My First Blog

Let me introduce myself. My name is Christine. I live in a small town in Tennessee and love the people that make up this beautiful community.  Throughout my 40+ years on this little planet of ours, I have had many happy moments, some sad times, and downright horrible experiences. I have triumphed through each one of them, although at times, I cannot tell you how.

I am writing all of this now and in the future in hopes that putting myself “out there” I will be able to at least help 1 person. Many can relate to some of my stories, do not know how they will get through it. If I can help 1 person in this, then, in my opinion, it is well worth it.

Not all will be “feel good” stories. But I do have my moments of sincere bliss that I also want to share. Just know, you are not alone in your journey. If I can get through it and excel the way I have, you can too….. Together we can share, pass no judgement, heal and share stories, both successful, and some not so much.


Busy world

Since I took on my new job full time I haven’t really had a lot of spare moments to get in here. Sorry…

I feel cutting ties to those who take advantage of you is the best thing I could’ve done. My life is much better, I am much more relaxed, and my mood had significantly improved, and has been noted amongst my peers

One thing, if you ever listen to anything I say…. if someone tells you something in confidence, do not, I repeat, do NOT repeat it to anyone else. Not the person being talked about, not your spouse. No one. That person trusted you enough to tell you something cherished by them, and that does not give you the right to spill it to someone else. That has happened to me, and people wonder why I have trust issues. Yep! That’s the last time. Goes to show that some who claim they want to help, just want knowledge to use against you in the future. So be weary my peeps. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer!

Hope this finds everyone well. Be back on soon to continue my story!! 😘


I have questions. Maybe some of you have answers. I have had an individual do me wrong. Very wrong. But I am still trying to help him get back to the ” real” world. Should I let it go, or should I continue to try and help? He has stirred something in me that I have seen in myself when I was younger. There is so much potential there, I do not want to let go until every obstacle of mine has been met. This is not a romance thing, in case you’re wondering, this is a friend thing. I know the old saying “you can’t help those who don’t want to be helped” but……, I am trying. Ugh!

Everyone says cut my losses with this asshole, but there is that spark of intelligence that keeps me going back to try and “fix” him. Guess I’m just frustrated. Perhaps someday it will all come to fruition.

On another note…. my book is almost done and ALMOST ready to be published!!! Quite excited and ready for feedback. Both positive and negative. After years of holding this book close to my heart I am excited to finally get it out.

Much love to all!

Short and sweet

I haven’t had time to get on here and continue my story…. I am sorry. Next week my 2 jobs should slow down enough to enable me to write more.

In the meantime, I have this quote I made “all by myself”

You may think you have broke me, my dear, rest assured….. you only woke the devil inside me. The comeback is always stronger than the setback. 😊.

Till next week, possibly sooner, TaTa for now!!! TYFN!!

Wine and unwind/ rather lengthily

I have been so busy the past week or so I have not had the chance to get on here to continue my story…   A good glass of wine, silence, perhaps I can continue on.

I have been seeking counseling for my depression. When you get to a point that you cannot go a day without crying, full rage, and complete exhaustion all in a span of 30 minutes, you are past due. Yes, I was and still am at times, at that point. My counselor says is PTSD for the many things I have incurred throughout my childhood and early adult life.

So far, we have summed up that I have (depending on my mindset for the day) abandonment issues, depression, PTSD, unresolved issues from my schooldays, I have a wall built up, which he says will take some time to break through to start feeling again. I have allowed people to use me, but at the same time I push people away who I do not want to hurt with my sharp tongue and brutal honesty.

I have not allowed anyone to know the “complete” me, I have never told my “complete” story to anyone, not even my husband of 25 years. There are many things he does not know,  nor will he. I cannot give full control of myself because I do not trust. I do not trust, because those I trusted have hurt me, it’s a vicious cycle.

