(Some names have been changed to protect their identity. Mature subject matter. Read at your discretion. 18)
As mentioned in the previous post, I have had a few divine Interventions in my day. The first time was when I met ‘Necklace man’ at nine years old. The next time was in the summer of 1990. I was sixteen and had spent time on a camp weekend with my boyfriend at the time named Shawn, along with some of his friends who I hardly knew.
On the saturday night of our weekend camping trip, and a weekend bender for some of the crew, I became ill. I didn’t drink like the rest of the gang did. It wasn’t because I was too pure not to consume alcohol. I didn’t play the role of Sandra Dee in the movie Grease. She was pure. I was not. My halo comes with a little tail.
I didn’t drink to get drunk. I didn’t feel comfortable around Shawn’s friends. One of his friends stabbed his girlfriend in the arm. The girlfriend had to be taken to the hospital for a few minor stitches. The same hospital that I ended up being rushed to less than twenty-four hours later. Shawn’s friend’s temper had scared me into quiet submissive vigilance. I kept my wits about me. No large alcohol consumption for me thanks.
I had experienced slight chest pains. I was sweating when no one else was. I felt nauseated and light headed at the time. I had mentioned my discomfort to Shawn. Shawn suggested I go jump in the lake. Not out of malice, at least I didn’t think so. He didn’t join me either. Shawn left me alone whilst he drank with his guy friends.
With Shawn’s suggestion in mind, I decided to go through with it. I left the cottage on my own and made my way down to the boat dock at the end of a graveled pathway. I jumped into frigid cold water at 01:00 o’clock in the morning with not a soul near me other than fish. Jumping in the lake like that gave me a horrendous shock. I had an upper body seizure moments after getting out of the water.
It didn’t help that I wasn’t the to tip-toe in kind of girl. I was the “fuck it” and dive right in kinda girl. That’s exactly what I did. I jumped right into the lake without any thoughts of the potential conditions of the freezing cold water. Nor did I consider the potential effects the cold water would have on my body. “Do and then think”, was my motto back in the day.
I had what felt like an electric shock run straight through my chest. It took my breath away. I had heard a woman’s voice in that moment say “you must get out of the water dear.”
Since I had heard this female voice before with ‘Necklace man’, I didn’t question it, nor did I question where it came from. I got out of the water immediately. I then walked up to the cabin where I had been staying. The moment I opened the backdoor of the cottage, I had an upper body seizure in the doorway. Had I not listened to that voice which told me to get out of the water, I would have surely drowned. I would have had a seizure in frigid cold darkness. Alone.
The beautiful and loving voice had saved my life once again. The beautiful lady you come to meet later on in my blog series.
Before going for that quick little dip, I had found it difficult to breathe without strenuous effort. It was hard to tell if I was simply anxious because of the violent night before, or if there was something serious going on with my body. Shawn and I had both figured it was stress or I had come down with something.
Today, I can recognize Shawn’s unwillingness to walk down to the water with me. I was okay with being left to my own devices once again. Shawn and I took a huge risk that night. Shawn felt horrible after that for quite some time. I was grounded by my parents for my choices and was urged to never see nor speak with Shawn again. Shawn and I didn’t speek about it again. I know Shawn’s mental torment concerning his choice not to be with me that night. I know without having to be told.
The doctor at the hospital was extremely judgmental of the circumstances I found myself in. Since Shawn’s friend’s girlfriend had the same doctor for a stab wound, the doctor assumed I was a hooligan “like the rest of them”. You are the company that you keep. I can’t say I blame the doctor for his arrogance and ignorance.
The hospital called my parents after I became high enough from the morphine drip they had hooked me up to. I think they drugged me to get me to tell them my home phone number. I refused to tell them how to reach my parents when I was lucid. I was so high that I hallucinated mosquitoes in the hospital room. I remember swatting at absolutely nothing all around my head. Phantom buzzing of invisible mosquitos drove me nuts. I also walked out of the hospital room I was housed in with my bare arse on display for all to see. Fun times.
