My mother had been dead for four months . I had become the matriarch of our family in one fell swoop . At only 34 - years - old , I felt alone on the planet . I had finally gotten my independence from an alcoholic , unfaithful husband , but my dependent nature clung to me like soot after a fire . I wanted to wash it off , but a residue remained , leaving me longing for someone … anyone . As I worked the microfiche machine at my desk at work , searching through other people 's family stories , I yearned to be part of a family and have a story of my own . I issued birth , death , and marriage certificates for other families daily . Performing marriage ceremonies seemed to feed my loneliness even more , leaving me empty and vulnerable . I was working at the vital records counter in the county clerk 's office , listening to the good - natured chirping between my co - workers . Suddenly , everyone stopped talking . The only sound in the large room came from the overhead fans and the rustling of paperwork on the desks near the open door . Curious , I glanced up from the microfiche machine . At first I thought everyone else recognized a movie star I had not seen before . Now I noticed all eyes were on me . I fumbled around with the switches on the machine and walked up to the counter . I helped him with his paperwork , trying not to stare at him . After he left , several of the women standing close by tittered and made little comments about his gorgeous good looks . I was thinking about how I could sit nearby him at the next church service and try to catch his eye again . Within two weeks he had volunteered to head a committee of men who would help me get my newly rented home ready for move - in . It needed paint , some electrical work , and the carpet ripped out , and he was handy . He came over every day , bending , stooping , and reaching . I admired all 6 ' 4 " of him in all of his various positions . He talked about the Lord constantly , incessantly in fact . I tried to admire this , but it felt off and more than a little odd . One day , coming back from running errands together , I asked him for a hug ( sneaky strategy , huh ? ) . He sat there for several moments , not moving , not speaking , his eyes closed . My stomach lurched . I wondered if I had just made some terrible faux pas . He reached over and hugged me so hard it hurt and whispered , " The Lord told me I could . " At first we found ways to spend time together without really calling it a date . It was important to him that we went about this the " right " way for the Lord . Nearing Christmas , we made a plan together ( I thought ) to take my children to get a Christmas tree . My kids and I got up early . They were clearly excited as we scrambled around the house , getting ready for the big day . Then we waited . And we waited . He didn 't show up . He didn 't call . Finally , I called him . My breath caught in my throat and my eyes widened as I tried to process what I just heard . A sound came out of my mouth , but instead of forming a word , I slammed the receiver down on the cradle . I began to hyperventilate . It felt like something was being ripped away from me . The kids and I remained home for the day while I wrestled with my anxiety . We were disappointed , and I felt totally confused … like I had just met Mr . Hyde . One night we double - dated with another couple . He had planned the evening around dinner at a sushi bar and then it would be off to the Sycamore Mineral Springs Spa in Avila Beach , California , one of the most romantic places for a date . Each oak barrel tub is separated enough from the others for maximum privacy . Little lights line the dark paths winding up the hill through a sycamore grove . I was looking forward to showing off my new bathing suit I bought , just for this occasion . When I saw the truck drive up , I ran out to greet my friends . I opened the passenger door , jumped in , shut the door , and turned to smile . " Don 't slam my door like that ! " he glared . Everyone went silent . " Sorry , I didn 't mean to . " My face reddened , but I struggled to normalize the request in my mind . Of course he needs to make sure I don 't slam his door . It 's a new truck . I worked hard in the next minutes to pretend I didn 't notice his anger in front of our friends . It was clear they were as surprised as I was . We ended up having a wonderful time and I let myself relax . But my mind began to compartmentalize my experiences . One part held fear , caution , and lots of confusion . The other part held the picture of the six foot , four inch , romantic man with the movie star looks . He had a good job ; he was handy around the house and good with money . He was a gourmet cook and loved to grow orchids . And he was a super spiritual version of what was on my top 10 list . He was everything a good Christian woman should want , right ? It seemed like every woman in the church , single and married alike was riveted on my relationship with this mysterious man . I was suddenly catapulted into a type of churchy celebrity status . For the first time in my life I had something that others wanted too . Other single women approached him , and asked him out for coffee or for lunch . He turned them down and I felt pride that he had chosen me over so many others from our large church . Only I never felt I had a firm grip . My stomach began to do a play by play of events and I ended up in the doctor 's office almost weekly after being diagnosed with colitis . My feelings were on hyper alert . Is this what love is ? The next time we argued , he told me he was just tired , busy , something had happened at work that had upset him , he was sorry , and he 'd make it right . And besides , I had pushed a button of his , and if I just had not done that , this would never have happened . I would have to try not to do that . He planned beautiful , romantic dates at the best restaurants , including roses and wine , and ending with long walks on the beach . He drove me up to the mountaintop late one afternoon . He brought a quilt , champagne and flutes , and smoked salmon and cheddar cheese , and spread them on the ground . He helped me out of the truck and gently wrapped a blanket around my shoulders . We sat and ate and talked until dark . He tipped my chin up towards the sky and whispered , " Just wait . " Soon , a trail of light blazed across the sky . Then another . Then another . Then he kissed me . I flung my doubts out to the sky and let them disappear into the black ink . Our relationship became a series of conflicts , retreats and pursuits , the pattern repeating itself over and over . I believed the only way to bring a stop to my insecurity was to marry him . I was sure my own fears about his love were what were causing problems . I believed it would be good for my son to have a strong male figure in his life . The night we got back from our honeymoon was a turning point . Now that we were married , Mr . Hyde quit playing hide and seek and decided to stay for dinner . I felt helpless for several minutes while I listened to him bully my children about helping . They weren 't doing anything right . The silverware didn 't go the way they put it on the table . They weren 't fast enough and dinner was getting cold ! He looked at them as if they were stupid . They became quiet , and nervous , giving each other sideward glances . " I sure hope you are listening to the Holy Spirit right now . " I said . He glanced down and seemed embarrassed . My chest swelled a little . I had stepped in and taken care of it , just like that ! I am a good mother . Soon , none of us were doing anything right . Nothing happened without his approval . If it wasn 't originally his idea , the answer was " no . " If he said yes , he would change his mind at the last minute . My friends could come over when he said they could . They came less and less . My sister could visit , but she walked on eggshells and spent time crying in the guest room . He always answered the phone on first ring , screening all our calls . He wouldn 't let my teenage daughter lock the bathroom door . Then we were battling over how to cook ground beef or when to start a load of laundry . He was disgusted when I didn 't know to put two slices of cheese on a grilled cheese sandwich , so he threw it in the trash . I began to filter everything I did or said around what the consequences would look like . What would he say if he knew I thought this , said that , or did this other thing ? What would he do ? Mostly I knew what he would do , and it wasn 't pleasant . At times I escaped by hiding in the tree house in our backyard . I took long walks or I got in my car and drove to a nearby gas station and cried to a friend from the payphone . My anxiety attacks and depression worsened and I needed medication . My children were miserable . I started calling some friends to see if we could come stay with them for a while and no one could help . I began stashing change from the market in a shoe along with a spare set of keys . I ordered a credit card in my own name . I knew I had made another stupid , stupid mistake , and I felt ashamed . I stopped looking into my friend 's eyes when I went to church . I lied to everyone . I 'm fine , how are you ? My church family and pastor seemed to turn their eyes away , as if they couldn 't stand to watch the train wreck happen . No one called ; no one came to help . The church counselors knew I had bruises , but by this time his charisma and charm had landed him a position on staff at the church . They believed him when he told them I was out of control . Many times I drove onto the freeway and just screamed out to God in desperation . But I didn 't believe I deserved his help . After all , I had done this … with eyes wide open . Finally , I was ready . I called my husband and asked to meet in the middle of a parking lot at the shopping center . With others around for protection , I told him I was divorcing him . It had been two and a half years of pure hell . I was a shell of who I had been starting to become . Thin , hollow - eyed , defeated . I was filled with guilt over what I had allowed to happen to my children and myself . I believed God was so disappointed in me that he had turned his back altogether . In one month 's time I had managed to lose a husband , my home , my car , and my job . It was my third divorce . I was wrecked . So I did what I did best . I ran . There 's a story in the Bible about a concubine of Abraham 's . Her name was Hagar . She gave birth to Ishmael , before Abraham 's wife had her own son , Isaac . In Sarah 's jealously , she mistreated Hagar to the point of desperation . Hagar ran out to the desert with her son , alone , and seeming without friend or protector . I thought of her as I ran out to my own desert , away from church , friends , family . I ran empty - handed . And then , just like God met Hagar in the desert , God met me there too . He picked me up and carried me like a wounded little bird in a cardboard box . He was gentle , tender , giving me little sips of water . He slowly restored my spirit and eventually , he restored everything I had lost . My brother 's suicide left me feeling as if I had been pushed over an emotional cliff , arms flailing as my body hit the jagged edges of rock outcroppings on the way down . The suicide of my father felt like I had been tied to the front of a runaway train that broke away from the tracks and headed over the edge going 110 miles per hour . I hit bottom and lay there , stunned , and unable to move . Slowly , I rolled onto my back , exposing my belly like a trusting cat . But it wasn 't that I trusted , it was that I no longer cared . Hurt me if you want to , kill me if you must , just get it over with . The God I knew had broken me , but there was no supervisor above him to take him to task . In a small , dark corner of my mind , I thought there may be a hell worse than the one I was in , so I got up and kept moving , and spoke to no one about how I really felt about any of it . My father 's suicide coincided with a time when churches all over America were chatting it up big time about the end of the world . Author Hal Lindsey was pushing his theory that the planet was headed for disaster very soon . He had written a best - selling book