Haven lived 14 years past what I had taken like a champ.

The deathbed of truth, he laid in a coma for two years. I had found the answers to all the trauma delivered to me physically. The false confidence and insanity cocaine had given my former was no joke. To the then months of Jackyll and Hyde ways of his lifestyle.

When I delivered my peace keeping to the artist I’d sunk 80 grand into. Having approached us at the hospital to say she was his one and only and had never heard of me. Yet I knew I had personally called her to sign her and copied her passport to our records. This was a minor storm I’d thought. She wants to milk us, and she did. She had worked the room for contacts and I wrote out to her in text. To take her music her recordings and granted ownership of that to her.

I was not baring the karma of the mess for having had invested in her, him, them. 1 ton weight off my chest.

After having left the coma ward and began to protect my own mental health from his baby sister whom also liked to get lost in the false confidence of cocaine. I had known I could not take the words or actions of addicts seriously. 😒 I chose distance, I chose peace. I became afraid of love too.

My first, “ friend”, a survivor of abuse and vulnerability having had a gangster’s baby was temporarily in my watch.

Then I’d meet another, both woman once hit on by my former. I was just happy to have honest friends. So I thought. One became my vocal instructor. The world was still too bright they could not yet feed on my vulnerability.

After years of just working with horses that are sacred to me I had kept that just for me. You know they wanted in my private equestrianism. That private property and paddock. I always had a boundary on. Damn right they were not invited. I wanted opera and she said I could only sing pop music.

Up until I was blinded for having stressed to have prevented an another friend’s suicide. That friend drove these chicks up the wall just her presence had kept these draining girls away. I owed it to her to keep her here, and do what I had wished one would have done for myself. If ever I couldn’t love myself I was a teen. At 34 hell no my 1 true homie was not gonna get a pass to go through deaths door not without a fight and reminders to keep her here.

Once fully weakened having used my abilities to the max the first two came around again. Gave me a sofa to recover on yet not without having to take on an adventure into the dark. There in the dark true colors were seen. I couldn’t stop my intuitions and reads it would not turn off. I was being guided through.

After strangers came to defend me , after having been bullied to give all my camera equipment to the head of the house. My vocal instructor who crushed my spirit morphed then. To this so called friend who then it still wasn’t enough. You see I still had not done it. I still had not become like her.

I would not either. To this day I’m still nothing like her. She was once my vocal instructor, then I realized she is jealous and no matter what she gains that is like what I had or better. It’s never gonna be enough.

So I changed my life. I ghosted them.

I got a new vocal instructor and moved into her guest house far away tucked in safe. I practiced opera and recovered from so much physical trauma do to just standing next to the former two first friends on social networks.

So I restarted. I gave away all my storage filled with bougie furniture to the woman’s shelter , The Good Shepard. I went to work on my own mid life crisis. For having trauma and had been afraid to love the man that I had loved. I found my formers death to have chained me to his bed and to be his everything even after so many hard truths had been found. His little boy and his ex looked to me to hold his honor. Be that for them when I was always the only honorable one in the room for years.

All while I had met a wonderful , educated , cultured man and was afraid of love.

No wonder I was going blind from stress. I ghosted everyone after having taken meetings for my career. The last AMC I attended in 2016. Enough was enough. Creeps I had hired to write with the whole network were just seedy. As the trauma delivered then that forced me to that little guest house under orange trees. Show-runners and their egos had met a real one. Their personas depended on bullying too. At that point you just start to feel like where is your therapist? As all your dead friends are telling me the truth as to why I’m cool and you just gave into being these dodos 🦤. Only dodos fallow one another over the edge. The dead were loud around them.

This is where I began to go against the grain.

This is where I didn’t care to have anymore fare weathered friends. This is where they found a soldier and wondered how are you still alive. This is where they began to call out the devil must be at work here. This is where I opened up sacred ground. This is where I took on the whole town, without ever saying much and I brought them to Jesus. While I served water and worked out of a most beautiful French Country styled kitchen.

For now it’s full steam ahead and we damn all torpedos.

Best of and All my love,

Medium JJ