My Name Is Malice

Malice is the little girl trapped inside me. The little girl who was suffocated, restrained and silenced.

I had the most creative, vivid imagination as a child. But, by age 5 I had already learned that my ideas and dreams weren’t important to anyone except me. I was constantly told to smarten up and stop being so weird. I was told to fall back into line and conform or live in fear of being rejected by everyone in my life. I saw things through rainbow-coloured glasses until I was forced to accept a black & white world. A world where imagination and creativity were forbidden. A world where I was told what to believe or risk losing everyone I loved.

So, I stuffed those hopes and dreams way down into the pit of my stomach and resigned myself to a world of monotony and boredom. But, that little girl inside of me refused to give up. She learned to hide her true feelings and gain acceptance by being a dancing monkey whose sole mission in life was to please those who refused to be happy. I named that little girl Malice and kept her compartmentalized…until she refused to be hidden in shame any longer. After many years of hiding my true identify and self, Malice demanded to be set free to pursue the dreams she had been forced to repress and deny. Malice is the creative force that still lives within me….and she grows stronger everyday. I no longer believe the lies I was forced to believe about myself. There is nothing wrong with me. I am a proud survivor of ritualistic religious abuse. I like who I am today and I will not dilute myself in order to make others comfortable. I will not be ashamed of the crimes and sins inflicted upon me as a child. I will not stand in line with my mouth shut to gain acceptance. I speak out now to bring awareness to the terrible suffering so many children are still suffering from because their parents have chosen to join or remain in a dangerous cult littered with child sex abuse scandals. I don’t care anymore that many will still try to label me as a freak to divert attention from the fact that right here, right now, in my city and yours….children are being physically, mentally, sexually, and spiritually raped by a greedy controlling publishing corporation that’s disguised itself as a loving religion.
And the truth shall set me free.pexels-photo-413268.jpeg

Life After Near Death

So this is my life after death. I was diagnosed with Addison’s Disease almost 2 years ago. I knew I was sick for many years before that but trying to figure out WHAT was wrong with me was a whole other ball of wax. I almost died in my doctor’s office one day but didn’t because of the amazing attention and care I was given by my doctor. She is female and only a few years younger than me so I think that is why she actually cares. She also specializes in Women’s Studies so I think that is what also makes her a better physician.

I spent a lot of time in bed hovering between life and death. The side effects from the meds made me even sicker but I had to take them to stay alive. Every single one of them listed weight gain and nausea as major side effects. My thick beautiful hair turned white and fell out in clumps. The meds also increased my blood sugar levels. As I watched my body bloat and I no longer recognized myself in the mirror my world became very dark very quickly. I was in for the fight of my life and I didn’t know if I had it in me to keep on trying. I just wanted to close my eyes and go to sleep forever.

But then my son moved back home after getting hit by a Mack truck and needed help to rebuild his life. My life had a meaningful purpose again. I knew it was going to be the toughest road I’d have to walk in order to not only survive this disease but also conquer it.

I’ve been thin my whole life and my body type was not built for carrying any extra weight. It took about a year but once my vitals became stable I started the slow agonizing process of weaning myself off of a lot of the meds I’d been put on. I did it under close supervision with my doctor. The hardest part was pushing myself through the physical pain I felt with every step I took. I felt every extra pound on my joints and spine. A lot of the weight has come off but I still don’t feel like me. I don’t know if I ever will again but I hope so.

I was really sick for almost 2 years but I didn’t give up. And now that I’m finally starting to see a light at the end of this tunnel, we’ve been inflicted with this pandemic. I worked in the health care field for many years (as a PSW, Nurses Aide and Medical Office Assistant) and if I wasn’t in the high-risk category I would be working the frontlines like I did through the SARS outbreak. Instead, I have mostly isolated myself so that I don’t get infected and die.

I don’t know how this whole saga will play out but I do know that I’m stronger than what I give myself credit for. I am a survivor. As horrible as this coronavirus is; it gives me a small degree of comfort to know that (almost) everyone is taking precautions to prevent further infections and death. Before this all started I had always been very hyper vigilant about using PPE to safeguard myself and my children from any diseases and viruses I could potentially pick up from patients at work. But, I’d watch in horror as other people casually exposed themselves to germs. Now, we are all in the same boat and risk losing someone if we don’t protect ourselves.

Being raised in a doomsday cult has in some ways prepared me for the apocalyptic world we now live in. It’s probably the only good thing to come out of that whole experience.

Stay safe everyone!

Malice xox

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When I ask myself how I ended up here I see flashes of memories spin out like an 8mm movie reel on the wall of my mind. I tried so hard to put those horrific years behind me by pretending that it didn’t matter. I foolishly thought I could just put them out of mind by pushing those feelings and images deep down into my gut and sealed behind concrete walls reinforced with steel. I naively thought I could just get on with my life with no repercussions. For many years I tried to blend in somewhat so that I didn’t draw attention myself; thus ensuring my place amongst “normal” people.

Every day begins the same way for me these days. First of all, when I first wake up I am genuinelysurprised that I’m still here; that I’m actually still alive. That I made it through another night. Then the next thoughst that wash over me is a mixture of sadness and loss. Everything comes rushing back to me like a tidal wave crashing me against the rocks. The feeling of dread and heaviness settles over my heart again. The pain is palpable. The tapes start up and the first question in my mind is always the same: How did I get here? Like a set of dominoes lined up against each other I start to feel the pieces fall over each other. The last 35 years have both rushed past me and also kept me frozen in time in a world that never meant any sense to me but was forced to comply with for fear of serious repercussions.

What I didn’t count on though was feeling like I didn’t really fit in with others. Everything seemed so strange and unfamiliar to me that my discomfort manifested itself first mentally and then physically. I couldn’t relate to people who talked about their happy childhoods and experiences of growing up to become whoever and whatever they wanted to be. I couldn’t talk about the kids I went to school with for fear that it would expose my deep dark dirty secret of being a freak because of growing up in a doomsday cult that had cast a shadow over my day to day existence and plagued me through nightmares that have given me a lifetime of nightmares and insomnia. I felt like I was always inadequate around my peers. I have spent a lifetime playing catch up for the years that were robbed from me as a child. I have placed enormous pressure on myself to succeed in anything and everything I have put my hand to. Yet, no matter what I accomplish I never feel satiated. Instead, the anxiety keeps coming back and saying, “Well now what are you going to do with yourself?” I am forever trying to play catch up but have finally realized that I am slowly killing myself trying to justify my very existence.

