car where he kept a spare key to my car. I got dressed and went straight home. That was it for me. I learned my lesson on that one; no more moon bathing. Okay, the real lesson is not giving in to the flesh (sin), not even in the name of love or because of the people we love. Our faithfulness should always be first, to God.