and a film , aptly titled The Late Great Planet Earth . Another lovely end of the world scenario was published under the title , The Jupiter Effect , a best - selling book by John Gribbin , Ph . D , and Stephen Plagemann ( 1974 ) that predicted that an alignment of the planets of the solar system would create a number of catastrophes , including a great earthquake in my area of the country . This was supposed to take place in eight years . I was sitting on death row without the right to an appeal . In response to all this , pastors hurriedly began studying and teaching the Book of Revelation , readying the flock for the Great Tribulation . A conversation amongst believers hardly took place without the mention that time was short . The solid rock became shifting shale . I smiled as I sat in on a conversation about the fruitlessness of getting a living room re - carpeted ( considering we were all about to die ) but the tentacles of fear and sadness crept over and around me , squeezing the very breath from my lungs . My therapist added " with psychotic features " to my major depression diagnosis . I began " seeing " bushes dying , stairways crumbling , as if I could see the end of the world taking place before my very eyes . God had pushed the " fast - forward " button . The God I loved and trusted became the God I feared . This God had some bizarre plan for mankind that culminated in the " rapture of the church " and the " Mark of the Beast . " I observed those around me . I could not figure out how those who knew that this horror was on our very doorstep could go on living as before . Why weren 't they on their knees day and night , or snatching poor souls off street corners and away from death 's grip ? I literally could not figure it out . It never occurred to me that they did not believe what they were saying . I found myself a member of a club to which I no longer wanted to belong . I tried to ignore the leader , become invisible in the crowd . I had become afraid of Him . I politely listened to the others , but one of us was crazy , and I was pretty sure it had to be me . My pastor tried to help me . He was the voice of reason . I sequestered myself in my house , not daring to come out and face the zombie apocalypse . I asked question after question but the thoughts in my mind were tangled , like a rubber band ball . Trying to untangle them was exhausting , and I began to lose the ability to keep a thought in my mind for more than one or two seconds . I was coming to a crisis of faith . I read My Confession , by Tolstoy , and I identified with his plight . I was precariously close to releasing my grip on the branch in Tolstoy 's well . I may as well let go of my grip and sacrifice myself to the dragons below than wait for the mice to gnaw through it . Once in awhile I would have a thought , and to quote Tolstoy himself , " life rose within me . " Then , like my hallucinations , the thought would melt away and I 'd be left with nothing but a desire for death . Over and over this happened . I suffered from circuitry overload , and thoughts continued to disintegrate as fast as they would come . One day , a spark of hope lasted longer than usual . I realized that in all my railing against God , I had never felt his presence more sweetly . In all my anger and confusion , I had not succeeded in pushing him away . The opposite was true . Instead of allowing me to turn my back and walk away , he seemed to be relentlessly pursuing me . The hallucinations began to melt away along with the block of ice surrounding my heart . A cloak had been gently placed around my shoulders , and it felt a lot like love . My heart and mind began to heal . I had walked through the valley of the shadow and survived . Now it was time to stop awhile and rest by the stream , and then pick up my pack and keep moving . In my last post I wrote about how I expected that asking God to take over my life would lead to instant emotional healing . I would love to be writing about how much better life got after I made a commitment to Christ . In some ways , life got worse , at least at first . The church was small , and about fifty to seventy - five members attended on any given Sunday . The atmosphere was warm and intimate . It was like an incubator of sorts , and I truly do not think I would have survived in a large , mainline denominational church . Even the pastor who recommended I start attending did not invite me to his own church ! I 'm sure he pictured how difficult it would be for the proper ladies of his congregation to reach out to this poor , wretched , emotionally scarred scarecrow of a young woman . They may have been tempted to simply ignore me , or tell me how badly I needed to clean up my act . And it wouldn 't have taken much to push me over the edge , to make that break between me and life on planet Earth . The people in this little congregation cared deeply about me . Not one word was uttered about the state I found myself in . I was legally married to my first husband , never having bothered to file divorce papers , even though he had abandoned us many years earlier . I was living with my boyfriend , who was smoking dope from the moment he got up in the morning . Looking back on this , I think it 's very unusual that no one proffered his or her opinion about all this . It was almost like someone called a meeting and they agreed to allow God Himself to do what he does best when it comes to changing people 's lives . Like I said , very unusual . But this was a time of great confusion for me as well . A well - meaning parishioner would throw a Scripture my way that was supposed to take all the fear out of my brain like a vacuum cleaner sucking up sand . All those particles making noise and then silence . Ahhh ! But when quoting these Scriptures didn 't seem to work for me , I became sure that God saw me as an imposter , attempting to squeeze by unnoticed . To me , that meant I was rejected . My feelings of abandonment rested on a hair trigger . It didn 't take much . And if God abandoned me , that meant I was going to hell … no matter what . And if I were going to hell no matter what , I might as well