My PTSD is contributed to some childhood instances I will not go into here, but there are many more contributors. Such as, my son, who I have already stated in another post, is a very violent bi polar (now) man, who when growing up we had to take precautions not to even leave a knife out for fear he would use it on one of us in the middle of the night. This went on until he was 15, bigger than me, certainly outweighed me, and I could no longer control him. He was physically abusive to myself and the entire household, refused to take any kind of medication, stating we were “just trying to drug him so he wouldn’t be human”. I finally made one of the most heartbreaking decisions of my life. I asked the court to remove him from my home. This was not an easy decision, but at the time I had a 3 year old baby at home, and the fear of him doing something to her when he was in one of his rages, outweighed everything else. We were all, as a family, mentally and physically exhausted. His behavior did not change when he was a ward of the court, he was still raging and refusing to take medicine. To this day, he blames me for everything wrong in his life, and  states that I abandoned him as a mother, I allowed for him to be drugged so he could not think on his own, and the blame continues with many more accusations… Sometimes, you just don’t know what to say. But our relationship is not that of a mother/son type. It’s hard to explain if you have never lived with a bipolar person before. As I have said in the past, my mother is bipolar, but she doesn’t get violent. Her thing was sleeping all the time, among other things, but never violent.

Another cause, he has found for the PTSD, is my 4 miscarriages. I never received any counseling for them after each one. The first one, I actually held in my hand after I delivered. The arms and legs were little buds, head formed, eye sockets in place, and the entire face starting to form. The other 3, thankfully, I was given DNC’s for. I do not think I could’ve survived seeing the others…. One was more than enough.

I had trouble getting pregnant for the longest time, and staying pregnant. So when I was pregnant the 5th time with my (now) husband, I did not get attached. Yeah, I took care of myself, but would not allow myself to get attached. No one was to bring any baby items into the house, and so on. Then I reached week 20 where you could see the sex of the baby. I still was numb to it, always fearing the worst. I had heard heartbeats before that never lasted, and I still did not expect to have this one carry to term. The ultrasound showed a very healthy baby girl. I cried…. we all cried…. This was the furthest I had made it in my previous 5 pregnancies….. so maybe it was time for a little celebration??? I was still quite skeptical, as anything could happen and it would go downhill, but I started to have a budding attachment for my girl. I could start getting excited (still being cautious) and buy things for our baby when she came home!

Very uneventful pregnancy once we reached that 20 week milestone.  All was well, baby progressing such as she should, then labor. I had worked all day and went home that evening not feeling well. I had a cold and just ached all over from coughing, and all the other crap that comes with the snotty nose, sore throat and so on. We went to dinner with some friends, and I went home and laid on the couch until bedtime. At 11:30 that evening my water broke, and we were off to the hospital. I had warned my husband that I have short labors, we were 45 minutes from the hospital, so out the door we went. Both of my older children with us.

Got settled in a room around 1:00, no hard labor……… started feeling the need to push around 4:30 or so…..I remember hearing the nurse say “Your blood pressure is high” DUH!!!! I’m pushing a watermelon out of a lemon!! (I was not a good patient lol)… but after 4 pushes our baby was crying, red, moving and perfect!

Went home that same day with my in-laws waiting at the house to help take care of the older children while I rested and got back on my feet. They only stayed 2 days, there was no need for them to be there any longer, I was up and running around. So they went home.

Three days after I had my baby, we went for our first “outing”. I remember walking though the stores and was having trouble breathing. We went home, figuring it was too soon for me to be on any big adventures as of yet….. The labored breathing became more and more as the days went on. I went back to the Dr. on the 6th day after delivery and he told me I had fluid in my lungs (pneumonia) and to go home and get rest. This was on a Friday.

By Monday, I could not hold my baby, couldn’t eat, or lay down to sleep… if I did, I would stop breathing, so back to the Dr. we go… My blood pressure was 180/160 and my Dr. sent me straight to the emergency room with immediate attention…. Little did I know this trip back to the same hospital I was in just a few days earlier would change my life forever…..

As soon as I walked in the door of the ER, there was a nurse waiting for me and took me to the back. My husband had the baby and was parking the vehicle so he was not there when they came and got me….

By the time he was allowed in the back, I had monitors on my body, an infectious disease dr., cardiologist, lung dr, and many more attending to me. I had no idea what was going on, I just wanted oxygen so I could breathe, which they gave me. I was poked and prodded of blood, tissues, and God knows what else, machines beeping everywhere, xrays, ultrasounds, the works.  What got my attention was the ultrasound tech was trying to get me to lay flat so he could look at my heart, and I could not lay down because I would stop breathing…. when I was finally still enough where he could do his job, I could tell something was very wrong. The look on his face, and him yelling to get the cardiologist in there, yeah, it was not good… As he is doing this, I look out into the nurses station, and see my baby being passed in between all the nurses, and my husband nowhere is sight. I had no idea where he could be, he wasn’t with me, and now the baby was being cared for by strangers. I had no idea at the time the Doctors were telling him that it was unlikely I would survive, that my heart had started shutting down, heart failure. Or the official diagnosis Post Partum Cardiomyopathy.

