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(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)

I have no idea what I am doing at this present moment in time. All I do know is I know my ego well enough to know how I ended up here. I am a fifty one year old woman living on a mattress on a hard concrete basement floor in Canada. I do have the flexibility to move around this two bedroom little basement apartment. I’m not confined to one room. With that said, I am doing my best to minimize my needs here. Three adults, two small children, and a dog, all cozied up together inside a wee little two bedroom basement apartment. That’s a bright side of life way of putting it. I never would have thought in my younger years that I would grow to become a fifty one year old being taken care of by her own daughter, or by anyone for that matter. I am suppose to be in the prime of my life, aren’t I? I am suppose to be able to take care of myself by now, right?

I do know my soon to be twenty-nine year old daughter certainly deserves to enjoy her own family. Without having to take on my burdens as well. It’s embarrassing, and takes a hell of a lot of mental strength not to lose my mind, or, follow through with some pretty life ending thoughts that have been creeping in these past few weeks. I don’t like to swear much but, fuck me.

I love my family. I also desire my own place to call home. It’s been eight years since I have lived in my own space, within my own comfort, alone, or, entertaining a man pretending to love me, within the safe parameters of my own space. I am starting to forget what that’s like. I prefer to assume, getting accustomed to the responsibilities associated with having my own place would be like getting back on a bike, I have long since learned how to ride, rather than let doubt creep in with thoughts of whether or not I could actually do it.

I have been doing my damndest to create awareness about knowledge I have to share since 2006. With little to no tangible return. I have been, and if I was brutally honest, still am, tired. Not so much physically tired. It’s more the deep soul’s longing to go home because this is too much, tired. Living in faith and affirming the best during years upon years of struggle, with no real material change, is starting to take its toll on me.

Each day I reflect on a question. If I died tomorrow, would I be at peace with myself as it relates to my character, and the way I give back to this world? So far, each day, I have answered yes. If there was a slight no, I self reflected and made changes, wherever, and whenever, possible, so that I could ultimately end the day with a yes.

I may have been with extremely low funds since 2013. I have also made a positive difference within my family and within my quest to make a name for myself. I know that, so yes, I would be at peace with myself. Would I be at peace with the amount of loving and impactful adventures I went on in this lifetime? No. Those have been extremely limited.

With that said, I have received the blessing of being acquainted with the “afterlife”. I am familiar in the way it works between the physical and astral realm. Love and adventures exist in the astral realm. If I died tomorrow, I would be exploring and having wonderful adventures again. Once orientation with my data file in the Akashic records was complete and accepted by me that is.

I am aware that hindsight is a gift of knowledge shared in both realms of existence. It’s for this reason, I check in with asking myself the question “if I die tomorrow…” each day. I do my best to take full advantage of hindsight during this lifetime. I make time to reflect on my day, each night, before I sleep. I choose that time as my quiet moment to talk with my God.

It is not like me to entertain thoughts of being the one who creates my final day on earth. I have a few times during my fifty-one years. When I do have the deep longing to go back home to spirit creeping up inside of me, I remind myself that I would have to come back to this earth again and repeat some experiences.  If I left early, and I still desired further conscious evolutionary awareness, my option would likely be to reincarnate. Earth can be hellish. With that said, only the strongest of souls come to earth to learn at such a rapid pace. In my perspective, you, and I, are in a  PhD level program with many tier levels to completion. You, my welcomed reader, are far more powerful, far more courageous, far more loving, and, far more impactful, than you may truly realize. You being here on this planet tells me, you are a special soul indeed.

My goal is to continue to evolve within my awareness of all that is. Once I leave this vessel I am currently using, permanently, I am not planning to reincarnate. Reason being, my ultimate career goal for myself isn’t here on earth. My ultimate goal is to become an Ascended Master in spirit.

I am a far cry from being an Ascended Master at the moment. My thoughts tell me so. It is for this reason I am writing. I am going down some rabbit holes. I suspect I am not the only one who has been challenged with difficult thoughts, so, I welcome you to join me. You and I can discover puzzle pieces of our own individual journeys. One piece at a time. Welcome to the world inside my mind.