Before I got really sick and ended up in the hospital I had prided myself in my achievements and felt like I had grown as a person. That was before I looked into the eyes of The Grim Reaper again and realized that he was determined to ride my back until I succumbed to his sickle. This time I came perilously close to shutting my eyes forever.

It would have been so easy to just let go and give in to it. But, there was still something inside of me that wanted to take that last kick at the can. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I knew that the severe reaction I had had from the meds that they had me on for 10 months would be my biggest challenge yet. Every inch of me hurt and the weight I had gained from those meds put intense pressure on my joints and muscles. I instinctively knew that to go from where I was to where I wanted to be would be intense and torturous.

We moved to a secluded little beach house out in the countryside. It gave me the peace and serenity to be able to finally heal myself. It meant I would have to analyze every aspect of my life finally and put the pieces back together of my broken psyche. I would finally be able to be the person I believe I was created to be. I was finally able to leave the city that I was born in and grew up in behind me and examine the destruction from afar in order to gain perspective of all the damage that had occurred in my lifetime. I am surrounded by forests and silence. For the first time in a long time I am able to open that dark room inside my head and exorcise my demons. I am in control now and strong enough to examine and slay those thoughts and images. However, mornings still start with an incredible sadness for what could have been but will never be now no matter what I do.

The nights don’t set me free either because my mind never shuts down. Instead I am subjected to terrifying graphic images that flood my mind until I finally succumb to short periods of sleep. The dreams and nightmares are so realistic that they often set my mood for the day until I get up and begin the process of medicating and taking care of myself. I am in physical pain from years of abuse to my body and an auto-immune disease that has gifted me with extreme fatigue, chronic illness and sometimes debilitating pain. When you feel like you are trapped in your body your mind begins to spin out of control with negative messages and memories. This is the hardest part of my day. Sometimes it all seems so overwhelming and hopeless. I have to talk myself down from the ledge and convince myself once again that once I am medicated things will begin to look better. I need the nausea and pain to lessen before I can focus on anything positive. I have to force myself to get up and do the many things it takes for me to even begin feeling somewhat like myself again. I push myself to go outside and open my eyes to the beautiful possibilities that each new day brings. I remind myself of all the magical things the future holds for me if I just never give up. I lift myself up by listening to music and purging my thoughts. But, no matter what I do or how great things go that day I know that tomorrow and every day thereafter I will be faced with challenges that will demand every bit of strength that I have in order to carry on. I also know that I have much to be grateful for. I have 2 beautiful grown kids who have always been the best part of my life. I have 2 amazing grandkids and a loving supportive husband who has never left my side and supports me unconditionally. I live in a wonderful house with a beach at the end of my street. I have the time to focus on my projects and explore new interests. I have extended family that accept me as I am and don’t try to change or censor me. I have so many things to be thankful for. So, I remind myself of these things when I start my day with thoughts of defeat and the awareness of my limitations. And each night I pray for the strength to make it through the darkness; awakening to the start of another brand new day.

I am fully aware that each day could be my last. So today , while the sun is shining I will bask in the knowledge that I have been granted another day to do anything that brings me joy and the opportunity to keep growing as a person. It’s never over until it’s over. – Malice



   Right now, at this very moment; I am sitting on a king-sized bed in a luxurious 4 Diamond Hotel called Caesar’s.  You might have heard of the place before.  You probably have.  It’s the one located in Windsor, not Las Vegas, but it’s still spectacular.  I have a clear view of the GM building across the lake in Detroit.  It’s quite impressive and is breathtakingly beautiful when you observe it at night.  Last time we were here for a few days we took the underground tunnel to get across the river to check out the new GM building that greets you as soon as you get across.  There were fountains, stores and restaurants.  We even watched a newly married couple get their pictures taken on the steps by a professional photographer.  They were having the reception inside the GM building and you could see the balloons and streamers decorating the balcony off of the reception room.  There were 2 big ships parked off to the left of the GM building for day tours.  There were even children laughing and playing in the fountains under the blazing sunshine.

   But that was months ago when it was in the middle of July.  Right now it’s only about 42 degrees F and it’s raining.  It looks miserable outside and my husband is working in that weather.  But he never complains, he just tells me to enjoy myself.  Which is a really hard thing for me to do.  I wasn’t raised to believe that I have the right to enjoy life to it’s fullest and pursue happiness just for the sake of being happy.  I’ve worked hard all my life so I don’t feel comfortable with letting someone else pay my way.  I always prided myself on being financially independent and able to take care of myself and my kids.  I was never wealthy but I always had the ability to find a way to obtain anything I wanted or needed.  But, I just finished 4 years of schooling in Criminal Psychology & Behaviour so I haven’t had an income of my own in a long time.  Which really messes with a person’s head who has worked since she was 13 and left home at 16 to find her own way in life.  Now don’t get me wrong, my husband is generous to a fault and we talked about this before I started on this next chapter of my life.  However, Talk is one thing, reality is another.  The reality of this situation for me is that somewhere buried deep in my psyche is an overwhelming fear of insecurity.  I’ve been taking care of myself for so long I find it very difficult to believe and trust that someone could love me enough to take care of me without throwing it back in my face.  I wasn’t taught unconditional love growing up.  I was brainwashed to believe that there was a price for everything and that I needed to prove my worth on a daily basis.

   There is a cause and effect theory that I think applies here to my situation.  The reason I find it hard to just kick back and relax is because I grew up in a mind-control cult that spread their hateful propaganda on a daily basis; brainwashing young children into believing that they have no individual value.  For 12 years I was told that I needed to earn the right to even exist and that they held the key to my eternal salvation.  Although I never bought into their rhetoric, I’ve come to accept and understand that if someone tells you that are nothing and don’t matter every single day of your childhood, there’s bound to be some lifelong side effects.