go ahead and make the trip rather then knowing about it for years ahead of time . Who can deal with that knowledge ? Like a doctor telling you you have one to three years to live . Yikes ! So I would be on the verge … making the plan . I wrestled with it , worrying about my children , but thinking they 'd be better off without me . I worried about the church members , feeling all guilty and everything . And then , like clockwork , it seemed like the Lord Himself stepped in to keep me planted on this side of the veil . Once in awhile he just stepped right in to the scene in a dream I was having during stage 4 REM . Other times , I would be pretty close to ending things when the phone would ring and one of the church ladies asked how I was doing , or there would be a knock at the door . I became more and more sure that God was the one doing the knocking . " Hello ! I 've got a plan , and it doesn 't include repeating " fear not " while pointing your finger in the air or pretending to stomp on ' ol ' slewfoot 's ' head ! " Winter 's comin ' on and it 's twenty below . And the river 's froze over so where can he go . We 'll chase him up the gulley then we 'll run him in the well . We 'll shoot him in the bottom just to listen to him yell . And it was enough … enough to keep me coming back to the little white church with the mural of Jesus walking on the water … enough to hang in there and keep breathing long enough to live another day . I was still grieving the death of my brother , still waking up and crying first thing . I still couldn 't drive a car , go grocery shopping , and I was still lying on the floor all day long just trying to get my breath at least once a week . And I was still seeing Dr . Teemis . And Dr . Teemis was still royally screwing with my head . But things were definitely looking up a little . One day I was talking to the pastor about my fear - filled thoughts about the future . " Linda , " he started , if we got a list of all the things that would happen to us at the beginning of each year , we would go crazy with fear . But all those things take place one at a time , and God gives us the grace to handle each one as they come . " That helped a little , alleviated some of the dread I felt inside when I had certain thoughts . But there was one thought that produced so much adrenaline flowing through my veins that the thought of God 's grace coming in after the fact wasn 't comforting at all . Turns out all that dread was justified . If I thought I was done with trauma just because I had become a believer , I had another think coming . ( If you are new to this blog , a good way to read it is to start with the very first post , " It Was A Dark And Stormy Night . " This is a memoir , the story of my life . If you are offended by expletives , you may want to skip this post . I do not use them to add shock value , but to just tell the story of what happened as honestly as I can ) . The terror was relentless . It punctuated every waking moment . On the worst days , I lay on the floor all day long , just attempting to breathe . My thoughts went pinging around my head like a highly polished steel ball in a pin - ball machine . I lost all ability to daydream , as I attempted to control each thought ; making sure one didn 't get away from me like a runaway semi - truck . There was no emergency ramp in sight , no way to put the breaks on going very quickly and completely insane . I didn 't understand what was happening , how I could suddenly lose myself so quickly , so easily . I had no name to pin on it . I knew no one who had ever experienced it . I felt alone in my madness . I went to my physician and he put me on Valium . He sent me to a psychiatrist , Dr . Teemis . Every two days I waited in Dr . Teemis ' waiting room until he called me in , holding the door to his private office as I walked through to the inner sanctum for those privileged enough to have gone crazy . Then he shut and locked the door , then shut and locked another door , which was right in front of the first one . I thought all psychiatrists must have double locking doors , although for the life of me I couldn 't figure out why this was so . I sat in a chair , as far away from Dr . Teemis as possible . Each visit began the same way . He 'd lean back in his black leather and chrome office chair and put his feet up on his desk . He folded his hands in his lap and stared at me from across the room . I would wait for him to speak , to take over , to offer a solution , some answers . But he almost never spoke first . Once in awhile , he broke the silence by asking a question , but he never seemed satisfied with my answers . He asked about my relationship with my parents , the alcoholism , the neglect , and traumatic events of the past . I left every session feeling worse about my life than I had when I was actually living it . There was no way I was going to talk to this guy about Michael the Archangel . Lunatics are similar to designated hitters . Often an entire family is crazy , but since an entire family can 't go into the hospital , one person is designated as crazy and goes inside . Then , depending on how the rest of the family is feeling that person is kept inside or snatched out , to prove something about the family 's mental health . " Dr . Teemis always asked what it was that I was really afraid of . I was afraid of being afraid for no apparent reason ! What 's not to get about that ? Didn 't he understand that one day I felt fine and then the next day I felt such horror and dread I thought I would die from it ? I believed Dr . Teemis had the key and was waiting until just the right moment to give it to me . I grew to rely on him to keep me sane enough , to keep me from ending up back in the state mental hospital . I didn 't think he liked me very much but he seemed resigned to see me week after week nonetheless . As the fear increased , my world narrowed . It became terrifying to drive a car . At first I just stayed in the right - hand lane so I could turn the corner and take the side streets back home if I had to . That worked for a while , as long as I didn 't have to get gas and sit there , waiting