My first attempt at kicking-the-bucket was at fifteen. I walked out in front of an oncoming Mack truck. It was a late summer night in 1989. A group of my brother’s friends got together to party at an abandoned barn on the outskirts of Kanata, Ontario. Kanata was a small town back then. The area mostly hosted farmlands and residential communities. I was at the party because I was friendly with my brother’s friends,  who consisted of mostly guys and some girls, between the ages of sixteen and nineteen. I was fifteen, I believe. There were somewhere between eight to ten of us teens all hanging out. We sat on the hoods, or backs of our vehicles, drinking a mix of beer and rum coolers, whilst hauling off of each other’s cigarettes.

My brother Craig is two years older than me. I was my brother’s little sister, the tag along. My parents were in our new home that my parents had bought in Ajax, Ontario, a few hours highways drive away from where Craig and I were. We had moved into that house a few months prior to the barn party. My brother Craig and I were in Kanata whilst my parents were blissfully unaware in Ajax.

I can’t seem to remember how my brother and I got there. I wasn’t old enough for a license. My brother didn’t get his until he was twenty-one or twenty-two years old. I know he didn’t drive us. Details of that timeline are foggy to be honest. The details of what specifically happened are burned into my mind though. I can still see many of the details of that night clearly. It doesn’t affect me nearly like it use to. Today I can talk about it in a soft and matter of fact way. Without needing to cry or cower in a corner of a room somewhere in private. 

During that fateful night of the barn party, one of the boys tried to make out with me. I said no. He wouldn’t stop his sexual advances. Grabbing for my ass and forcing himself on me. It was a huge trigger and, admittedly, I had been drinking, so my reaction to his advances were exacerbated by a couple of bottles of rum based coolers. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was trapped in my head. I was experiencing flash after flash of images of different men who had hurt me over the years. Inside the confines of my emotional, frightened, and incredibly tormented mind I was lost in grief. I must have reacted horribly because two of the girls ganged up on me. They yelled profanities, and threw a few punches, kicks, and false accusations my way. They believed I had been leading Mick on.

All three of my aggressors, Mick, Shannon, and some other girl I didn’t know, were under the impression that because Mick gave me a roof to sleep under after my mother kicked me out, he earned his right to get into my pants. He held no right in my mind. No matter how much I was physically and mentally torturing myself. I stand on principle, even when drunk. Fun times. 

My brother didn’t stop the fight. That was the second time two girls ganged up on me whilst my brother watched. My brother, in my mind, seemed to have gotten a kick out of seeing me in pain. It was a rough moment in my life, that’s for sure.

In my distress, I headed for the main road several yards away through tall grass. Perhaps it was wheat, or corn, can’t remember. I ran on foot. I ran for a good few minutes. Someone was chasing me and calling my name to get me to stop running. I don’t remember who it was. It may have been my brother. I didn’t look back. I just kept on running until I couldn’t run anymore. I eventually came to a stop on the gravel at the side of the road. I stared, dead eyed, like a zombie, into space, and waited. I didn’t feel any physical pain from being hit by those girls. I was pretty numb from feeling anything at all at that point.

I waited for the first vehicle to approach. Then walked out in front of it when I saw its headlights closing in on me through my peripheral vision. I had a plan without knowing I had a plan. I was trapped inside my mind whilst taking unconscious-conscious action. I walked in front of a massive semi truck, or Mack truck I like to call it. The driver of the truck was on his game that night. He obviously missed me, or you would be reading a ghost’s blog. Well you still could be I suppose. If you were reading this after I was dead and gone.