   I’m not looking for pity and I don’t ever want anyone to feel sorry for me.  The past is gone and nothing can change it. But, I’m determined to life my life to the fullest without feelings of guilt and unworthiness.  So I struggle daily with accepting my good fortune at having a wonderfully loving husband who thrives on spoiling me and calling me his princess.  Last night we went to Spago for dinner and tonight we have reservations to the upscale Nero’s restaurant located inside the casino building.   We ate at Nero’s last time we were here and the food is incredible.  I’ve eaten in high-end restaurants all over Canada and the United States but Nero’s superseded my expectations.  We had the Date Night Special which was lobster, crab and shrimp.  The quality was A+ and the ambiance was incredibly romantic.

   So, I KNOW how lucky I am to have such a fulfilling life and that there’s lots of people less fortunate than me.  I also know that in time I will find my way to the next exciting chapter in my career life, but in the meantime my biggest challenge is learning to “just enjoy” the life I am so grateful to have at this stage of the game.  And I’m going to keep on writing about the JW cult, no matter who likes it, because I know firsthand the damage that they have caused to millions of people and continue to do so in the year 2017 in my city and yours and all over the world.  As long as I know that children are being subjected to the mental and emotional abuse (and sometimes sexual and/or physical abuse) perpetuated by the JW cult I will continue to speak out against such atrocities in the hope of helping or saving one person or family from the  harmful effects of a publishing corporation disguised as a religion.

Ciao for now,


#42 What Does It Mean?

pexels-photo-149988.jpeg   The other night I had a terrifying nightmare.  Like so many others I’ve had since I was a child.   They say it’s an aftereffect of being raised in a doomsday cult. So anyway, I woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat with my heart pounding so hard and my head swimming with confusion.  The time was 0436 and the number 42 was stuck in my head on a loop that kept flashing before my eyes. I sat straight up in bed and tried to make sense of what was going on.  Why was I sweating and breathing so hard?  Why was I scared out of my mind?  I tried to close my eyes and go back to sleep but that number 42 kept racing through my head.  So I gave up and decided to figure out the significance of this number in my life.

Continue reading #42 What Does It Mean?



   It’s been 10 years since my father died.  Alone and lonely;  in a room he was renting from strangers.  We were estranged at the time for many years so it hurt really bad, knowing that the chances of making amends was now forever terminated.

   Christmas has never been a happy time for me.  Not since I was 3 years old.  That’s when I lost my extended family for many years.  My parents joined a religious cult that expected and demanded members to cut off all ties to anyone who wasn’t a member, including biological family.

I was driving in my car a couple of weeks before Christmas when the song called “Please Come Home For Christmas” by The Eagles came on the radio.  The sad lonely desperate lyrics made me think of my father, which made me start to cry unexpectedly.  See, the last time I saw my father and actually spoke to him was over the Christmas holidays a few years ago.  I was with my father’s family at my Uncle Rick’s house and the last person I would have ever expected to see there was my father.  Yes, even though I was at his brother’s house with most of his siblings.  Because of his involvement in the JW cult he had cut me off many years ago.  He obediently shunned me as part of the requirements of being a member in good standing because not only had I run away from the JW as soon as I could, I was a known apostate.  I spoke out against the tyrannical rules and regulations dictated by an organization that destroys families and robs children of their innocence.  I was having a great time with everyone when I noticed that one of my aunt’s had seemingly disappeared.  I looked around the house for her and was told that she had gone outside for a cigarette.  So naturally, I went to the front door and when I opened it I got the shock of my life.  There stood my father!  He turned and smiled at me so I said hello.  He said hello back, but then… nothing.  The moment felt so surreal and awkward.  I didn’t have a coat on and he didn’t make any gesture to encourage me to come to him so I just smiled at him and shut the door.  I’m sure the whole exchange took less than a minute but at the time it felt like I was caught in a time warp.  I don’t remember who else was standing on the porch or if anyone else said anything but I will never forget that lost chance of reuniting with the first man I had ever loved.

   Every year, as November comes to a close a darkness starts to wash over me.  It comes without warning or notice.  It’s a feeling of dread that’s brought on by childhood memories of sad feelings of isolation and loneliness, knowing that everyone else was engaged in celebrations and being merry while we were forbidden to engage in such activities.  Every year I hope things will be different and I really hope that this year will be different.  I try to stay positive and focus on the plans I have for the loving family currently in my life that I am so grateful for.  But every year, without fail…the darkness comes and casts a gloomy shadow over all of my good intentions and positive plans.  I try to conceal these negative feelings from everyone I love but I feel like I’m walking a tightrope of feelings that could cause me to topple at any second.

   This year however has been extremely difficult to hold back the floodgates of tears and feelings of misery.   My 92 year old paternal grandmother died on November 21, 2017.  She was living with one of my aunts  2 hours away so I was fortunate enough to be able to go there and spend her last days with her and other family members.  The family members that I was denied during my childhood.  We took turns sitting by her side; never leaving her alone.  We held her hands and rubbed her arms, whispering words of love into her ear.  Just like we did with my Aunt Nancy 4 years earlier.  I am the oldest and first grandchild on my father’s side of the family,  so as I held her hand and my grandmother slipped into unconsciousness it felt like a small piece of me was dying with her.  After many years of separation we each took tentative steps to repairing and rebuilding our fractured relationship.  I made the decision many years ago to put myself out there and try to get to know my grandmother better before I jumped to any conclusions or judgements about her role in the dissolution of our families.  As scary as it was to let my guard down and allow her into my heart; I am extremely glad that I did. When you gather information and put all the missing pieces together, things begin to make more sense and the healing begins.

My grandmother had a very dignified funeral service and the turnout was huge.  My father was there too.  Well, his ashes were anyway.  When he died he didn’t have any kind of service so we were denied the closure that is necessary for the grieving process.  It had been almost 10 years since I viewed his cold, bloated body on a gurney in a body bag in a back room of another funeral home.  It was the first time my husband had ever met my father.  He stood by my side, holding me up as I talked to my father and stroked his cold, sad face.  So now here we were and his time had come to be given the dignity he was denied so many years ago.  One day I will write about the whole thing surrounding my father’s last days and death.  But right now I need to stay focused on the recent events.  My father had  spent the last few years first at my grandmother’s house and then later with one of my uncles when she moved out to the West Coast.   Sitting on a table beside my grandmother’s elegant light blue casket were my father’s ashes and a picture of him just months before he died.  The plan was for me to place his ashes in my grandmother’s casket before the service began, along with his picture.  After a second service at the cemetery we were all invited to a luncheon at the building next to the funeral home.  I was exhausted when it was all over with but I wouldn’t trade the time I spent with my aunts and uncles during that time for all the money in the world.

