I spend most of my time on Facebook to my shame compared to my author friends. None of them plays any games on Facebook so I have no idea what gives them stress. I love to write! That is what my facebook cover design says. I was born to write just like my heroine in my first novel Marge. Many years ago, when I finish the first version, I would write another and another. They are all different and she falls in love with different men in her life, but now that story is published and I wonder who has bought my book besides my few true friends.
I grew up in a dysfunctional family. My father wasn’t very good at providing for his family. He was selfish, stingy and greedy and I believed he never wanted a family. If he loved me, he never showed it. I wish that my relatives would understand what it was like living with him for 42 years. Most people my age would have been working by now, have their own cars and families, but because of my circumstances, I was hindered. I may never know why God has kept me for so long. It was almost 17 years ago, I thought I finally would have my taste of freedom, but one summer day, I must have overstepped my boundaries because I was sent home– back to my prison.
During the last 15 years before my father’s death, the stress was caused by my father’s attitude and treatment of us. He had a spiritual problem not he has been ignorant of and not to blame him because he was unaware, I had many conflicts with him. My father hated looking at me because he saw either himself or my grandmother. He didn’t like either. My father was filled with doubt and unbelief so telling him anything of faith would be like throwing the pearls before the swine. He also had no faith in what we could do and hindered it as well. That is one reason why I am such a late bloomer. He kept us from having cars (although he wanted us to have license it was for his selfish purpose). He enabled us from having a good jobs. If my sister and I were to have one, he would find a way to make us give him money. He tried with me when I became a nanny in 1994.
In 1996, I had to borrow money from lending agencies in order to pay my tuition. My father wouldn’t invest and my mother didn’t have that kind of money and mine was spent in Washington State. I had faith that I would be able to pay it off after I graduate, but as it was, I couldn’t get a job. This created another stress for me. As much as I wanted to pay my loans, I could not because no one would hire me and so I gave this over to the Lord and he gave me peace it would be taken care of. However, that was not how my father saw it. He reveled in the fact that they called me and he would “Call” me to answer the phone or he would delight in me getting payment notices from them and put it on top of my other mail. You can’t tell me that is not so because it is. Why do you doubt my words when you haven’t lived with him as long as I have? I ask this to those who are my relatives.
The next stress came after we adopted three kittens: Harry , Andy and Henry) Now I can understand why my father says they were his kittens, but the kittens didn’t see it that way. When they were old enough, they chose who they wanted as their owner and Harry chose me. He was my only blessing of that year and he gave me so much joy, but Satan took that joy from me when he caused him to be runover by a car. I was left with Henry. And the stress began. Henry vacilitated a lot. He was easily influneced by the evil spirits in the house and easily affected. It was a spiritual battle between my father and I because of Henry. My father did not understand why I would try to keep Henry from from him or take Henry from him.
I write to escape. As long as I write, I am in another world. I don’t need to drink to forget my troubles. I know that I can go always go to Jesus because he is my hiding place and I do, but I can’t handle the stress that comes into my life. Even after my father passed away, I continue to have stress caused my cat Henry and caused by my living conditions. I also have stress with the apps I use on Facebook. SO what do I do? I write. I hope that someday my stories will all be published in the short time I am on this earth, but more than that, that all my dreams and desires come to pass.