Processing Abandonment Emotions

My brother was my best friend. He was my dude. This morning I woke up with a deep ache. I miss him. It’s been ten months since he passed on. Grief is an ornery little cuss. This workbook: “Processing Through Grief” has been helpful.

Today, I felt abandoned and even a little angry, because I am about to release a new book that my brother was a large part of.

During the process of writing I was traveling and talking with scientists I met through dear friends.

My brother was the one I shared this excitement with. He held my secrets like a trustworthy stead. He left before it was finished. I feel so sad. I wish he could hold this book in his hands, my first work of science fiction. We were so excited together.

“Knowing Maude Seven” will be available in hardback on Amazon, and in e-stories, which will only be available at The Thriving Nook. Sign up for a free membership if you’d like to read it. Also sign up for The Thriving Nook Newsletter to be notified of this book’s launch.

Because I was struggling emotionally, I decided to head into nature and see how many other abandoned things I could find. As I walked inside the trees letting some needed tears flow, I spotted these abandoned things.

This book, beat up by rain that is slowly erasing the ink holding its purpose in life.
This lonely wrapper, left empty in the cold.
These two solitary lamp posts who can’t even touch one another or hug.
This bear, abandoned on a rock, it’s eyes dark blank stares beneath an upside down smile.
This plastic bag, torn and tattered, yet still holding onto its smile.
These two headless ducks.
A pile of leaf bodies just thrown on dead sticks.
This bridge to nowhere.
This graffiti on an old sign.

I remember once in 2012, my brother, nephew and some of our friends were in Olympia, WA at Tugboat Annie’s. I was singing at an open mic night.

I looked over at the wall on the booth we were in as we waited for our turn to go up, and on the wall was a quote.

I am nobody. Nobody is perfect. Therefore I am perfect.

I have never forgotten that quote and how it stuck me. As I walked off the stinging in my throat, I embraced the truth that I have not been abandoned. My older brother is still here with me. I hear him in the smart ass way I say things and the hollow underbelly of my laughter.

He’s floating in his home dimension where he can always be the dungeon master; the best DND dungeon master I have ever met, just for the record.

It Starts Inside

We trauma survivors can have a little habit. Avoidance. I know. I’ve been there. For many years I burrowed myself into every other person and/or project that distracted my mind away from myself.

I was so frightened by what I had to face in myself; the pain, the anger, the memories of a tortured childhood, but the ultimate bi-product of my avoidance was more pain, more volatility in my connections because I was projecting all of my gunk into things outside of myself.

Then I realized that everything I was avoiding inside of myself was eating my from the inside out; emotionally and physically.

I believe without question that the answer to global change starts within individual hearts. I can do my part of contributing to my personal healing.

I’ll tell you something I found out. Facing ourselves really isn’t the horrible journey we expect. Did I cry a lot? Oh, yes. I wept torrents from my body.

It was worth it. I’m further along in my healing than I expected to be by now. I am still working on myself. I’m traveling the strands of my healing into my childhood memories and supporting my inner child as she develops trust and emotional maturity.

Take the journey into yourself, loves. It’s so worth it.

Grieving Through the Body

I have been unable to cry since my brother died, March 12, 2021, two days before my birthday. I held his hand, along with his son, as they turned the machines off. It was the most peaceful parting. I’d never experienced this before. I sang to him. I feel him every day.

But the grief has been locking my physical body up with inflammation and pain. I have known I needed to cry, but nothing would make the tears come.

Tonight, after a short stint at the hospital for steroid infusing for shoulder lock, I decided to write my brother a long text to his phone. I can’t take him out of my favorites, this photo of him and his grandson. He was a good Pappa Bear. He had redemption as a grandfather.

That beard grab though…

And so I began to write to him…

Miss you so much. This may be how I need to grieve. To just talk to you because you’re the one who I always called when I was crying.

I miss your way of making laughter from the macabre, your satirical wildness and your crazy Trump dance. We’re trying to figure out what to do with all those coins, by the way.

Your son is amazing and strong. You taught him the value of hard work and perseverance.

I know grieving is for the ones left behind, but I gotta get the pain out, bro and right now, I can only cry it out like I used to, pouring it out in small novella text convos.

My body is in pain and inflamed with grief. I talked to Dad on Father’s Day. Janet said he’s sleeping a lot, so he’ll probably be back in the mothership with you soon.

Meanwhile I am being as strong as I can and reminding the boys to stay a clan; that gangster Viking lineage they have. They are gifting such beautiful babies and breaking the trauma bonds, and my heart sings for them.

But gottamn bro I miss you so much. I kinda feel alone on this matriarchal island.

And I’m weeping hard, and so grateful for these tears because my body has been ripped with pain as I tried to stay high functioning for others. No. I’m gonna grieve as I need to. Cry when I feel it. No shoving it down, right?


Clock says 919

You say look it up.

Number 919 meaning is that it appears around a person who has abilities to make big things in their life, but usually, something stops them in that intention. They have big dreams, but something always distracts their attention.

Why you gotta call me out like that, fucker.

Don’t laugh. 🖕🏻

I laugh through my tears.

If the number 919 appears in your enclosure, it is a deep spiritual message that you are closer to achieve the deeper, ultimate spirituality. It means that you are being aware of yourself and your beloved ones and your understanding of them becomes bigger and deeper. If you are dealing with huge, life-changing decisions, seeing a number 919 is a sign that your solution will appear sooner than expected and you’re about to make the right choice.