   Three weeks later my favourite uncle was admitted to the hospital for the final time.  He had been battling health problems for years and had had to go on dialysis the last year of his life due to kidney failure.  After finding out that he was also suffering from kidney and liver cancer he decided to stop all treatments.  He was tired of feeling sick.  He was tired of fighting a losing battle.  He was tired of sleeping all the time.  So, he made the very brave decision to stop all treatments and let nature take it’s course.  A week later he was dead.  Three days after Christmas.  I was his POA and Executrix so I got the call at 0426 that he had died and I needed to get his stuff out of the room and make arrangements to have his body picked up.  I’ll write more about that whole experience another time.  Right now, I just want to grieve the losses I’ve dealt with this Christmas season and hope that by Spring I won’t still feel like crying everyday.

   I’m already not looking forward to next Christmas.  Too many bad memories, too much pain and heartache.  Every year I say this year will be different and I make plans to provide a beautiful Christmas for my husband, my children and grandchildren.  But every year it’s foreshadowed by a lifetime of haunting images and disturbing memories.  I know that everyone has suffered from grief and heartache sometime in their lifetime.  I don’t think I’ve cornered the market on misery but I definitely think I’ve had more than my fair share of tragedy.  Like Elvis Presley sang, “I’ll have a Blue Christmas Without You”.




DSC01231I know it’s been awhile since I’ve written anything. I can’t forget because I keep getting email reminders from WordPress telling me exactly how many days it’s been since I last wrote on my blog. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, it’s just that I’ve been really busy doing lots of other things.  Like, I finally finished sanding and painting the beat up antique dresser I bought for $50. and painted a beautiful shade of black.  It’s one of the things I really enjoy doing.  Taking old things from refrugaled to remarkable.  It had solid bones when I bought it and the scratches and scars didn’t scare me one bit.  There wasn’t one nail in this fine piece of furniture, it was all dovetailed together.  I admire such workmanship!  And let’s face it, the new stuff they sell nowadays is expensive and designed to be disposable.  I’ve been slowly replacing each shabby dresser I’ve lived with for over 25 years because I finally have some time to focus on some projects and passions I’ve wanted to do but couldn’t because I had to work to pay the bills and take care of my babies.  It turned out even better than I imagined.  I’ll post a picture of it at a later date.  It rained most of the summer so I only made it to the beach twice this year.  I had ear surgery to repair a blown eardrum from a lifetime of repeated infections that should have been dealt with when I was a child but my mother’s doctor was a quack who didn’t believe in surgery.  I’m still looking out for my uncle who is going through dialysis so I spent quite a few days at the hospital with him.  We went to Calgary, Alberta to visit my son for 2 weeks and it was wonderful to hold him in my arms again.  It doesn’t matter how old he gets, he will always be my baby boy.  My horrible neighbour who lives to the left of me put her house up for sale and it sold in less than 2 weeks so that is great news.  I hope she’s gone before Christmas.  My anxiety was getting so bad I started having chest pains wondering what nutty thing she was going to do next.  I’ll write another blog about her after she leaves.  I spent lots of time with my grand babies before they went back to school because they are the best medicine in the world for me.  I went with my husband for a week to the Ottawa Valley while he worked and got to see my sister/cousin which always lifts my spirits.  But mostly, I’ve been homesick for California.  Even though I wasn’t born or raised there.

The first time I went to California was over 20 years ago.  I took my kids out of school for 3 weeks and went with my mother and her husband.  The first place we drove to was Malibu Beach.  From the moment I stood on that beach with my toes in the sand and water, I felt like I had finally found my true home.  I felt like I belonged there.  I felt like this is where I should have been born, raised and shaped.  A place that’s warm all year round (compared to where I live), and a place where individuality and creativity is celebrated not berated.  A place where I could breathe in the ocean air and just be me.  Thousands of miles away from my brutal upbringing in a religious doomsday cult.  Days away from the narrow-minded small town I was born and broken in.

I’ve also been really sad that I’ve had negativity thrown my way recently.  It’s one of the reasons I never talked about my childhood to anyone for most of my life.  I learned at a very young age how to suppress my true feelings and participate in things that I did not believe in or enjoy.  I didn’t have a choice.  I didn’t have a voice when I was a child.  I sat through years of gruesome brainwashing while trying to hang onto my sanity.  When I finally escaped at the age of 15 I foolishly thought I could just push it all down and pretend that not of that craziness ever happened.  I created a new identity for myself and armoured myself with an image of toughness and bravado.  I also had 2 children at a young age that kept me too busy to even think about what my parents had involved us in; never mind trying to process the inevitable side effects that come from having your will broken and your innocence stolen.  I was The Great Pretender, fooling everyone around me for many years.  To the outsider it looked like I had my shit together.  I always worked to take care of my babies, we lived in a nice clean safe apartment, and I had good health.  But everything changed when my father overdosed in 2008 before we were able to make amends from a 25 year estrangement.  He closed the door when he told me he could no longer be a part of my life if I refused to come back to the cult.  Those words stabbed me like a knife to the heart.

So, his death blew the doors of the steel vault I had carefully constructed around my heart and feelings.  I was weak and defenceless at the time because I was dealing with an infection from major surgery, I was being sexually harassed by my boss, and then I got that phone call I’d been waiting for all those years.  I had a complete mental and physical breakdown that took me years to recover from.  Although I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.  I have no tolerance for bullshit now and can spot crazy a mile away.  I went to therapy and realized that all my demons (pun intended) could be directly traced back to all the abuse and lies spoon-fed to me on a daily basis for years to that destructive cult.  It was the reason I was diagnosed with PTSD.  It is the cause of insomnia, anxiety and depression.  It is the source of my feelings of worthlessness and emptiness.  So, I decided to start speaking out.  They say you are only as sick as your secrets and I was tired of keeping silent about the widespread child abuse I witnessed inside the walls of that cult.

