About Us

Overview

I have complex post traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD), fibromyalgia, Celiac's Disease, and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS).

​Growing up my life was not always the bright colorful picture perfect painting most would like to think that it was. I have had many struggles in my life that I have had to fight through. The nightmares of my life have offered me an in depth front row seat into so many different situations that picturing other peoples pain and mental health issues comes very easy to me. 

Early Childhood

I was moved around quite a bit in an attempt to leave my abusive alcoholic father. Prior to the moving around bit, I had the whole "pretty" picture. Big house, big yard, house full of laughs and siblings, and two parents. As I personally learned, sometimes the paint of our lives flakes off and it revealed some really dark colors that muddied up the water for me. From 5 years to about 12 I was molested by various family members. What made it worse was that because it started when I was so young I really didn't know this was all bad.

Teen years

One day I was in middle school and in health class and as I listened to the lesson plan drone on and on the subject of anatomy and then eventually doing the "deed" came up and when I realized that is was talking about what I went through already, I ran out of my classroom in tears and threw up everywhere.

Early Childhood Explained

Now you may read this and think to yourself how could this even happen with a house full of people. The majority of my siblings were teens or preteens at that time and if you have teens of your own you know that struggle. If not I will explain. 

Teenagers tend to be hard headed, motivated by hormones that have not leveled out yet, guided by impulsive decisions to fit in. As you can imagine this leads to a lot of insanity and the pushing of limits and the testing of boundaries. Unfortunately for me,

I was the second youngest of 6 kids so I fell through the cracks. I don't blame my parents for it because they were busy being parents. Working to pay the bills, at least until my fathers drinking took a bad turn and he started becoming abusive to my mom and siblings. I can remember one night he came home it was late, he was mad because she wasn't in bed waiting for him. Instead she was in my room rubbing my back because my nightmares were so real to me, that I couldn't sleep sometimes. So, his response was fast and swift, he grabbed my mother by her hair and yanked her off my bed and threw her across from me. I screamed at him a little girl of all about 4-5 years old. He took a firearm from his waistband and climbed on top of me and pointed it at me my mom yanked him off me and dragged him to bed. I remember feeling the barrel on my forehead then on my cheek as he quietly threatened to kill me if I ever screamed at him again. I remember thinking to myself that wasn't my daddy. I don't know who that is or was but I never wanted to feel that barrel again. 

When I hit 7 I would lose my father entirely after their separation he never got any better. His drinking worsened, disappearing to the local bar down the road. One terrible night he fought with my eldest brother and then my uncle who was in jail for assaulting his wife made bail showed up on my grandmothers doorstep. Since that was where my dad had been living he lost it when he saw him come home. (How is that for Irony...)  So, he did what he does best, abandoned ship and went to the bar. The following day I woke up and everyone was crying, a pit in my stomach began to grow. I knew it was because something happened to my dad. No one said a word to me, somehow I just knew he was gone. It broke me. My eldest sister pulled me into my grandmas room and told me but I stopped her and said it out loud he is dead isn't he? She nodded yes, I will never ever forget the look in her eyes how bad it really was. The police said that he fell asleep with a cigarette in his mouth in his truck. That it fell out of his mouth and started a small fire that grew and grew and grew until the vehicle exploded. Deep Sigh... I still think he was murdered. I can't prove it though. So I guess call it a hunch.

Teen Years Explained 

 Moving on, when I got to be about 12 I decided I didn't want to visit my grandmas house anymore. So, I stopped going I was finally old enough to choose. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do but I knew if I kept going the abuse wouldn't ever stop. After the primary one who did those things left and moved away I knew I was safe to talk about it. I was 15 and I finally told my mom about all of it. I tried to gain some power back after confronting my abuser via phone. Alas it was not meant to be. He said he never did those things and proceeded to tell me it was someone else. It wasn't someone else it was them. He said he doesn't remember a lot of that time its blacked out for him. So there again robbed of power I felt numb. I remember thinking to myself well at least he knows I know. I was so glad he was gone. I still never went back to my grandmas. I just couldn't do it. It broke me not to see my grandma. She was the closest person to my dad I had left. I had to walk away from all of it and everyone.