After a short while I was moved up to the CardioICU unit, still unaware of what was wrong with me. My doctor came in and told me he needed to put a catheter in through my vein in my neck to monitor my heart. OK??? So what’s wrong with me?? He said he would tell me later, he needed to attend to me before he could talk to me.

After what seemed like a lifetime, my husband was allowed to come in my room. I asked him where the baby was, and he told me he had one of our friends come get her until his mom and dad could come back to our house. I remember him saying “Have they told you what is wrong with you” “No, just know I have all these monitors going off and a huge hole in my neck where they inserted the catheter. He said that my heart was giving out on me and the Doctor had told him to call all my family in to make arrangements. Unless I received a new heart from a donor, I was going to die. Which means, for me to live, someone had to die that was compatible with my genes (or however that works)… I fell apart then, and the nurses had to come and give me something to sedate me. Monitors were going off because my heart rate when up (again) and my husband was asked to leave the room for a bit. I had 3 children at home, one a newborn, the others 11 and 12. I couldn’t die! I had too much to leave behind!

I spent my days and nights laying in bed. They would not let me get up to use the bathroom, nothing! If my heart rate was up too much, no visitors. I finally convinced my husband to go home and get rest after the 3rd day (I believe) in the hospital.

He was gone maybe a couple hours when my cardiologist came in to check on me like he did every morning. As he was checking my catheter placement, I started hyperventilating and could not breathe…monitors ringing everywhere and nurses running in the room. I asked my doctor what was wrong in between my breaths and he said I was having a heart attack.    NOW THIS!?!? Was I ever going to live!!!

So, off we go to the cath lab to put a stent in my heart. Turns out I needed 2 instead of the 1 he originally thought.

I was brought back to my room, where my husband was waiting for me when I returned. He had only been gone a couple of hours, and back to the beginning for him. We were all so tired, and not knowing what was going to happen….. it was a huge drain needless to say.

For the next few nights, other than the occasional alarm on my heart monitors it was rather uneventful. I remember one morning around 3am a team of doctors came into my room and introduced themselves as the team who would put my new heart in when one was available. To say that fucked with my mind is an understatement. I had been moved to the top of this list die to the severity of my illness and it was just a matter of someone dying for me to live….. ya, that’s a wonderful thought….

I shall continue this story later….. think that’s enough for this evening 🙂

Peace, Love and all that Jazz!








The touch you have given me

I crave on nights like this

I have no one to talk to

Your caress I miss

Why must you leave

Like a ghost in the night

What did I do wrong

I will try harder with all my might

Making like a ghost

That seldom appears

Your actions speak louder

Than words I would surely hear

The choice is yours

I’ve never tried to contain

Your heart or your spirit

Just please don’t ignore my pain


On cold, rainy days like this I would love nothing more than to curl up on my couch, cover up with a cozy blanket and ready my book with a glass of wine.  That would be the life, right? I did that for many years.  I was a stay at home mom for almost 5 years, and I can tell you, even though I was blessed to be able to do that, it gets very monotonous.

When I made the decision to go back into the workforce because of complete boredom, (and needing funding for all the books I had on my Amazon and BAM wish list) I gave up that everyday lifestyle for the crazy idea of owning my own business. It was a decision that has both ups and downs.

But enough of that for now. That is not why I am blogging today.

Today I would like to share with you something that is near and dear to my heart. Mental Health. Many family members have been diagnosed with bi-polar. From grandparents to children, it runs in my family. Why I have to ask? And why have I not been diagnosed with it? I have been diagnosed with several other mental health stigmas, but bi-polar has never been on my paperwork, except for the family history part of it.

Since I was a child I always felt like I was different. Maybe it was because growing up as a minority in NM made me feel different, or maybe because I just never felt like I really “fit in” to one particular clique. I kinda made my own, felt more comfortable that way. Sure I had a handful of friends, a few really good ones I still stay in contact with even today, but I always had, in the back of my mind, that I never really belonged to anything permanent. Why is that? I’ve been asked if someone told me that (no) or if I was made to feel that way (not really). I just have never understood that part of it which (partly) caused my childhood depression.

