Electric Garden

I am currently working on a non-fiction book that will be titled Electric Garden.  I have lived (survived!) quite a life, and now I’m documenting it. I will be covering my experiences in the death/loss of my entire family in a short time period, emotional and psychological abuse, rape, marriage, divorce, addictions, dating in my 40’s, obesity, depression/anxiety disorders, major surgeries, suicide contemplation, abortion, God, bankruptcy and starting over.

My life might scare you, make you sad, or could even cause you to snort a beverage out of your nose while reading – but my true intent is to inspire you and give you hope.  I’m not here to bash or blame anyone, but to take responsibility for own life and simply tell my story.  CONTENTMENT is and always will be my goal.  To be content with what I have, not worry about what I don’t, and to live my life treating people the way I want to be treated.

I’m certainly not a preacher, but I discovered God and what He is really all about; and it changed me forever. I’m far from perfect, more of a ‘work in progress’, but I do love the Lord and if you want REAL combined with RAW, I can give it to you straight in sharing my journey with you the best I can.  Life is quite a ride.

Here is a sample of the book in its early stages:

Prologue

“We are hard pressed on every side, yet not crushed;

we are perplexed, but not in despair;

persecuted, but not forsaken;

struck down, but not destroyed.”

2 Corinthians 4:8-9 – New King James Bible

Lying prone, my body felt impossibly heavy. My cheekbone pressed into the hard fiberglass and mascara leaked from the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t tell how long I had been sobbing. Time had dissolved into nothingness.

I knew exactly where I was, but the knowledge didn’t spark movement. I stayed there, motionless, as the water crept past my lips, then my nostrils. At some point I must have kicked the drain stopper when I collapsed; the tub was filling quickly.

Lukewarm water beat down from the showerhead, striking my back in steady thuds—like dirt being shoveled onto a casket. The bathroom lights were off. The small, windowless room breathed darkness, except for the thin blade of light slipping in through the cracked door. It wasn’t enough to see by. It was just enough to remind me that the world still existed.

I closed my swollen, burning eyes. Water filled one ear, muting the rush of the shower until it became a distant roar, yet amplifying the thump of my heartbeat against the porcelain floor of the tub. Strangely, despite everything, a quiet calm spread through me—unplanned, undeserved, but absolute.

My hair drifted out around my head, lifting and swaying in the rising water like strands of seaweed. I could feel them brush against the sides of the tub. A single word circled through me, slow and smoky: broken.

I held my breath, seconds away from the instinctive panic of needing to inhale. I wondered—almost clinically—if the weight of the water filling my lungs would make me pass out, or if my body would thrash and claw for life on its own.

That was when I heard it.

“GET UP.”

Clear. Sharp. Spoken with the blunt certainty of someone flipping on a light switch.

The voice was not mine.

My eyes flew open, heart ricocheting against my ribs. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. The bathroom was empty—silent but for the water, the dark, and my pulse hammering through the liquid in my ear.

The voice didn’t return.

Did I imagine it?

Psychotic break?

Voice of God?

I listened harder, waiting for anything—another word, a breath, a sign.

But there was only silence.

Part 1

California 1971-1977

“Everyone wants the oil, but not the crushing that produces it.” – Ida Tarbell

Chapter 1 – Mom & Dad