I started getting deep into my faith, and saw a future where I was a pastor for a church somewhere or doing missionary work over seas. Then 9/11 happened. I was angry and felt the pain of all those people that lost someone they loved when those towers fell. I made a huge shift in my future and decided I would be a Marine because I never wanted to ever lose another family member ever again, not the way those people did. I had been an aunt since I was like 9-10ish years old. I told myself I would make it safe for them. Especially since doctors told me the chances of me being able to conceive of my own was just about a dream because of the scar tissue. I trained and trained and trained for the road ahead. I was a freshman and talking to Marine recruiters. They didn't approach me either I came to them. My mom always talked about the benefits that helped her after she got out of the army. So I knew that would be my only chance to go to college. Since my dad so kindly drank away any college tuition I might have had. I didn't mind it because I would earn that title and no one would dare touch me after that. Or at least that is was teen me thought.

Early Adulthood 

I enlisted right after high school. I was 18 and gung-ho for the Corps because I had finally found my people, my tribe, a place I finally felt I fit in with and belonged to. 

Boot was fun.., but admittedly after everything I had been through it was a cake walk despite another recruit almost ruining my chances of holding that eagle globe and anchor at the end, due to a MCMAP incident after the recruit kicked my knee in sideways causing it to dislocate. I don't really remember what happened as I blacked out, however I was told later when I came to that I relocated my own knee, then beat the crap out of the other recruit. I tell you what waking up to a Drill Instructor hat running at you to spear tackle you is a very eye opening moment. I was then forced to carry the defeated recruit to medical. Super awkward moment to see the doc and told to take some Motrin for pain and to keep it wrapped tight so it wouldn't happen again. I remember thinking nooooo duh, sure... I iced it and wrapped it and was given crutches. I was like man I really hope my luck changes soon. I need to graduate on time! So I pushed and pushed and eventually I made it and held that EGA in my hand it cut me due to holding it so tightly.

I could finally call myself a Marine. BEST DAY EVER! I put my mind to the notion that I would never be held back again. Then I graduated MOS school. I was happy to be going into active duty and not have to deal with the microscope of schools again. (BOY WAS I WRONG.)

Camp Pendleton 

I ended up working at SOI West support battalion in California. After growing up in Chicago and the cold winters I was thrilled to be somewhere warm. I got my room and sat there on second deck looking out at the mountain range in front of me thinking my God this place is gorgeous. Of course over the portion of my time as a young teen I never ever rebelled weird I know.. but I was trying to make life easy on my mom because my little brother rebelled enough for the both of us. I was also trying to show him a good example to follow. It didn't work, so when I made it to fleet marine force I tried to do a little rebelling.

I would like it noted that I'm not good at rebelling unless I have a cause to do so. I found myself trapped between a rock and hard place. I also found out how much my father and I had in common with alcohol. I was given a bottle of 80 proof southern comfort. I drank the bottle. I had never drank alcohol in my lifetime up until that point. I don't count sipping a glass of champagne at wedding for a toast drinking. I didn't have any roommates just yet and the room next to mine was unoccupied. So I thought I would go lay down in there for a bit as the music was loud as heck. I thought I locked the door behind me but in my drunken stupor I didn't pull the lock all the way over. So, I was woken up by flashes of light, the guys I was chilling with were trying to strip me down naked and taking photos. Like, I said not great at rebelling. Turns out that I am great and drinking and sobering up fast because I fought every one of those guys and I hit hard as hell. So they didn't get the chance to do what they intended. 

I also made a friend that night lance corporal Penedo. He was on duty that night and heard the fight and came running. He didn't report it because I asked him not to. I didn't want to start my tour there like that. He just sat outside my hatch all night making sure no one would try again. We became best friends after that. He was like the brother I always wanted but never had. He is gone now sadly, I cannot talk to him anymore he passed away April 27 of 2018 he was 35. I will never know what happened.... I know he had his own struggles, but I know I will see him again one day diddy boppin through heaven. I enjoy the thought of him smiling and drinking with Chesty Puller and R. Lee Ermey. It warms my heart knowing whatever battle he was facing that now it is over and he is at peace. I have lost so many to suicide over the years.