for the attendant to take the nozzle out of my gas tank . I was sure that one day I would panic and drive off , pulling the hose right out of the pump . Another day I panicked in line at the market , and I realized that even if I told myself over and over and over again that I could make it through just a few more minutes while the checker rang me up , the truth was , I couldn 't make it . My fear was that one of these days I was just going to start screaming at her and run out of the store without bothering to pay . I left a full cart of groceries in the middle of the store more than once , and drove quickly home , picturing the ice cream melting all over the floor before the cart was discovered and the food put back on the shelves . Shopping soon became a thing of the past . Depression piled itself on top of the fear , and suicide became an option . I thought about it all day , and then at night too , when I would wake in a sweat , my breathing shallow , and my heart racing . The thick wool blanket that felt like the top of my head got heavier by the month . Soon , I spent most of my days in bed , just trying to make it through the next five minutes . I would watch the clock as the minute hand ticked on , and felt good about making it through another day without dialing the number that would bring the paramedics to my door . During one of our sessions , I began to talk to Dr . Teemis about how these crazy feelings were affecting how I felt physically as well . At times I was sure I was having a heart attack . I ended up in the emergency room at least twice a month , positive I was close to death . I explained how during the week before , my left leg had felt numb . Dr . Teemis explained how being a psychiatrist meant that he had medical training as well , and he asked me to lay down on the couch while he checked my femoral artery . He pulled down my pants and pressed his fingers on the artery , close to my crotch . He stared into my face , attempting to gauge my reaction . I went stiff and silent . Disgusted , he pulled my pants up and told me to have it checked by my own doctor the next time I went . I worried about that femoral artery . I was sure it was clogged and I was about to stroke out . That look on Dr . Teemis ' face was proof something was wrong ! Who cares that most twenty - three year old young women don 't have strokes ? Maybe it was the years of drug abuse . Maybe it was the blows I took to my face and head at the hands of Michael the Archangel . I had to do what Dr . Teemis told me to do and ask my own doctor right away . " What did he tell you ? " Dr . Hutchinson asked . I noted the tone of his voice but chose to ignore it . I repeated the conversation I had with Dr . Teemis and how he felt my artery with his fingers and told me to have it checked . Dr . Hutchinson paused , watching my face , then quickly looked away and began writing in my chart . " Nothing is wrong with your femoral artery , " he said . He sounded irritated or impatient . I couldn 't tell and I didn 't understand . Certain thoughts ran through my mind but I couldn 't let them land . After all , if there was something wrong with my psychiatrist , then I was done . There was no one else who could help me . Months went by , and I continued to deteriorate . I believed my visits with Dr . Teemis were the thin thread keeping me hanging on to reality . I sat in his waiting room , two or three times a week , trying to make it through the ordeal of being out , away from the one place I felt somewhat safe ; my bed at home . One day his receptionist sat behind the tall counter and chatted away on the phone . It sounded like a personal call , but I didn 't care . Where was Dr . Teemis ? Thoughts of suicide had overloaded my brain that week , and I did not think I could live through another day without a session . I waited for 45 minutes and finally got up the courage to interrupt her and ask where he was . She covered the mouthpiece with her hand . " I 'll try giving him a call . " She hung up the phone and dialed another number . I heard her ask someone if he was there , and a few moments later she said , " Linda is here to see you . She 's been here for quite awhile . " She hung up the phone without another word and told me he 'd be there in a few minutes . She quickly redialed to continue her own call . Another fifteen minutes passed and suddenly the door to his private office opened . I sighed and smiled as he asked me to come in . As soon as I entered the room I smelled the alcohol . He loosely waved his arm at me , gesturing at me impatiently . He seemed angry . He leaned back in his chair and it tilted back a little too far , forcing him to grab the edge of his desk for support . He swung his feet up on the edge of the desk and laced his fingers behind his head . " How 's the fucking ? " he asked . My stomach lurched and I stared down at the floor , unable to speak . " How 's the fucking ? " he repeated , more forcefully . His tongue tripped over the words and it sounded like he had too much saliva in his mouth . " What do you mean you don 't know ? " He sneered and I looked towards the double locking doors . " Well , I don 't really feel like it much right now , " I offered . We both grew silent . Dr . Teemis can 't help me , I thought . I was at the bottom of the pit now . There was no deeper , darker place to go . But unfortunately I was wrong about that . I had stepped off the edge and was in a free fall . But I was just bouncing off of ledges . The bottom was there , and eventually I would hit . And when I did , I would lay there for a long while , stunned , and unable to move . Tagsabuse , fear , relationship , running away , slitting wrist Michael the Archangel and I had finally found our way back to Los Angeles . His mother had allowed us to temporarily move in with her . She already shared the three - bedroom bungalow with her elderly mother , who had lost a leg lifting a car off of a six - year - old girl . We were supposedly saving money for our own place . I had a different plan in mind . I just hadn 't figured out how I was going to pull it off . The next time I felt Michael 's fury , the blow to my face was so loud it woke his mother out of a deep sleep . She flew into our room , screaming for her son to get out of the house . Instead , he dashed into the bathroom and ran a razor blade over wrists already scarred from previous attempts . Somehow his mother kept him in the bathroom so he wouldn 't bleed all over the house , but neither one of us made an attempt to call for help . We just stared at each other , as if daring each other to make a move to the phone . Finally , his mother made the call and an ambulance arrived . This time Michael landed himself in a facility for a three - day evaluation , but as always , he convinced the docs he was ready to face the world again . Looking pale and haunted with his wrists bandaged up , he attempted to gain my sympathy . He related how the EMT told him that if he really wanted to end it , he would need to slice vertically up his wrist , and not waste his time marking up his arm side to side . Information offered too late . For the next several weeks I hid out , not wanting anyone to see my face in public . As soon as my eye was almost back to normal , I applied for a job where Michael 's mother worked . Garrett AiResearch manufactured and sold turbochargers to the military , so to even get into the plant I had to drive up to the guard shack and show my photo I . D . badge . Once in the building , I felt safe . Michael the Archangel would not be allowed in . But my children were not there with me . So I waited and then made my move . I was hardly ever left alone , but one day Michael decided he could trust me long enough to take my car to the repair shop . He 'd hitch back , so I figured I had about 45 minutes . I carefully pulled the curtain aside and watched as he backed out of the driveway . I waited about one minute and then ran into the kitchen and pulled a large green garbage bag out of the cabinet . Scarcely breathing , I pulled socks , underwear , pants and shirts for my son , diapers for the baby , bottles , a couple of toys , and tossed them without looking into the bag . I threw the bag into my son 's Little Red Wagon and pulled the baby up onto my hip . " Come on ! " I told my four - year - old . " Follow Mommy ! " " Hurry ! " My son didn 't even question me . It was as if he knew exactly what we needed to do . The three of us raced out of the house , with Michael 's grandmother helpless in her recliner , yelling at us to stop . I walked as fast as I could and still keep us all together . We went around the corner , up a few blocks , down a street , up another block , zig zagging away so as not to be found easily . I was petrified , sure that if Michael found us I would be killed . I knocked on a door in the middle of a block . A middle - aged woman answered the door . She took one look at us ; me at eighty - two pounds , long , stringy brown hair , shaking like a leaf ; my son , a look of bewilderment on his face . And then there was the baby in my arms . " Could I use your phone to call a taxi ? " I said . She hesitated , folding her arms . Surely she 's not going to say no ! I almost began to scream , " Let me in your house ! ! " " Please ! " She let us in and with fumbling , shaking fingers I looked up the number and made the call . She asked us to wait on the porch , exposed . I saw her watch me out the window . Thoughts of being killed in front of my kids raced through my mind but I felt trapped , cemented to the spot . If I left the taxi would not pick us up . The driver looked incredulous as he lifted the red wagon and the garbage bag into the trunk of the cab . I wondered if he was going to call the police on me , as if I were some fugitive from justice . I gave him the address of a guy I had met at work . He had stopped me in the lunchroom one day and asked me what was wrong with me . Why was I so thin ? Why did I shake ? I unburdened myself and he offered to help . I was sure he didn 't really expect me to take him up on it and show up on his doorstep , but I gave the driver his address anyway . It was our only chance . I felt myself begin to breathe again as we drove away , and I melted into the back of the seat . I didn 't stop shaking for weeks . I never saw Michael the Archangel again … ever . I never showed up for another day at Garrett AiResearch , and within a week we were living miles away in another city . I heard years later that Michael had died of an overdose in a fleabag hotel in San Francisco . As for me , I made it for another year before I really began to unravel , before I began to lose myself completely . It was finally safe to let go . A chance meeting through a friend of a friend . Our eyes met across a crowded room ( well , I think there were five of us ) . Soon we became the perfect little hippie couple . At the end of it all , I would be completely mad . It would take a decade to fight my way back from a pit of despair so deep that 's it 's a miracle I survived it at all . And oddly enough , the madness would start with an invitation to a Tupperware party . To this day , I don 't like Tupperware parties … but I digress . I thought he was gorgeous ( they always seem to be gorgeous ) . Michael . I thought of him as Michael the Archangel . He was poetic and spiritual . He was calming . He was smart . He took over the parts of my life that I couldn 't seem to manage on my own . Everyone around us seemed to be as drawn to him as I was . My Svengali . He talked me into moving away , making the break from Los Angeles and most of my friends and family . Technically still a teenager , I felt like a grown - up , striking out on my own . Only I wasn 't alone . I was with Michael the Archangel . The first time it happened we were walking down the street talking . The conversation seemed to be going well enough , although I had been feeling more and more uncomfortable with the topics he brought up . Lately he had been telling me about his foray into white magic . At times he didn 't make any sense at all . At other times , I felt a definite darkness in my spirit , as if someone had turned off the lights . " Do you believe in reincarnation ? " he asked . It seemed like an innocent enough