I wasn’t in a good state that night in any sense of way. The driver of the truck that I walked out in front of called the police. Rightfully so. The truck driver, whomever the other teenager was that was with me, and myself all stayed on the side of the highway to wait for the police to arrive. I didn’t say much. I may have muttered a word here and there. That’s about it. The other teenager did most, if not all of the talking, in order to smooth things over. When the police arrived, they were briefed by the truck driver before they directed myself and my young “friend?” to get into the back of their cruiser. They asked questions, to which I wasn’t paying attention, nor had any interest in answering. Whilst they were driving us to the friend’s house my brother and I were staying at, I stared aimlessly into the starry night. I prayed to be anywhere but there, alone.

My teenage escort and I kept the party and it’s location a secret from the police. It wasn’t that hard. The barn was situated in an area with no lighting to see for several yards. The barn was two stories tall with grey weathered wood. One side of the barn was open which exposed its inside to the elements. The barn’s two massive doors were missing from their rightful spot. It was good that way. It made it easier to park some of the cars inside. With all our headlights off, the area remained perfectly dark.

Surrounding the barn were fields of tall grass, corn, or wheat, not entirely sure. It was far enough back from the road that the cops didn’t suspect a thing. As I mentioned, I can’t remember the friend who was in the police car with me. It may have been my brother, Craig? I do know I did have someone I knew in the police car with me. The sexual advancements and beating overshadowed any other important details of that night. That’s likely the reason the rest of the details are foggy.

The second time in my life when I thought of leaving my body, I wasn’t necessarily interested in ending my life. My thoughts were more towards a very strong ponder.

I was standing at the edge of a cliff. I would estimate the height of the cliff to the ground and water below to be about four stories tall. I was off the beaten path from people. I didn’t want anyone to see me standing there, contemplating life. I had just turned eighteen years old. I was on my own reflecting on my boyfriend’s affair that I had just learned about. Albert, my then boyfriend, lived two townships over from where I lived in Ajax.

I also learned at the same time that my parents were planning to move two provinces away for my dad’s work.  Albert eventually came to be my first husband. He is also the biological father of both my children.

I stood at the edge of this cliff with rugged rocks and small crashing waves below, feeling rejected by life. I was feeling sorry for myself. I was eighteen years old and in the last year of high school in 1992. I had exams, a cheating boyfriend, parents leaving some time after their house sold, waiting for me to decide if I was going to go with them. Plus a rush of old traumatic memories smacking me right left and center. It was a tad stressful back then.

The third time I contemplated ending my journey here, it was after having a horrible experience with the last man I was in a relationship with. That relationship, or should I say, situation ship, was the hardest, most gut wrenching experience of my life. Even after what I have told you thus far. A large portion of my writing to come in these blogs will revolve around my experience being with him. Him being Rosie. 

Recently, I started to imagine different ways I could end my life again. A long rope and a full grown tree with a strong branch? Nope. I have no rope and little physical strength to climb a tree, situate the rope, and take the last few minutes to think about my loved ones, before I took the plunge to pull that off. Walk in front of a bus? No, that would traumatize people. Walk deep in the woods and get lost so that the Canadian winter could get me? No, that would be excruciatingly painful. Pain free preferably please. I have had enough pain in one lifetime. Hence the bloody thoughts in the first place.

A pharmaceutical cocktail maybe? That didn’t work when I attempted that before when I was crashing from being with my boyfriend, Rosie. Would I know how much to take and what?, nope. That solution is also a weak one at best.

With no real answers, I decided to start writing my journey here because my goal is to conquer those thoughts and continue to make a positive difference in my little part of this world. I don’t have a clue if I am doing this correct to be honest. Am I writing a blog, a memoir, or a book based upon a toxic love story? Time will tell. What I do know in this present moment is, I love myself and my babies enough to remain resilient in my faith, and belief, that all works out better than I could have ever even imagined. I am here to stay. I can do this.

How the fuck did I get here? To answer that question I would have to take you back in time to when I came to learn I was a child with a moniker, “It”. The child called “It” in my world created tumultuous, and toxic love for many years. My mother gave me the name “It” before we immigrated to Canada. I was two years old. She also told anyone who would listen that I deserved to be drowned. It all ties in with living on a mattress at fifty-one years old. It’s an excellent place to start.