Water or Wine?


, ,


Or maybe a glass of wine?

To numb the endless pain? 

To ease the rips in your heart 

that echo endlessly through your brain?

I whispered out loud to no one 

talking to myself 

as I limped, dragging my way 

through the dense empty air 

of forced existence

to the kitchen

for a senseless glass of hopeless hydration.

No, then their lies might become truth

and what if that destroys you?

snaps my inner voice. 

And what if it doesn’t?

wails my annihilated heart

…the loudest, most persistent 

nonexistent voice of all.


Cassandra’s Window




Window of opportunity has cracked open…

solitude again, at last, albeit brief…

fresh air of relief washes over my face

even as fear and apprehension taunt me.

Am I brave enough?

I’ve ruined or missed

every chance I’ve had in this life.

It’s clear I’m nothing but mass destruction,

voided darkness,

bringing heavy misery to all I love.

Cursed like Cassandra to carry the burden

and weight of truth in a world

where only pretty lies are valued

Can I believe in myself just enough

to stop the incessant suffering I bring

at last?


Parental Alienation, Good Versus Evil

Peace Not Pas

In my experience of battling parental alienation thus far I have come to realise the following: It is generally not recognised by the judicial system, dismissed by so called professionals, and underestimated even when recognised and documented as minimally as possible with phrases such as “exhibits alienating behaviours.” It appears to only be known by those affected by it. So we have a set of behaviours that result in both short and long-term emotional damage of alienated children. But tragically no Government institution in the UK officially recognises parental alienation. For those readers that may not be familiar with the term parental alienation, please see here for a detailed definition.

However for those of us that are targeted parents, it is real. It is something we live with every day. As a parent, there is no worse emotional pain than being denied contact with your very…

View original post 1,421 more words

Love, Or Whatever This Is


, ,

You call this “love” but I can’t. Whatever this is feels like being wheeled into the operating room after years of waiting for surgery, where I’m not entirely convinced that this operation will work but I’m willing to try. It’s the final hope, the last resort after exhausting all other options and, though I am […]

via Love, Or Whatever This Is — hijacked amygdala

The playhouse 


, ,


Jim Higgins with his first family, long before he knew my mother

Jim Higgins, with his first family

Jim Higgins, shortly before he passed

My step-dad, James R. Higgins, passed away on July 12, 2017. He was a good man, an honorable man;  a man of integrity.

Sadly, he was duped into loving, with all his heart, soul, and integrity, a narcissistic woman, who never loved him but only saw him as a cash supply and a toy to play with…

But he loved her… ohhhh how he loved her

Once when I was in elementary school, Jim bought us a playhouse- a real live playhouse!!!! We lived on 20 acres, so he had the playhouse put in a small clearing in the wooded acreage.

I think I was in the 2nd or 3rd grade when he brought it home and placed it. And I was amazed and beyond delighted!! It was white on the outside and the inside walls were each painted a different color. It was socheerful and playful!

I couldn’t WAIT to start my very own little clubhouse…secret society…whatever… it was my own space!! My VERY OWN space!! And it was cheerful and colorful and secluded in the woods!!

I couldn’t believe he brought it for my sister and me. Even then, I knew it was to please and impress mother more than it was probably for us, but I didn’t care!! It was so thoughtful and so wonderful!

My sister was never very interested in playing in the playhouse. I guess when your mother loves you, you don’t feel the need for friends so much…? But I wanted all the neighborhood kids to be in my club!!

I started a “club” and I collected 25 cents a week from each member to save for a field trip. I hoped that if we saved enough money mother might drive us the 5 miles into town for a day to explore together. I hoped she would be proud that I could pay her to take us on a field trip.

My mother was so very young and sooooo beautiful!! I was super excited to have her be our field trip guide after we saved some money to pay her to take us.

We met for a few months, we worked on making confetti in the clubhouse to try to have a neighborhood parade or some type of community festival

We saved up almost $10! Then I asked mother if that was enough to take a field trip but she said she didn’t have time to take a bunch of kids into town.