I have been shown much love, support and encouragement by friends, some family, and even strangers who read my stories.  But I was never naive enough to believe that I wouldn’t get negative feedback from some cowardly keyboard warriors.  But what I didn’t count on was hearing about it from people I am unfortunately related to.  They say things like, why don’t you just get over it? Or, that’s in the past, you have a good life now so just be grateful and put it behind you.  There’s also those that say they don’t understand why I have to speak badly about my former religion and let them live in peace.  So I’m going to answer those questions again.  First, this was never MY religion.  I didn’t choose it and I never believed any of the garbage they tried to force me to accept.  As young as 6 I couldn’t understand how these seemingly intelligent adults couldn’t see through the scam or how they could believe such outrageous claims by an organization that treated their members like they were worthless.  I didn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to speak my mind and ask questions to things that were just so far-fetched they bordered on the brink of insanity.  But I quickly learned to fall in line and at least perfect my pretence of going along with the program.  Corporal punishment and public shaming were just 2 of the ways children were made to be compliant.  I’ve never recovered from having to force myself to publicly ostracize myself from everyone outside the cult as dictated by the leaders of this evil organization.  I was forced to stifle my own personality and be labelled as anti-social.  I was the outsider, the freak, for all of my school years.  I could never make friends because I was told that these other children were worldly and evil and served the devil.  I just wanted to blend in and be myself and feel normal.  But, I wasn’t allowed to, it was strictly forbidden.  It’s not like I could leave home and take care of myself.  This was the family I was born into and I was expected to never do anything that would bring shame upon the family.

So when I finally decided to speak out and reveal the horrors I survived I made a vow to myself that I would NEVER keep their ugly secrets ever again.  I would never protect the guilty who have much blood on their hands.  And I don’t care who likes it or what they have to say about me.  They can try to mock and ridicule me all they want but it won’t shut me down.  This isn’t about me. And it’s certainly not about “getting over” it.  It’s about all the innocent children who are still being indoctrinated with messages that are false and will only serve to destroy their self-confidence and self-worth.  It’s about all those children who will have their mind contaminated with graphic images that will cause them to have lifelong nightmares.  It’s about the children who will be self-destructive when they are cut off and shunned by everyone they know because they disagree with the fallacies and doctrines they’ve been presented with.  If an organization claims to be the only ones who know the truth about everything and can guarantee your eternal existence then it should be able to stand up to any and all questions.  If an organization is blemish-free and has nothing to hide they should have no qualms or hesitation to report child or domestic abuse to the PROPER authorities, not just have it handled internally by people who are not qualified to seek just for the victims of such serious crimes.  And lastly, I have a constitutional right to speak about anything I want.  Just like you do.  I’m always perplexed by people who try to put a gag on someone’s mouth when they don’t like what they are saying.  Why?  Is it because they are embarrassed that they have family that laps that cult shit up like it’s honey?  Is it because they didn’t experience life in a cult in the same way as the devout members and their children did?  Is it because they had a relatively normal childhood because their father didn’t believe in that hocus-pocus so they weren’t denied any of the celebrations most average people were doing in the community? I think it’s because they rarely even went to those hellish monotonous meetings that made you wish your were dead.  I know, because I was forced to go to every meeting, every convention and every event the cult had going on.  The cult took up my whole life, 7 days a week.  It dominated our lives.  Even at school I couldn’t get away from it.  I had to set myself apart from everyone like some freak at a circus show for a cause I didn’t believe in one iota.  But they didn’t!  They weren’t there and that’s why it didn’t have the same effect on them as it’s had on millions of other people worldwide.  It’s more than a coincidence that millions of people from every part of the world tells the same stories about abuse, neglect, brainwashing and it’s lifelong side-effects.  I’ve had to block people on Facebook because I don’t need the negativity and I won’t engage with someone who wants to take away my freedom of speech.  To those who try to silence me, know this: the harder you try to shut me up to protect a corrupt organization that destroys families and robs people of their happiness in the here and now, the more I thrive on your ignorance and intend to spread the message of what really goes on inside that secret society.  And the truth shall set me free.

So for weeks now I’ve been homesick for a place that was never really my hometown but reminds me that there is still so much good going on in places with people that don’t live in a world of black and white thinking.  The best part of it all is that there are more people exposing the lies and corruption every single day.  In this day of modern technology it’s a lot harder to hide secrets and scandals.  It doesn’t matter now where somewhere lives or how far away we are from others worldwide.  We are instantly connected by the internet and it has proven to be a useful tool to expose and destroy evildoers.  Those people who thought they could get away from their egregious crimes against children in that pedophilia paradise are now having to answer for their actions.  They can no longer just ignore the outcry of so many victims and get away with so much injustice.  I think the best example of that was all of the lies and information that came out during the Royal Australian Commission last year.  It was aired live and that heinous cult was exposed for was it truly is.  An organization that does not protect it’s vulnerable members and had never reported a single incident of child abuse to the police in their entire history.  How very pompous of them to believe that people would believe that nobody had ever been violated in any way, EVER!  In fact, they took great delight in condemning and judging the Catholic religion for years when the scandals started rearing it’s ugly head in that organization.  Those who live in glass houses should’t throw rocks.

It’s been raining the last few days and the weather has cooled down.  The leaves are changing colours and falling to the ground.  The sun rarely makes a bright appearance lately.  But I know that somewhere in California someone is still spending days on the beach, soaking up some sunshine and fresh salty air.  I woke up about a week ago with the song California Dreamin’ from The Mamas and The Papas in my head and it seems to be on a continual loop.  That’s ok though, because I know California awaits my return and all I have to do is shut my eyes and picture the waves and palm trees and my anxiety is almost instantly abated.

If I could live anywhere in the world it would be California.  And maybe one day I will.  I’ve succeeded in almost everything I’ve attempted since I left that dominating cult, so maybe if I put it out there in the universe I will find a way to spend more time there.  Maybe through my writing, maybe through my new career in Criminal Psychology & Behaviour.  Until then, music and pictures can transport me there in my mind.