My parents were pissed that they had to drive almost two hours so they could retrieve me from the hospital. I saw red in my father’s eyes. He hardly said two words to me for the entire drive home. I asked my parents for permission to go camping. They were pissed that we had changed locations of our campsite and I hadn’t made them aware of this fact. I didn’t own a cell phone, nor a beeper, nor comfortable with asking anyone for help with a phone. I was in attendance with a rather rough crowd.
My parents didn’t show me any mercy nor true care for my well-being. What they cared about was being woken up at around 3:00 am by a hospital. Claiming I was there and required an escort home.
The hospital in Peterborough, Ontario didn’t feel comfortable with releasing me back into Shawn’s care. Even when I could have died, my parents felt it was an inconvenience for them. Imagine that. Damn.
When the ambulance arrived at the cottage to retrieve me, which was about forty-five minutes after the 911 call, my heart rate was something like 200 over something else. 90, I believe? Shawn explained what happened to me once I came to at the hospital. My heart rate must have been fairly high, I guess? As I was strapped to the gurney and was being carried up another steep embankment towards the ambulance, I had another seizure. I was quickly rushed to the hospital on a code blue. I have no recollection of this.
Another intervention was, like I had mentioned, the rainbow colored, lucky charms, condom box falling at my feet.
Before Rosie and I had started to live together, we were either seeing each other where I used to live, or we communicated through text and messenger long distance. I knew Rosie had used some of those condoms with someone else. He wasn’t using them with me. Rosie and I had stopped using condoms about two months into our secret affair, which I didn’t know was a secret, nor that it was an affair at the time.
Rosie was engaged. Rosie had two very young children and a finance. Rosie lived a double life. I was the one ignorantly trying to save his life for him, and for me. I was wrong.
As previously mentioned in the last blog entry, when Rosie and I met, he was a soldier working out of a nearby base with his family in a different city. Rosie had decided to rent a room closer to the base and go home to his family on the weekends. After I found out about Rosie’s family, which was about six months into our relationship, he told me they were no longer together. Rosie had told me he lived in Oromocto, New Brunswick, in a small room in a basement, and only drove to Moncton, New Brunswick to see his kids on the weekends. I chose to believe him. I was desperate to be loved. I had to believe I was special to him. Even though I heard countless other people in this world give me the message that I would only ever equate to being Rosie’s mistress, and that he would say anything to keep me around as a side piece. They were all correct. My stubborn ass had to find that out the hard way. The painful way. The gut wrenching, heart crushing, mind numbing, only pain ever exists in this world and for me, kind of way.
Oh what we do as humans to prove that love either exists or doesn’t exist. Everything in life revolves around love. Even the absence of love is focused on its perceived non-existence, which is painful. The pain is still a result of focused love. Aggression is self love being expressed through outward pain projections. Desperation can cause many to grasp for someone to love them in order to prove they are loveable for themselves. It’s still a form of love. Granted a distorted kind of love. When a person doesn’t know how to love because they themselves were starved of love, they make shit up. No one wants to be left out in the cold. Everyone pretends they either know what love is or what love isn’t. All actions are directly rooted in love. If it wasn’t, no one would desire attention.
Desperate times often rely on desperate measures. Desperate measures are born from fear. Fear is established through the potential for pain. Pain often creates more desperate times and outward aggression. This is quite a vicious cycle for us wee little humans. This is war.
The love that I experienced with Rosie was desperate. It was a, “why can’t you love me?” sort of love. Rosie knew that was the case with me and chose to capitalize on it. Rosie took my kind heart and used it for all it was worth. Condom day made that perfectly clear.
That large box of condoms fell as soon as I moved one item from the top left side inside the unit. The box was conveniently tucked away in a spot for Rosie to reach at any time. Rosie was away every weekend we were together. Supposedly helping his mum in Montreal. I didn’t question him. I took him at his word.
If Rosie wasn’t using condoms during his weekends with his mum and children, those “old” condoms would have dried up and been wrinkled, or at the very least, hidden deep within a box of items to be looked at some day in the far off future.
I considered Rosie to be a bit of a hoarder, as was his mother. Those condoms wouldn’t have been in his thought at any time before the bloody expiration date for Pete’s sake. Not right at the entrance of the storage unit for him to reach anytime his little meat stick wanted to salute someone.