While I was still in service I had a target on my back all because I called out explicit issues occurring between the corporals and PFC's. It wasn't hazing it was worse than that but I still said nothing. I was locked in a conex box for an hour under the California sun because they thought it would be funny. I was forced to Chinese field day my room on the second deck with rolled ankles. If you don't know what that is I will break it down for you. A Chinese field day is: when you clean your space first by taking everything out of the room then cleaning the room top to bottom and back to front, then you proceed to clean each item thoroughly  then bring it in and put it back. Normally Chinese field day isn't meant to be an everyday thing. Or at least it is not supposed to be. However, there was one particular Sergeant who was just happy to make my life hell on earth. Being that the men all had rooms on the first deck they had it easy, but the women in our unit all lived on the second floor. The kicker was that we couldn't keep our furniture on the catwalk as it was considered a fire hazard so we had to carry ours downstairs to the first floor. Which had 2 sets of stairs to go down to get there. This particular Sergeant loved when I got injured on runs rolling my ankles aka a nasty sprain because he would force us to do them right after the runs. Aggravating ligaments, muscle tissues, and nerve endings. I was forced to pick up and carry 150lb slabs of concrete from one end of the compound to the other and restack them. I was also put in charge of  the "beautification" of our supply warehouse compound. Meaning I was to repaint boxes, make new squares for the students to place their gear inside of during drops and pick-ups, I was to pull all the weeds growing out of the concrete, count and restack everything so it looked nice. Then there was obvious hazing that happened like sweeping rocks and other stupid nonsense jobs. I really didn't care about those too much it was the jobs that put my life at risk like being put in the back of a conex box to hand up packs only to get locked inside it for an hour. And laboring outside for hours without help or a supply of water to stay hydrated during the triple digit Cali midsummer weather. I never narked, my parting gift from the Staff NCOIC of the warehouse was a threat of sexual assault that I defended with a letter opener and the promise that should I ever try to say something no one would ever believe me.... So I didn't I just did what they asked and then let Karma work itself out. Anyway, his loss was one of the hardest for me I still tear up when I think about Penedó. We walked through the Marine Corps together, he was there when I got pinned Corporal. He made sure to nail those suckers deep in my collar bone. Had to use pilers to take them out. We stayed in contact with one another as often as we could checked in on one another about every 6 months I didn't learn of his passing until 6 months from the date, as my last talk was in March and it broke me..

Marriage 

I ended up married with another jarhead and had two babies. He was a terrible husband, he financially abused all of us for 3 years, and cheated on me countless times, and as it turns out I was not far off of everything I thought he was. As, today he sits in prison for being a pedophile. I stayed with him for 3 years and divorced him for suspicions of that especially after I knew I was pregnant with a girl. He also sexually assaulted me. I sold everything I ever bought for him and bought three tickets to Illinois. I was broken from the gaslighting and constant lies, I didn't trust anyone not even my own family.

An Old Flame That Should Have Burned Out but Didn't 

So I reached out to a former ex that had kept in touch with me through the years. I just needed a friendly face. He fooled me good. Found out he had never fell out of love with me, he was all smiles and hugs for my kids and that was something they didn't get with their father. He talked me into moving in with him so I did. Worst decision ever. I was greeted by his family and immediately cornered to be berated. I had no car, no way to leave, after being verbally accosted for about 4 hours. I was not in the mood to be friendly. I was pissed that he would take me away from my family and stick me and my babies in a city full of gunfire and terrible schools just to have me treated like that. So, I was very much like a cornered dog. I couldn't leave and he knew it. He also would not have brought me back up there if I asked. So, I had to make the best of it until I could. Come to learn through the 6 years I was with him he was a full on narcissist, always me me me and violent. He took his rage for me dumping him 10 years prior and having children without him and getting married on my kids and I. 