Ciao for now ~ Malice



Haunted House

Home Sweet Home! Be it ever so humble; there’s no place like home!!  These are only a couple of phrases that come to mind when I think about my house.  It doesn’t matter where you live, it’s very important to make that place your own.  It doesn’t matter if you live in an apartment building, a ranch, a bungalow or a condo.  Wherever you call home should feel like your sanctuary; your safe place to escape the demands of life’s responsibilities.  It’s the one place in the world that you should be able to remove your protective armour and drop your guard in order to relax and enjoy the fruits of your labour.  If you’ve had a hard day at work it’s wonderful to be able to come home to your very own piece of paradise.    A place that reflects your personality through decorative touches, a place to gather loving family and friends for fabulous foods and memories in the making.  A place where you can be totally yourself.  A place to dance with no inhibitions and be silly.  A place to hang your head and cry when bad news comes to visit.  A place to form unbreakable bonds with the people who mean the most in your life.    A home is a wonderful place to put down roots and create traditions with family.  A loving home where one feels safe is sacred to me and I cannot rest easy if I sense danger nearby.  It doesn’t matter where you lay your head at night as long as you have the peace and serenity of knowing that your home is your sanctuary.  To achieve the many benefits of your home being and feeling like a sanctuary the first goal is to know and feel that your are safe inside your home.

But…what if you no longer feel safe in your home because of the constant intrusions from your neighbours who appear to be oblivious to the fact that you have the right to expect privacy?  What if your neighbours run roughshod over boundaries with no regard to your legal rights as a property owner?  What if your neighbour acts like you should be instant besties just because you live next to one another?  What if the hair stands up on the back of your neck every time she speaks to you?  What if she flirts with your husband and tries to treat him like he’s her new property manager because we live right beside her?  What if the neighbours on both sides of your hours are obnoxious, nosy, and are related to each other?  What if they decide to aggravate and harass you endlessly as a means of entertainment to each other?  What do you do when your neighbours destroy private property and trespass?  When do you say enough is enough and who do you get to help you in order to bring back peace and harmony into your life?

In order for all of this to make sense, let’s go back to the very beginning of this unending saga of annoying, chaotic and rude behaviour of our neighbours.  It all started just over 10 years ago when we bought the house we are currently living in.  I think it started off on a bad note when we found out (after we had already bought the house and had all our worldly belongings packed with nowhere else to go) that the young man before us had commit suicide in the garage.  The house sent empty for almost a year after the owner had beed buried down the street from me in the cemetery at the end of my street.  We moved into our new home at the end of November during a snowstorm.  We hired a moving company to help us move our things to make the move quicker and easier on us physically.  When we pulled into the driveway the wind was howling and the snow was falling heavily.  We started unpacking the moving truck as quickly as possible in order to avoid any of our things getting wrecked.  We weren’t in the driveway of our new home for even an hour before my son came to tell me that there was 2 old men inside of our garage looking around.  I  just couldn’t believe it! Who does that?  And what did they want inside a garage that was clearly not theirs?  I had my husband chase them off and watched where they went when they left.  To my utter shock and dismay I watched them go into the house on the right of our new home.  I went to the garage to see what they had been looking at when I was horrified to find that the car that the previous owner had killed himself in, was still in our garage.  And like vultures circling the dead they were staring at in morbid curiosity..  That told me what kind of people we had just moved in next to.  But I was determined that they would keep their distance now that they knew the house was occupied with new owners.  Boy was I wrong, nothing could be further from the truth.

For the first few years I felt sorry tor the woman who lived there because her husband was so verbally abusive to her that I actually came to her defence a few times when I could hear him screaming and berating her while I was inside my house.  We will call the man Fred and the woman Ethel.  I had a few run-ins with Fred that first summer because he kept pushing his lawn mower up my driveway between my BMW and his house.  At the time we had a Doberman who went ballistic every time Fred did this.  Fred would yell and swear at my dog to shut up and I would tell him to get out my driveway to which he replied he couldn’t gain access to his yard on the other side because it was obstructed with a huge pile of junk.  I told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to clean up his shit because I didn’t want him walking so close to my car with his lawnmower.  Later that week a mysterious scratch showed up on the back of my car that looked like it had been done with a key.  I had no proof so I had to let it go!  Fred made every excuse and offer to gain access to our backyard but we refused his entry.  Next, he tried to get close to our guard dog by asking if he could give her bones.  Again, we said no.  Our last house had been broken into a neighbour who lived a few houses down from us.  It had happened in the middle of the day and my husband had come home to drop my daughter off when the neighbour across the street warned him that there was someone who was inside our little house.  He went inside and held the loser who had shot up outside my daughter’s bedroom window before he broke in.  So when we moved we were looking for a clean break.

We would often come home and find Ethel in our driveway or looking over the fence into our backyard.  The final straw came when she cut big holes into our tree that blocked their view into our backyard.  That very weekend my husband built a fence down our driveway on the property line and built a privacy screen to cover the whole from where Ethel had cut our tree.  After that we never spoke to them or even made eye contact.  Until one day when Fred came over and asked my husband if he would report him to the city if he decided to rebuild his backyard shed.  He said he didn’t want to pay for the permits that the city requires.  My husband just kind of brushed him off by saying as long as it isn’t near my property I don’t care what you did and never thought anything more about it. But ever since we put the fence up it sent a clear message that we were done with the games and drew the boundary lines that left no doubt that we would no longer tolerate any more intrusions from them.