I looked at the dates on the box of condoms for an expiration date. Rosie bought them in 2017, long after we met. They expired in the year 2024. A year after I had found them. At least he chose different colored ones. Shows he does have a fun side, I guess? Who knew? I sure didn’t. This also meant that he took advantage of those condoms for quite some time; for several years in fact. How many freaking times and how many women!? That thought flashed through my mind. I had almost vomited from the idea. I definitely gagged at the thought of his mouth and penis being inside another woman and then inside me. Damn that sickened me. Not to mention unwelcomed energy transfer between all of us women and him. It’s no wonder I had to have my uterus burned to stop heavy bleeding. Rosie messed with my body’s chemistry.
Rosie most certainly did weave a nasty web for himself. Thank goodness I broke free from his sticky mess.
Rosie’s explanation to his lack of forethought in hiding the condoms better was, “they are old. I didn’t even know they were there. Condom expiration dates work differently. You are letting your mind believe we are in the same relationship as someone else’s. We are not in that same relationship. You need your helmet on again to save you from your impulsive actions.”
Deflection and gaslighting at its finest.
Rosie was a pro at deflection, gaslighting, and affectionate breadcrumbing. Rosie had a habit of underestimating my intelligence. I speak when I have enough information. I act when I am confident in my assessment and or in the proof. Does this make me naive?, or, is my choice to remain silent driven by intellect?
At one time, if anyone decided to underestimate my level of intelligence, I would be pissed off at whoever insulted me. I now see that allowing someone to think that I am dumb, is a quiet superpower. I like to give people grace to figure it out on their own. I tend to smile when they assume what they think they know about me. This tells me a lot about them.
Sometimes in life, it’s better to play a fool to fool a fool. With that in mind, I bowed out of the emotional inquisition with Rosie. I didn’t want to argue with him. All Rosie did was create another uncertainty within my safety. That’s what I knew and had to work with at the time.
I was often left confused after addressing my concerns with Rosie. I knew talking would not have helped me in the least. Rosie is not a man for being at a confessional. I went inside myself as I normally do. I had to get to the bottom of it. I had to think about what Rosie had said to me concerning his box of “lucky charms”. I also had to dissect all our time apart, and how two particular women I became aware of in our lives had played potential roles in everything.
The first time I went to Quebec, I went to help Rosie’s elderly mother take care of his son, Jean, whilst Rosie was out of the province. The time was late January, 2020. Rosie had been scheduled to be away in New Brunswick for training within the military to level up his rank. He had worked towards becoming a Warrant officer. This was two years after he moved back to Montreal. Rosie had requested for a transfer back to his home base. Rosie kept me ignorant to this fact.
The warrant officer course had started in February and ran until sometime in April that same year. I can’t remember the exact dates. I do know the course was in February. I also know he cheated on the exam, and passed, just as he cheated on me.
A person who is willing to cheat in the bedroom is also a person who is willing to cheat in the boardroom. Wherever a person goes, their character follows them. Integrity is tied to a person’s character, not necessarily their behavior. A temptation is a temptation. A cheat is led into temptation.
I arrived at Rosie’s place near the end of January to help him out. Rosie and I both thought it best I arrived a bit earlier so that his mother, Jean,who is his seven year old son, and I, could get to know each other and bond a little. Rosie only had custody of his son at that time. After I arrived at Rosie’s place, which was a couple of weeks in or so, and before he had to leave for his training to become a Warrant Officer, he was on his phone with the mother of his babies, Gemma. They had gotten into a heated text discussion. Accusations between the two of them were flying, as per usual. After the phone call and text exchange, Rosie wanted to show me some of her nasty messages.
Rosie didn’t think about the message where Gemma refers to his girlfriend, Wendy, alongside myself. I confronted him right there on the spot. Now he had two women pissed at him. His ex Gemma, and me. Well I wasn’t really angry so much as I was confused with a sunken heart in that moment.
When I asked Rosie who Wendy was, his response was, “she’s a friend of the family”.