As I was growing up, my grandmother was my main caregiver. She lived with us while my mom and dad worked. I would always do things with my dad like fishing, hunting, camping, anything outdoorsy. But looking back, I never really did much with my mother. She, at some point in my life, was diagnosed with bi-polar. If she wasn’t working, she was sleeping. If she wasn’t sleeping, she was always out doing other things. Never really bothered me until I was a mother myself, and was involved in my children’s activities, that I noticed this.

I never understood bi-polar until my son was 8 and he started to have huge violent outbursts. W would take him to doctors, who would just push pills our way to calm him down. Finally we were able to get a doctor to run a series of tests on him. That’s when we discovered his bi-polar. I did not understand how this could be. My mother would never have outbursts like he has. That’s when the Dr referred me to a book to educate myself. “Having a child with bi=polar” I read that book like a bible for the first month, reading it more than once, and to this day I think I still do not completely understand.

Good memory moment: My grandma always made sure I was taken care of, had what I needed, and a lot of what I really didn’t need. To say I was spoiled by her in an understatement. I was her everything. Everyone in the family knew that, she didn’t make it a secret. I loved her more than life itself. She loved me even when I came home late, drunk, mad, you know, all those things that most teenagers do. She never yelled at me, but would lock herself in her room until she calmed down, would find me, and tell me how stupid I was, or how I needed to calm down.

My best memory with my Gram was every New Years Eve that I was home, we would always make root beer floats just before midnight to bring in the New Year. She said “this is as close as you get to beer from me”. Those were good times. When I got older I thought they were kinda corny, but did it anyway cause I liked to see her smile.

So, to make a long story short, my son was and is bi-polar. Now that he is an adult he refuses to believe that, off medications, thinks we drugged him during his youth so he could not be normal, or because we didn’t want to deal with him. We speak about twice a year, I will not allow him to come to my house, when he does he threatens to kill my husband, and me if I get in the way. It is a very sad life for him, but do not know anything else to do…… This adds to my depression because I feel like I’ve failed as a mother. Reassurances by friends, etc are the opposite, but, in my mind, it is true. You cannot help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. More on that subject at another time.







Sept 11, 2001

Do you remember where you were? I sure do! At the time I was living in the same community I am in now. I had worked 3rd shift, was home sleeping, when I suddenly woke up sweating. My mind was racing, couldn’t understand what was going on. So to try to get back to sleep, I turned on the TV….

I was watching the devastation right before my eyes. People crying, newscasters completely confused, not knowing what to report, and a re-run of the plane that had hit the first tower. At that time, the thought was it had been a terrible accident, when the second plane came into view and crashed into the second tower. I remember Matt Lauer making a statement “We are under attack”.

Then the picture cut away to President George W Bush, who was reading to little children in a school in Florida. I will never forget the look on his face when the gentleman beside him leaned over and whispered to him about the second plane. Before he was able to put together a news conference, we heard about the Pentagon and Flight 93.

As an American citizen, I was terrified. As a mother, I went and picked up my children at school and brought them home. No one knew if it was the beginning or the end of this reign of terror, sure didn’t want my kids far from me at that point. To say that the USA was in a state of panic, is definitely an understatement. It shook everyone around the world at that point.

My husband, who was at work, was aware and making preparations at the prison we both worked at, in the event of a catastrophic event locally. I remembered that his father was on a plane that morning flying home from Chicago, and we did not know which planes  had hit the tower and was extremely worried, not knowing his whereabouts for hours.

As the news continued, myself and my children watched the 2 towers fall, and I remember not being able to breathe for a few seconds. Knowing all the people that were still in the buildings, the tons of debris floating to the ground and crushing innocent people with nowhere to run out of harms way. It was many years later I found out my aunt and uncle were downtown New York making a delivery for their trucking company when all this happened.

My father in law, who was unaware of anything happening, landed in Nashville, and heard about everything going on in the terminal of the airport. Once he was home, he contacted me to let me know he was safe…. as it is well known, not everyone’s family was as fortunate as ours.

For days, non stop news coverage of all 4 flights was on everyone’s television, that is all we talked about and prayed for the first responders for rescue and recovery. I cannot imagine being one of those who were directly involved, but I do know, had I been up there, I would have been right in the middle of it.

Some people want to erase history….That is impossible. What has happened has happened. They asked that the news coverage be limited, as to not damage our children. I do not agree with that. Children need to know, the good and bad, history. Whether they live through it, or read about it, they all should know. Just my closing opinion…