question at the time . I didn 't sense a set - up or anything . But I already knew I had better say , " yes , " so I did . " Well , I 'm Jesus Christ reincarnated . " My breath caught in my throat and I stopped , turning to face him . " Yeah , right , " I said . I didn 't even see it coming , an explosion of pain and blackness . My face went numb and I thought my eye had popped out of its socket . I screamed . Horrified , I tried to run , but he caught up to me and pulled me by my blouse . I thought someone would have had to hear the crack when his fist landed on my face and I hoped someone would come out of their house and rescue me , but the silence , other than the barking of a dog , was deafening . Suddenly , a beautiful sunny summer day turned gray . " I ran into the kitchen cupboard , " I later lied to my friends . They just stared at my face and turned away . I wanted them to know I was lying , confront me with it , and demand an explanation . I wanted someone to take charge and hide us somewhere safe . But no one did , and I kept silent , and I was 360 miles away from home . There was calm after that storm but it was just the eye of the hurricane . One night soon after , I was beaten while the soundtrack of " A Clockwork Orange " played in the background . I was left with lumps all over my head that were covered by my hair . A friend didn 't believe I had been hurt at all because my face looked fine . Resigned , I went back home . And of course , that wasn 't the worst of it . I tried to spend my days taking my son to the park or long walks downtown , anything to keep us away from home as much as possible . Every so often we would stop and I would watch him while he gathered his " collections . " I pulled these treasures out of his pockets before I did his laundry and it was one of my greatest pleasures . I never knew what I would find ; rocks , leaves , olives that had fallen off of the trees lining the street on which we lived . He was a little over two - years - old and so funny already . One day , I flipped a cigarette into the street . " Does that look like an ashtray ? " he quipped . I laughed out loud and stared at him . He 's only two and he 's already got our family 's sarcastic sense of humor ! I felt so proud to be his mom . Somehow , I had to get us out of there ; somehow I had to save us . Soon I was pregnant again and leaving was out of the question . There was no way my parents would take me in again and all my friends were Michael 's as well . I was awakened one night to find the police in my living room . A friend had called them after Michael had slit his wrists and smeared his blood all over the walls , throughout the house . The police coaxed him off of our property by telling him the neighbors wanted to ask him a question , and took him to the hospital . It took me until dawn to wash the walls before my son woke up and saw it . Then there was the problem of the heroin . I watched his addiction happen just like in a film we saw in middle school . New friends in fancy cars came by with freebies . They made Michael feel as if they would do anything for him … best buddies . I came home one day from a walk with my son and walked into the bedroom I had fixed up for the baby . They were sitting cross - legged in a circle on the floor , handing each other the syringe . A drop of blood marred the brand new crisp white of the Winnie the Pooh rug they were sitting on . I fled to the garage , blood pounding in my ears . I stooped forward , trying to catch my breath , hands on my swelled belly . I suddenly knew what it was like to want to kill someone with my bare hands . I began planning our escape in earnest . The next morning , I casually mentioned how fun it would be to move away , to begin again ; to be closer to our parents and friends . Maybe after the baby is born . A " start - over " of sorts . Instead , another year of hell followed me like an angry bee , sometimes stinging me , sometimes leaving me alone , but always buzzing around , too close , keeping me on my toes . Adrenaline released into my bloodstream , attempting to keep me safe . The trouble was , there was no where to flee … not yet . Certain events can change a life in an instant . On the other hand , some things take place over time . Many tiny miscalculations or silly decisions create a chain of events , and suddenly you find yourself staring in the mirror at someone you no longer recognize . I had fled the chaotic confines of Norwalk State Mental Hospital and planted a mattress on the floor in the spare bedroom of my parent 's apartment , a fresh start of sorts . I tried to make myself useful to my mother , so she wouldn 't kick us out . This time I was going to make it work for me and my sweet little boy . My mom was one who liked to go to the grocery store daily , as if she were one of those lucky European women who stopped at the bakery each day for a fresh loaf of rye . She may have imagined herself lazily plucking through mounds of fresh vegetables and fruit from street vendors … everything freshly baked and harvested . On this particular day , she needed a fresh bottle of vodka , so we climbed into the old Ford Fairlane and drove down to the local Food Giant Supermarket . As soon as we stepped onto the rubberized mat and the automatic glass door swung open , I saw him . Within two skipped heartbeats I had sized up all six foot two of one of the cutest guys I had ever seen . He had wide shoulders and wavy golden hair down to the green apron pocket of his supermarket uniform . The way he placed the milk into the bag first before adding the bread was downright genius ! A bag of oranges went in next . Our eyes met . My cheeks flushed and I turned away . I grabbed a shopping cart and walked into the nearest aisle , almost knocking a box of Cocoa Puffs off of the end cap . I was standing with one foot on the bottom rung of the cart waiting for my mom to decide between a quart and a fifth when I felt a tap on my shoulder . A conversation ensued and plans were made for this gorgeous hunk of a box boy to pick me up on Friday night . Once my mom paid for her precious cargo , I jumped onto the