This is the third summer that new neighbours moved in beside us on the left side.  Turns out they are related to the horrible neighbours on our right.  Great! I could hardly wait to see how this would play out, but I also wanted to keep an open mind as the new neighbours were about 25 years younger than their obnoxious neighbours. It didn’t take long for my new neighbour to annoy me.  It was around 9pm one hot summer night when I was returning from walking my dog when all of a sudden a woman jumped out of the dark and called me out by name.  My dog went into defence mode and started barking and snapping at her.  But she just got louder and excited as she started rambling about how happy she was that I have a dog and that she would watch her anytime we wanted to go out or go away.  The hairs stood up on the back of my neck.  Something just didn’t seem right.  I didn’t even know this woman’s name,  we’d never been introduced and she was speaking to me in a very manic fashion.  Her phoney niceness and pushiness was an instant turn-off for me.  She asked if she could pet my dog and I said no, she is here to protect me and I don’t know you  so I don’t want to give her the wrong signals.  I don’t want her to trust someone I don’t even know.  I then turned around and went inside my house, with my husband quickly following behind.  I instantly had a gut feeling that this bitch was going to be a problem and that I needed to pay attention.  A couple of weeks later another strange incident happened.  While my husband was cutting the front lawn our new neighbour (we will call her Drunky) walked over to him with her arm in a sling and in a very slutty voice asked him if he could start her lawn mower because she had just had a shoulder surgery.  Being sweet & naive my husband said I have to get something from inside and then I’ll be back shortly.  When he came inside and relayed what had just happened I instantly thought her actions were not normal.  How many woman approach a strange man and ask them to do them a favour?  Especially wearing a sling because of surgery? I became angry and said, “can you not see that this woman is playing you?”.  I said yes and it’s because she’s trying to manipulate you to cut her lawn for her.  In spite of the fact that she had a man and her full-grown adult son living with her.  I said, “now she will be coming over all the time”.  My husband was in disbelief.  But in less than 5 minutes she was banging on our door asking my husband what was taking him so long?  As soon as he shut the door I looked at him and said, “see”?  He never went back outside and we noticed she had moved onto another neighbour who was cutting her grass for her.  After that she continued to talk in a little girl voice to him and call out to him over the fence and giving him compliments on how good the yard looked. Ironically, I’m the one who does all the gardening and yard work.  I hadn’t even exchanged a hello with her man but here she was blatantly flirting with him.  Not long after she TOLD me that she had TOLD my husband that she was going to be taking care of my rosebush since it was on the side of my house facing her front door.  I put her in her place by telling her that it was my rosebush and that I would be taking care of my rosebush.  She tried to debate it with me but I shut her down in a hurry.  I didn’t even try to soften the blow.  Anyone who knows me knows that I will not engage in drama and head games.

But, the bullshit just kept on coming.  A couple of weeks later Drunky came over to tell my husband that we had a bees nest growing under our front porch and wanted to know if she could spray the nest in order to kill the bees? He explicitly told her that she could not and that he would take care of it later.  Two days went by and my  husband was working so he hadn’t gotten around to taking care of that bees nest.  The next thing I knew I was sitting in my living room getting a headache because some very strong fumes were drifting into my living room window.  I had been working on my laptop on the couch when I noticed something flying by my window.  I got up and looked out the window in time to see a man heavily spraying poison all over my front porch.  This went on every 20 minutes until I went outside and silently sat down on a chair and started reading a book.  The next time Drunky’s friend came down the driveway to spray my front porch, he stopped abruptly when he saw me and ran back to the group gathering next door.  I called my husband and told him what was happening.  He came home in time to see Drunky getting married in her back yard so he kept his distance in a respectful manner.  The next week when he went over and broached the subject of destruction of private property her man (we will call him Cleatus) softly backed down and demurred that their friend should not have done such a thing.  But, my husband did not let them off that easy.  He told them that they were responsible for the actions of their guests and their actions were not cool at all and couldn’t happen again.  Cleatus agreed.

When the had that big snowstorm at the end of this past winter, part of our old rickety fence had fallen down.  It was old and ugly and whoever had built it must have been related to Homer Simpson. We discussed different solutions and I was adamant not to have a wooden fence, for several reasons.   First, they look like garbage after 2 years unless you paint or stain them every couple of years.  I was not willing to do that.  Also, we had been growing hedges and trees and would not see the fence anyway.  So, as soon as the snow melted my husband started planting fence poles for the new Frost fence we had decided to put up.  Cleatus had the audacity to come over and ask my husband why he had decided against a wooden fence.  At the same time, he never made an offer to contribute to the costs of a fence at all.  So my husband told him his reason was that they were ugly and he preferred this type.  Drunky was enraged.  We could hear her yelling and screaming about how she wanted a wooden fence.  To make matters worse, my husband had hired a surveyor to locate the property line and when he erected the new fence, we took back 3 feet of our property that they had paved over.  Another thing my husband pointed out to Cleatus, who once again deflected all blame to the paving company.  Now the funny thing is that while Drunky thoroughly enjoyed surveying our property from her perch on her back deck and watching and copying everything I did; she certainly did not like the new unobstructed view I now had of her backyard.  So within a week Cleatus built a privacy screen that was an exact replicate of the one my husband had built 2 years before.  I could’t care less.  The less I see of her face the better.  Not to mention having to inhale her stinky cigarettes as she chain smokes.

Shortly thereafter my husband installed an old-fashioned lamppost atop the stump from the evergreen that had died and we had had to have removed.  It was so beautiful and thoughtful of my sweet, loving husband.  But the very next day Cleatus approached my husband and demanded to know what he was trying to prove with the new lights.  My husband responded that he liked it.  Cleatus informed my husband (we will call him Teddy) that we were pissing a lot of people off with our new lamppost.  By the way, it’s on a timer that shuts off at midnight.  Teddy even replaced the bulbs with low wattage as a courtesy. However, that wasn’t good enough for Drunky, so they proceeded to install a 20 foot long storage container delivered and placed right beside my new fence in front of their garage, in order to block all light from my lamppost.  But she quickly learned that this only congested her parking situation since there is 6 vehicles on that one property.

Meanwhile, I was extremely frustrated with Drunky’s cat coming into our yard and crapping in my gardens and shedding all over my outside furniture.  And his presence was attracting the other male cats to come around spraying my doors and car tires, making the inside of my home smell like a full littler box even though I don’t have a cat.  So I called the bylaw office and reported her cat for roaming at large.  She was paid a visit by the bylaw officer and informed of the penalties and fines she would face if her cat was not kept indoors or on a leash.  I believe this is when she became vindictive and revealed her true colours.