He had nothing but self control problems and rage. He would stop and change to Mr. charming for like 6 months long enough to believe that he actually change so I wouldn't leave. He was exceedingly great at manipulating me. Since I was damaged from my marriage I was the perfect target. I swear I had Stockholm's syndrome. Looking back now I can see all the times I should have left but was trapped in the Narcissistic web he made for me. His cycle: change for a bit (love bombing stage) flowers, cards, peaceful outings with my kids etc. -then it would turn to him hitting my son who at the time was 3-4 years old and terrorizing my daughter at night while I was working. At the same time he would always find something to tick him off. I was never good enough. I was combative and broken, his manipulations only reinforced those feelings.

He made me feel so empty, said my family was terrible, would refer to me as a used car, call me bitch and all sorts of other colorful names. Originally his favorite form of abuse was to hit my kids over the dumbest things as he degraded them. Then when I realized he wouldn't ever be able to control himself I was forced to be the full time disciplinarian. Only if I didn't make it hurt enough or look like it hurt enough, he would come in and try to do it himself. So, I would often have to have my kids play act with me to spare them and myself from having to hurt them unnecessarily. Although, I wasn't always able to spare them especially if he was around. He would often jump to degrade everything that I did and my kids too. He would put me down all the time and expect me to stroke his ego. I would often have to defend his own mother from the horrible stuff he would say, he was most definitely a racist as well. I am not okay with that, and never will be. To hear him talk about his friends of color like that I just couldn't deal. So, I would leave the room or area he was talking about them in. Then he took to smoking weed in front of my kids. Even though I asked him not to due to my upbringing. As a child my cousins and siblings all used drugs of every type, and became alcoholics like my father and uncle. I wanted to raise my children differently. He didn't care, he did what he wanted, as he wanted and had zero respect for anyone else. At one point I told him he wasn't allowed to discipline my kids at all anymore because he wouldn't stop hitting my son. I would literally have to pull him off and shield my son with my body to protect his. (Thankfully back then it took a lot for me to bruise. Unlike today where I could bump a table corner and the next morning I am black and blue.) Anyway, I would take over the disciplining of my kids and if I didn't spank hard enough he would demand to let him do it because I don't know what I am doing. So I would tell my kids to scream and cry loudly when I would spank so that he wouldn't try anything. Unfortunately that painted me as a terribly abusive parent to anyone within earshot and he was fine with that because he came out smelling like roses. Anything to hurt me. Later, after I left him I found out that he would still hit them while I was working then tell me about the bad stuff that happened and force my hand to discipline them. So, they got it twice over and that made me feel even worse. Then the cycle would repeat itself. It was horrible, I mean sure not all of it was bad but that kind of mind F**K takes a very long time to heal from.

The final straw came when I had just got done doing a 10 hour shift followed up by 4 hours of night school for college got home at like 1-2 am and still had to start my next project for my new class. I will never forget the comical way it made me feel looking at him like an angry bull charging at me with smoke out of his ears and nose. He slammed my laptop so hard that it bounced off the TV tray I had it on. He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the kitchen and demanded I wash the dishes. I was so deliriously tired I laughed so hard I snorted. Which only served to make him even more mad. Especially, because I told him no and that his hands we not broken and he was capable of washing the dishes too. Then attempted to turn and walk back to what I was doing as that was my top concern. So he grabbed my hair something he was unable to do for a while because I kept it short to make my life easier. I wanted to grow it out a bit so I could have my curls again and I had a bit of length to it then. He pulled me back and threw me up against a wall and then pushed me into the countertop next to the sink and demanded that I wash the dishes. I looked at him and said NO. As I tried to walk away he pulled his 1911 on me pointed it at my face. I pressed my head deliberately against the barrel. A feeling that I never wanted to feel again but at this point I was so tired of fighting everyday. So I did what any pissed off Marine would do.... I taunted him. I begged him to pull the trigger and put me out of my misery. I called him a little bitch when he tried to put it away forced his hand back up and pushed it into my forehead and said oh no Mother F****R you can't put it away, no.... you drew that weapon... You intended on shooting me.... Well common then Lets GO! He scoffed and put it away. I said aww I was looking forward to that dirt nap and was a little excited at the prospect of how he was going to tell my family he shot me over dishes. Because they had hardwood floors that hadn't been resealed for at least a decade I knew if I bled out I would be remembered every time they had to look at the stain.