back of the cart and let it take me down the slight incline to the car . Whee ! I was already imagining my happily - ever - after with a new husband and a loving dad for my little son . On Friday afternoon I changed in and out of several different blouses and made sure my jeans had the least amount of holes and stains . Finally Sir Galahad arrived in his souped up Corvette and we were on our way . Were we going out to dinner ? To a movie ? I may not be able to eat tonight anyway ! He turned up the car stereo and reached over to open the ashtray underneath the dash . " Do you want to get high ? " He reached in and grabbed two pink capsules . " Oh ! " I wasn 't expecting that but I was game . After all , pink was lighter than red , so therefore , these pills must be milder than the red ones I have taken before . No harm to come from this . My chin jutted forward . " Sure ! " I very soon realized that " pink " did not mean " less . " My muscles felt like overcooked spaghetti , my head , the size and weight of a watermelon . I thought we were alone in the house , but suddenly there was another young man there . My date introduced me to his roommate . " Nice to meet you … hey , do you want to see the art work in the other room ? " " OK . " I got up and tried to walk . " You bastard ! " muttered my date . Art work ? Can 't walk . Bastard ? Why did he say that ? Is he mad ? Should I not go ? What should I do ? What is this room ? Why are we going in here ? Where is the art work ? What is happening ? Should I run ? I can 't run ! Slow motion … It 's too late . Fear . I was pushed to the bed and my clothes quickly removed . I looked towards the door , wishing myself there , not here . My date peered in and quickly turned away . I heard him making phone calls , and I hoped he was calling the police . My arms were lead , my lungs hollow . My date came back in , then another , then another , then another , then another . One , very heavy , apologized . " It 's all right , " I mumbled . It 's all right ? It 's all right ! ! ? ? Much later I stumbled up the stairs to my parent 's apartment , trying to quiet my steps so as not to wake the neighbors . For a moment I thought about calling the police . I pictured the interview . " Why did you date someone you didn 't even know ? What were you wearing ? Why did you take the drugs ? Why did you go follow the roommate into the bedroom ? Yes , this was my fault . I deserved this . I 'm a stupid girl . Worth nothing to anyone . I 'm giving up . No one will ever know . No one but me will ever know . Tagschurch , fear , Jesus Fear . If I try to recall how I felt as a child , I would have to say that I felt the emotion of fear more than any other . It was a boa constrictor that constantly attempted to squeeze the life out of me . I was afraid of adults , afraid of kids I did not know . I remember being afraid of school . In the records of my kindergarten year at Bennett Elementary , it 's recorded that I was so shy my teacher could not get me to play with another child the entire year . I was afraid of the dark , afraid of the Russians , afraid of what we were going to have for dinner ( it better not include peas ) . One of my biggest fears was going into the garage at night . There were rafters full of boxes filled with everything from Christmas decorations to old dishes and clothes , but I was absolutely sure there was a strange man hiding in one of them as well . He was waiting there … waiting for me to come in the garage at night , cross the cement floor to the other side , shut the side door and turn off the light . Then , he would jump down and strangle me or do who knows what . He was always waiting . And because I was afraid that he was always going to be there , my father made me the keeper of the garage at night . Once I turned out the light and ran back into the house , fresh from my narrow escape from death , I had a hard time getting to sleep . So I would imagine that Jesus and one of his angels was standing by my closet across the bedroom , keeping watch over me and my sister . I wanted to go to church and find out more about Him , but my parents didn 't attend church and I didn 't know anyone else who did at that time . When I passed my tenth birthday , I decided to take things into my own hands . I got up one Sunday morning and put on my fancy lavender dress with the white polka dots on the satin ribbon that tied in the back around my waist ; the one we usually saved for eating dinner at my great - grandmother 's house . I put on my nicest lace trimmed white socks and my black patent - leather " mary jane " shoes . I walked four blocks up to the big white Presbyterian church on the corner near the edge of the housing tract . I felt very important walking up the steep steps to the double doors . I stepped into the foyer . There was a lot of activity going on , people rushing around , towering over me . No one seemed to notice me at all . A table by the back of the room held carefully placed pamphlets and small Bibles . I walked over and tried to act like I had every right to be there . I picked up one of everything . I don 't remember much about the service , but I do remember how it made me feel . I wanted to be " good . " I wasn 't sure what that meant , exactly , but I knew I wanted it . Badly . I tried to think of what I shouldn 't be doing . Teasing my younger sister had to stop . What else ? Maybe I should always , always believe that Jesus was really standing by my closet ? I wasn 't sure if that was enough . The minister had said something about becoming more like Him . " Hello Mother , I said , in the best English accent I could muster . " How is your morning ? " I was sure that proper English had to be one of the things God would require if one were to become " good . " I left the kitchen and went to my bedroom , determined I should start reading my new Bible right away . Within minutes the " thees " and " thous " had me stumped . Oh well , so much for trying to be " good . " I ran outside to find my sister and didn 't darken the doorway of church of any kind for another five years . And fear continued to motivate most of what I did .