Yesterday a city worker knocked on my door, went into my backyard and then next door into Drunky’s backyard.  I don’t answer the door to a strange male, I don’t care who he represents.  I’ve watched way to many episodes of Forensic Files and spent 4 years studying Criminal Psychology & Behaviour to take any chances.  Today the Fire Chief paid a visit to my door and again I didn’t answer the door but called my husband at work to tell him of the latest updates. I was at the Pharmacy when my husband showed up to tell me what he had learned about our visitors.  First, he got a return call from the man from the Enforcement Department at City Hall who laughed and said that the complaint was about our fence being unsafe and falling down.  He said he did an inspection and there was nothing wrong and that is why he never left us any paperwork.  Next, Teddy heard from the Fire Chief who said he had received a complaint about our lamppost being a fire hazard because it was plugged in by an extension cord.  Again, my husband was told that there was nothing wrong or illegal with anything we were doing and to just keep an eye on plugs because they can wear down and cause problems.

Although I was relieved that Drunky’s attempt at retaliation had backfired I was still annoyed because I think she is willing to get herself in trouble just to even the score in her head.  So, my hero, my Teddy he took the initiative all on his own to stop at the police station and just ask some questions and get some advice about what to do to protect ourselves.  The officer was incredibly helpful and friendly to my husband.  He took a full report and said not to worry about anything and to just keep on being happy.  My husband said he just wanted them to be aware that if our house or garage mysteriously burns down or gets broken in or vandalized that it’s those neighbours to the left of us.  Drunky and Cleatus.

I miss the tree and the flowers that Drunky has killed in my front garden and it’s cost a lot of money and time trying to get that garden to heal after all of the toxic been spray chemicals that was poured into the dirt; but tonight is the first night in a long time that I will feel safe in my sanctuary.  I don’t care what my neighbours do on their property.  I only ask that I get the same respect for privacy that I have always given them.  I don’t even want to be civil and wave or acknowledge their presence now because they’ve shown us time and again that if you give them an inch, they take a mile.  If they weren’t my neighbours we certainly wouldn’t be friends and I think they are finally starting to realize that we did not come with the sale of their house.  As for Drunky, it won’t take long for those in authority to realize that she is a public nuisance with no basis or merit to her claims and we all know what happened to the little boy who cried wolf.

There’s a series on cable TV called Fear Thy Neighbour.  It portrays true stories of feuding neighbours who assault or kill.  It is something to be taken seriously.  So, don’t ever just hand over your trust to anyone, even a neighbour, even if they seem sickening sweet and innocent.  Always have others earn your trust, especially where you live or work.  After all, these are people you are going to have to see on a regular basis.  In my opinion it’s better to be cautious like the old saying, it’s better to be safe than sorry.  And remember the other old saying my Italian relatives always say, “keep your friends close, and your enemies closer”.  Wise words to live by!




Mother’s Day Burnout

I know a lot of you are going to read that title and be offended. Or that some of you will read it and wonder what it could mean.  But, then there’s also a big chunk of women who will understand exactly what I mean by that title.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being a mother.  Those 2 little angels that came into my life when I was just a young woman taught me to get my priorities in order and what the meaning of unconditional love is.

But when they grew up and moved out I lost a piece of myself.  After many years of spending time together with my children on Mother’s Day it just suddenly crashed to a halt.  They grew up, moved away and weren’t always able to be with me on Mother’s Day because of work and/or family responsibilities of their own. I always knew that day would come but when it did I didn’t realize just how hard it was going to be on me. It re-opened wounds of bad memories of Mother’s Day as I knew it growing up.   As a child raised in a doomsday cult I wasn’t allowed to participate in or celebrate Mothers Day.  Can you imagine how foolish it was to be taught that it was wrong to take one day and honour your mother for all of the hard work and sacrifices she made willingly; all year long?  Even as a young child I didn’t agree with this but was powerless to do anything about it.  It was forbidden in the community I was raised in.  We were taught that it was a “worldly” or “pagan” form of worship.  Even then I thought it was bullshit I didn’t dare express that opinion or thought for fear of the consequences. When I was little,

So, you can only imagine how ecstatic I was when my mother left that cult and eventually we started to celebrate all of the holidays and those special moments most people just take for granted. I couldn’t make up for lost time fast enough.  I desperately wanted to please my mother and gain her approval.  I wanted to know and believe that she loved me the same way I saw other mothers love their children. I wanted her to love me unconditionally, except that I didn’t even know what that word meant at that time.  All I knew was that no matter how hard I tried to please her, I somehow always fell short of the mark.

When I had children of my own I learned a lot of new lessons.  I learned that Mothers’s Day isn’t supposed to be a competition to see which child gave the best gift; therefore gaining favour and becoming the chosen one that mommy loved the best.  I learned that it’s not about the expensive gifts or a contest to see who mommy’s favourite child was that day.  It wasn’t a day for me to prove my worth and desperately hope to be part of her inner circle.

When I had my children I looked at Mother’s Day through brand new eyes.  I learned the priceless value of a painted handprint at the top of a poem created just for me by my 5 year old daughter, which is still proudly displayed on my fridge for anyone to see.  It’s a reminder that the most precious gift our children can give us is their innocent offerings of love and pride.  It’s also a reminder that time moves swiftly and there’s no guarantees.  The most important gift a mother can give their children is unconditional love.  Nothing helps someone from getting through life’s challenges more than knowing your value and worth from the time you are born and through all the changes and challenges presented to each one of us.   The most valuable gift you can give your children is your time and patience.

Being a mother has been the toughest but most rewarding career I’ve ever had.  I wouldn’t change being a mother for anything in this world.  But, I also have to be honest and admit that after taking care of kids since I was 10 years old, I am exhausted.  I’m burned out.  Sometimes I just feel like I have nothing left to give.  And the strangest part of this whole motherhood thing is that my children will never know or understand where I’m coming from because I make a conscious to be the best mother I could be whose children would never have to question or second-guess what they mean to me.  Not that it’s their burden to carry, because it’s not.  It’s just that Mother’s Day doesn’t have the same meaning to me as it does to them.  For me, it’s a double-edged sword.  In spite of the many fabulous Mother’s Day celebrations I’ve been lucky to share with my children; it’s also tainted by a toxic negativity that is as real as the love I feel for them.

My mother isn’t speaking to me again.