Rosie explained that Wendy’s mom knows his mom and that they had grown up together. Rosie looked me square in the eyes, without budging, nor blinking, when he explained it. He also stared straight at me when he answered no to the question, are you cheating on me? Rosie’s seriousness, and my desperate need to be saved by love, offered me a window to reject the idea of Rosie’s will to hurt me so badly.
I chose to naively believe him. I even said “I choose to believe you”.
I didn’t have the education to know when someone starred you down, doesn’t blink, and makes little hand gestures, and head movements, is someone who is focused on a delicate way to get away with their horrendous behavior. I most certainly do know that today. That’s power for me from this experience. Even if it is messed up.
I chose to let Rosie’s deflections and gaslighting get the better of me. I chose once again to reluctantly believe him from then, until after I found out he had sex with multiple women at the same time. I was lost inside my mind. I attempted to figure out if my memory was serving me correctly? or, if what Rosie told me was true? Was Wendy just a friend of the family’s?
I found out much more when I channeled a divine entity right in front of him one time. The voice that had come out of me corrected Rosie by reminding him he had several women, not just Wendy and another woman named Carla. The voice which came out of me pressured Rosie to be honest. He chose to sheepishly admit to sleeping with four women throughout the course of our twisted relationship. The voice, who was not me, then asked if that was his final answer? As if to say, “we are giving you an opportunity to repent. Do you?” Rosie stuck to his version of the truth. He stood by there only being four.
Since being in New Brunswick with my daughter today, I have come to learn there were upwards of eighteen to twenty women on the side. I knew there was such a thing as 18+. I didn’t know Rosie had 18+ as a literal goal for himself. Talk about a conqueror! That’s two affairs a year over almost ten years, isn’t it? Damn, that takes some serious creative thinking and determination, not to mention incremental hits on a pocket book. It adds up, fast!
People say they don’t pay for sex. I call bullshit on this one. You pay with your time, your energy, your pocket change, and you pay the price of the effect after the fact. Cause and effect is a powerful law with consequences. Sex is bloody expensive! Spend your valued resources wisely.
Rosie may pay a heavy price for his sexual prowess if he ever comes to learn of my blog writing. He did say he wanted to write a book one day. His intuition may have actually said, “you will be in a book one day”. Funny, not funny.
The channeling event when I learned of the four women had taken place a little over three months after I had found the condoms, in a three star motel room, back in New Brunswick. 18+. Bloody hell! How much attention does a person need?
The “angel night” is explored further in a later blog entry. It was wild and is most definitely hard to believe.
From the moment I learned of Wendy, I became aware of my inner voice giving me little pokes and prods. “Hey, are you truly trusting your intuition when it comes to Rosie? What feeling do you get when you hear the name Wendy? Does it sit right? Is he really telling you the truth? I know you said you would never invade his privacy, and that you would leave that between him and his God, are you certain refraining from doing this is healthy for you?”.
Those thoughts were trumped by one single message I kept giving myself, which was, “Rosie wouldn’t cheat on me. Look how much I do for him. He must see my worth? Rosie loves me, right? I’m opposite to that of his ex”
I refused to believe that all my efforts were for nothing as it related to authentic true love. I had to prove I am loveable and of value, so I stayed for a bit longer after Gemma’s perfectly timed text with Wendy’s name appearing before me. I was supposed to leave for New Brunswick in April that year. After Rosie’s W.O course was complete. I left in March because I had a difficult time getting along with his french, and creole speaking mother, and was still secretly reeling over the idea of a Wendy.
It was in March, 2020, when Rosie had contacted me all in a panic. He had cheated on his exam and was caught doing so. He wanted my help on ways to address the situation. I was sitting in his barracks room when he had told me. I had to nurture a deceitful man with no thoughts as to the fact he was also deceitful with me. I didn’t connect the dots back then. Hindsight is a beautiful thing.
These are the days of my life. I ignored the breadcrumbs. I refused to eat the meal my spirit team gave to me. Instead, I blatantly refused to see the truth. It was too painful for me to digest. I procrastinated on the inevitable demise of our union.
That was until I procrastinated no more. Who the hell are you Rosie?
LivWithClairity 