Story of a Failed Mind Control Subject

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Chapter 29

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Chapter 29
The Next Step

From there on out, my story becomes much less difficult. I did give up relationships for quite a long time, though, several years. I moved to Georgia, and then I met someone, of all places, online.

But during that time, I came to realize that atheism didn’t suit me. I spent a lot of energy ignoring the gentle requests of those who have passed on. I spent a lot of time working hard to ignore my intuition, working to accept that I was a bundle of pointless neurons. It was hard work to live with all that had happened, and to try so hard to believe that all of that suffering was meaningless and that the world is a place without hope or mercy.

In the meantime, I had a roommate who had dogs, and the dogs peed all over the ornaments and letters I’d been carefully keeping for my son. It was all ruined, and it was another crisis for me. It was also a turning point during which I began to accept that I really wasn’t an atheist. Because I was mad at God again.

So I sat down and began to meditate. I began to do it often, though I was working very long hours yet again.

One day, during meditation, I had another vision. This time, I was in a field, and I was talking to a monk. We were sitting down, and I asked him, “Why are you here?”

He told me, “You’re not going to ask me who I am this time?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I think I know.”

“Tell me.” He was smiling now. That… that… SMILE that monks can get. You know the one. Yeah, that one.

“You’re god.”

“I suppose you could call me that. So why are you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you. You made promises. You haven’t kept them.”

“I haven’t kept them yet. I will, when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now. Why did you make me go through all of these things?”

“I can’t tell you that. You want to find that answer for yourself.”

“You’re being cryptic again.”

“Humans all say they hate it, but they love it. Puzzles. Humans really do love puzzles. It’s amazing, really.”

“Amazing? God gets amazed?”

“Sure. Why not? It’s a pleasant feeling.” He was smiling again.

“I don’t want to find the answer, I want you to tell me. I need to know why.”

“Sandi, why do you think that the only alternative to Christianity is Atheism? Why do you think that you have to follow anyone else’s path, for that Matter?”

And then he was gone, and I was staring at white painted walls again. I wondered, in that moment, why we paint apartments institution white.

Then I got up, took a shower, and played a game online. This event wasn’t the beginning of my spiritual quest. I’d learned a lot about what I really did believe, but the main thing that bothered me is that I just couldn’t accept ANY standing religion’s reasoning for suffering. I knew, deep down in my heart, that God is love. Of all the things that Christianity teaches, that was the one thing that I felt was true.

I began to measure everything I heard about god against the standard of Love. If someone said it was true of God, I asked myself, “Is it loving?” If it isn’t loving for a human to do, it isn’t loving for God to do. Shouldn’t God, of all people, be BETTER at love than “fallen” and “sinful” human beings?? If genocide isn’t okay for humans, it sure as hell isn’t okay for God! This should be obvious! And yet somehow, it doesn’t seem to be.

Well, I continued my studies, and a picture of God, and of our relationship to God, began to emerge. I began to look through various religions, and I began to slowly let back in the “ESP” type abilities that I have. They were faltering, rusty, and difficult now. They didn’t flow and come naturally as they did when I was a child. Like when I gave up art and tried to do it again later.

I moved in with the guy I had met on the internet. That meant a trip to New Hampshire, where I live today. I am happy to tell you that our life together is a peaceful one. Not perfect, but what I would say is fairly normal. We do argue. We’re not perfect. We have good times and bad ones. But we’re together, and we love each other.

After we’d been together for a couple of years, I missed a period. Since moving in together, my period had stabilized. I experienced utter upset, turmoil, and devastation.

Here’s something I wrote about it at the time (the date was 3-6-06):

My Personal Curse

I suppose we all have them. Those “long lasting issues” that haunt us. Mine is rearing up in a huge way right now. I’ve known since I was about 9 years old that I’d probably never get pregnant, and if I did, the chance of ever carrying to term was zero on a stellar day.

I got pregnant when I was 20, and had a beautiful baby boy just after turning 21. It was my only chance. It could never happen again- shouldn’t have happened then. After a series of events into which I will not go, I gave him up for adoption. I lost more than my child that day (a pain so deep there aren’t words in the American language to even BEGIN to describe)…. I also lost hope.

I had 3 miscarriages after that. One of them, I carried the baby, dead inside me, for 4 weeks waiting for the doctor appointment for the DNC. It is an unspeakable horror. When the doctor looks at you and tells you, “There is no heartbeat, the baby’s dead,” something falls apart inside you.

I would give anything to have another child, but so many doctors have told me it’s virtually impossible. And each time my period comes late (and it happens a lot), I spend the days agonizing, hoping against the simple reality of what I know… can I hope for another miracle? The answer, of course, is always “No.” Yet, each time, I find myself hoping… the irritability is hope! I think I felt nauseous! My breasts hurt! It COULD be this time!

And, inevitably, the blood flows, cleansing me of hope as it cleanses me of uterine lining. And each time, I find myself weeping because I miss something that wasn’t even there. I find myself staring at the blood and hating being a woman. Hating the false hope of an unstable cycle.

And today, on the 37th day since my last period, and still having not had one… I find myself doing it to myself all over again. Just like I did in January. Telling myself that my emotional state is a sign. My sore breasts are a sign (again this month). Telling myself that feeling weak and dizzy is a sign (again this month). And begging myself to stop, to accept the truth that it can never happen.

I feel my period wavering, trying to come. But I still do this to myself. The lying, the false hope. The tears and the pleading. And I know that even if I am pregnant, all that will mean is months of false hope before it all comes pouring out in a great painful gout of blood.

And naturally, everyone around me is pregnant that can be, it seems like. 3 girls in the office (not counting the one that gave birth 2 months ago). People on forums I go to. At the mall. I am happy for them. And I envy them.

My grandmother called the “womanly flow” the “Curse.” When I was 18, I went to the doctor and told him, “I haven’t gotten the Curse yet,” and he said, “You haven’t gotten your period??” I responded, “Well of course I have, I just haven’t gotten the curse yet!” How wrong I was. Oh yes, my grandmother called it the curse…

At last, I understand why.

In October of that year, I had a baby. She lived, and she’s absolutely beautiful.

I’ve come to understand my relationship to God, and to humanity. I’ve come to understand how precious we each are. You, me, even the bad guy. I’ve come to understand that love is the point of us all.

That’s where I am now. With the family that God promised me (though now I for sure cannot have any more children, I had a tubal ligation finally). I talked to Heath Ledger’s spirit when he died, and he told me it was an accident of drug interactions. Then this was borne out in the News. My faith in myself was somewhat restored then.

I also finally got to talk honestly about how it felt to lose my son. I got to make something for him that maybe one day he’ll get to see. He’ll know he was loved, he’ll know I’m sorry I gave him up. He’ll know that he WAS important and loved and wonderful.

I finally heard that other adoptees also feel that they weren’t wanted. I had always thought it was just me. This both helped me as an adoptee, and hurt me as a mother who had given up a child. It was a relief, and a struggle.

Most of all, the thing that has given me more peace than anything else, is that in concert with realizing that it all DOES happen for a reason (not in the way people usually use that), I also forgave myself. Not completely, but I’ve made progress.

And progress, my friend, is perfection.

That is my story to date. Whether it will have any meaning to anyone else, or be of any help or hope to someone, I cannot say. But writing it, admitting it all, has been a huge help to me. My shame is there for all to see. My suffering is there for all to see. And for those with eyes to see it, so is my hope and my triumph. Forgiveness and love are the answer, no Matter what the question is.

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Written by sandit4glp

July 30, 2010 at 1:13 pm

Posted in Chapter 29