I elected to sleep downstairs on the couch, and after he left and his mom left for work I called my boss I explained to him what happened he stayed on the phone with me while I packed stuff in black garbage bags. Put my kids in my minivan and drove to my sisters. Where he drove up the next day stalking me and attempting to get me to go back with him. I didn't. I gave him one last great night and kissed him goodbye.

Reclaiming Myself

I never looked back. It took me roughly 3 years later to find my soulmate after all that passed, but still had more fighting to do. He is my everything, I couldn't ask for a better man to be in my life. Of course we had our hardships too. In the very beginning while his drinking and arguing with me was never ideal or a great combo, he never touched me or my kids in any aggressive manner. We were both in agreement that if it ever came to that it was over. I am so grateful it never did. We had worked through so much together through the ten years we have spent together. Both he and I had our individual challenges, but we learned to support each other through everything the ups, the downs, and the crazy moments too. Today, I am happy to report I am happier than I have ever been. It has taken a lot for me to heal from everything.

Science and Smart Stuffs

However, the stress from all that life trauma caused my Celiac's to become active, something I never had to deal with before. So, I was so scared because my body was betraying me, and that led to a massive internal infection throughout my intestines after 5 courses of antibiotics and seriously bad swelling that triggered my fibromyalgia to become active. Then I ended up with serious depression and anxiety problems as well due to the constant pain from the flare-ups I would have.  Which caused me to gain a serious amount of weight very fast. A few years later COVID hit. With my weakened immune system I was surprised that I made it through the entire shut down without catching it especially because I was the one that did all our shopping. However, my luck ran out once the shut down ended and schools resumed about a year after I got sick. I knew it was bad, real bad when I couldn't breathe at all and lost all taste for everything to include cough syrup. I ended up with my own personal room complete with shower and bathroom for a week at Hotel De'Riverside Hospital. I had double pneumonia in both lungs and COVID on top of that. I really thought I was going to die. Eventually I was sent home on oxygen and after about 6 months later I got the taste back in my mouth. Needless to say I was thrilled to have survived it and vowed that I would figure out what was wrong with my body hell or high water. That said when you have oodles of time you research everything or at least you should. (Which is what I did.) At this point in time the only diagnosis I had was Fibromyalgia, Anxiety, Depression, and Extreme Stress. I was the one that found the diagnosis's that I have. Now, its just a matter of proving myself right and normally I am.

​I have even diagnosed several friends based off symptoms they have given me and I have actually landed on the exact same results as their specialists had. So I know my researching skills are way above par at least to me. So, I trust my skills in comparative analysis of ailments. Especially when it comes to looking at the whole picture and not just one organ or another.

So, all that really remains is proving myself correct.

The Why Of It All

The one thing I have hated having to do over the years is finding out that people I love and care for have had to face some sort of trial and felt so alone that they attempt the worst of the worst. 

I have over the years mentored individuals facing similar hardships, and stayed up all night talking guns out of mouths. Just trying to help anyone that needs it. I hadn't picked up a paint brush since high school. I will be 40 in March on the 1st. I only started painting this past summer at the end of summer. What I came to find is that as I painted I would talk out loud to myself and work through all my problems while I did it. It seemed so much easier to talk while my hands were busy and brain focused on something other than my pain. Recently, I have had another friend die at their own hands. I am sick of this happening. I am done losing veterans, my family, my friends to suicide. NO MORE!!!

I created this site to showcase my work and to accept donations that will  help in the fight to end the 22 a day statistic. 

Goals

If I can save even one soul then all of this is worth it. "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" - Emma Lazarus

I aim to be the light that leads you out of the darkness. So please donate, join one of my classes on Skool.com, or perhaps purchase a painting that you like, as long as we remain active in the fight Suicide won't win!