I guess marrying a wealthy man is quite busy….

The neighborhood kids were mad at me that there was no field trip and the club disintegrated. They all wanted their money back.

So I divided up all the quarters I’d collected, and paid then back their money.

And that was the end of the clubhouse club. I didn’t play in there very much after that. It just wasn’t any fun by myself and a year later mother accused me of meeting boys out there in the woods when I’d go to just play by myself. So the adorable clubhouse Jim brought us just went to waste.

It got rickety and bug infested and abandoned.

I’ll never forget how excited and amazed I was the day Jim brought that playhouse home.

I felt like a real and actual little girl for a few minutes.

I loved Jim Higgins so very much. There were so many periods of my childhood when his random kindness and his smile was the only thing that kept me feeling I mattered.

RIP James Ruben Higgins, 7/24/24-7/12/2017. You were very much loved and cherished.

One to go


, ,


A man of substance

taken for a fool

A man of joy

used as a pawn

A girl of hope and truth

painted black

A woman struggling for air

kicked and shoved under…

All used up

devoured by the petty

beaten with lies

strangled with betrayals.

Three down…

one to go.



Dear Maci


, ,


Dear Maci,

I must have a zillion pictures of you and Savannah, yet I had to steal a photo from your old Myspace!  I’m sure I could find 100 on my Facebook if I cared to browse those memories…but I don’t. So, this stolen photo it is….

We moved in 2009 into that house on Roosevelt that we all loved so much.  I told Savannah she had the choice to keep schools or change.  She chose to change, You were Savannah’s first friend.  I remember the first day I met you…hoping you were a nice girl and not mean…praying you’d be a real friend to my daughter who’d had some mean girls at her former elementary school.

You were. You are an amazing human being!  You were a great friend to my daughter, I adored your funny, unique style..  I loved that you weren’t trying to be like everyone else in that awkward, insecure time of life.   I thought, this girl…this beautiful child… will see my daughter’s beauty and appreciate her spirit.  She’ll see the sun in my child that makes the other girls insecure….and she’ll love it…

And you did. You were the friend I’d prayed for for my child..the one who would encourage her individuality like I was trying to!

Who could have known she’d turn against me 3 years later? No one would have guessed that.

But you… YOU…among all those lies and false accusations, you are LITERALLY the only person among a million adults who knew better, only you who stood up for me or said, “huh? what are you talking about”?

And you were there almost daily for the 3 years prior.

I’m sure I wasn’t the perfect mom..but I was a good mom! And I loved my children!   You knew that even as they started their lies.

Thank you.

Thank you for being my daughter’s friend in those tough years and thank you for being a good human being.  I’m scared to love anyone anymore, but I love you like my own and I hope maybe my daughter learned a little about good people from you, if not from me.

You’re my hero….for a zillion reasons…


Momma DeDeaux





, ,


There it was.

gross and grotesque

like intestines spilled out for display

at a homicide scene…

and yet beautiful enough to steal the breath from

my lungs.

There it was

the heart that went missing

5 agonizingly long years ago.

A Starbucks table full of older children…

I wondered why the others were turning to stare

when I saw it.

The smoke and ashes of a soul’s empire

lovingly built, brick by brick

sitting nonchalantly at a table

surrounded by friends,

who turned to stare

at the lonely old has-been crazy woman


in her car,

waiting at the drive-thru window

My very own heart

pretending it didn’t see me

purposely looking straight ahead

as its friends turned to stare…

I recognized it though.

After all, it’s my heart….

my purpose…

It choked my throat…

floods of hugs and kisses

bedtime stories

long talks at the dinner table

giggles making up silly stories

and how the number 3 makes a heart

…for a reason…

There it sat,

surrounded by friends,

pretending it didn’t see me….

my very own heart…

splayed out on that table

nonchalantly pretending…

I never existed

at all.

Maybe I never did?

Does one really exist without a heart?

So I forced a laugh, alone in my car…

trying to turn the choke of memories into laughs

hoping my empty, gaping chest

wouldn’t show itself.

Transformation complete.

You win.

I no longer