Number 919 is a truly unique number. It is a powerful combination of numbers 9 (it appears twice) and number 1. Number 9 represents philanthropy and eternal love. It is also related to endings and conclusions.

Number 1 stands for leadership. It means that you are a hard-working person and you can create your own destiny. It is a sign that you are truly unique and able to control your life.

Combining these two numbers you are getting number 919, which gives you a strong message about your destiny. If you’re seeing it, it means that you are on the right path in your life.

If you have a challenging period in your life, number seeing number 919 is a sign that a difficult period is about to an end.

One of the reasons you’re seeing 919 is a spiritual message that you need to have more courage. Your guardian DNA is telling you that it is keeping an eye on you.

Your cellular wisdom is taking care of you and you don’t need to worry. New, positive events in your life will occur sooner than you expect. You just need to believe in yourself.”

Thank you bro. Just thank you. I needed this one tonight. I love you. Your lil sis.

Healing Yourself Heals the World

I used to harbor a lot of hate toward my mother. Let me tell you something. Hate only hurts yourself and others. It is not a shield. It comes with no solutions. It is fueled by anger and should only be felt righteously; such as HATING child rapists.

In my mind the only perspective I had was that my mother took us to a cult torture compound, then abandoned us to be raped and beaten. As I matured and studied mind control and NLP (neurolinguistic programming) I discovered that my mother was grossly victimized by a very wicked cult recruiter and some very wicked accomplices who had their clutches in my mother before I was even born. By the time we arrived at the first cult compound, my mother’s mind was already taken by the cultists.

They starved her and sleep deprived her within the first 48 hours of our arrival. If you aren’t informed on how fast deprivation of any kind dissects the mind, stay up from Friday morning to Monday morning, don’t eat or sleep, and see how well you perform at your job on that Monday.

Taking the time to study and learn how and why my mother was so easily preyed upon, took away my hate and re-directed it to the proper place; the people who enacted the brainwashing on her, who stole her children from her under the guise of evangelical doctrine and went on to continue abusing and trafficking our family across state lines, enslaving, laboring and physically brutalizing us for over a decade, as they committed gross human rights violations for years and years, and still do to this day while no one does anything.

I am glad I came to this understanding before my mother’s death. There are questions I wish I had asked her, but she was dying so we didn’t want to add undue stress. My voice woke her up from a coma in a Texas hospital, because I was singing to her and begging for her to wake up. The nurse said a tear rolled down her cheek, and then she woke up and my sister was called to come back immediately. We thought at that time it was the end. It wasn’t. She fought to live a little longer.

I flew back to Texas and sat with her in the hospital, shaved her little chin hairs that grew out, because she was embarrassed, fixed her hair and read magazines to her since she had gone blind from severe glaucoma. I stayed a whole day and night in the hospital with her on that visit. That was the last time I saw my mother alive.

I then returned home to Reno, NV where I was working for a transportation company. It was at work I got the call from my sister that my mother had expired in the hospital after passing out and smashing her nose, which caused a blood clot to explode her heart.

I lost a lot of precious personal emotions hating my mother merely because I was wrapped up in myself and refused to take the time to explore and understand my childhood. I wasted a lot of years I could have been healing and getting more answers.

I urge anyone who has these parental issues to really do the work to travel into yourself and figure out how to heal these wounds. There are answers for you. Only you can choose to accept them; to be a better person; to behave better; to accept some hardcore truths and allow them to let you grow.

My mother was abusive, yes. She backhanded me and caused more busted lips than I can count. She gaslighted and tormented our minds even after the cult. She called me a witch because I am not a Christian and wouldn’t bow down to her belief system. She purposely called me with Bible verses trying to mind fuck me back to her religion and way of thinking. Now, I use one of those phone calls to give me strength.

She called me and said, “I was in the word (Bible) today and I really had a verse weigh on my heart to tell you.”

Picture me rolling my eyes on the other end, like what the fuck!

“No weapon formed against you shall prosper… Isaiah 54:17.” She read to me.

That’s all I recall of that one whole phone call because I often tuned her out, busied myself with other things to ignore her, filled with hate, but tolerating her on behalf of my sons who I felt deserved to have a relationship with their grandmother. She was a decent grandma. My sons love her. I’m grateful they got to have the best of her that she could muster up.

I still hear the echo of her voice telling me that. Even though I am not religious, I get what she was trying to tell me; that I am strong and will never be defeated as long as I remember that.

This is why I stand my ground now and refuse to let my mind be swayed by anyone. I research for myself, the subjects I want to understand, and I study ALL sides. I do not allow myself to have blinders to believe and see only one perspective. Every single issue we deal with in life comes with the potential of having many sides and perspectives. Maybe they all have validity. Maybe we all could stand to learn how to be expansive in our observatory views.

I had to go into my generational trauma and trace decades backward on my mother and father’s lineage, which led to the pain of my Cherokee heritage and the heritage of Irish people fleeing from England’s persecution of them, settling in Ohio within the Cherokee Nation, who welcomed them with open, loving and peaceful arms. That’s where I get my green eyes. They would later be enslaved by impoverished human labor and the Cherokee people killed off in a slow genocidal torture.

My ancestors were stripped of everything, abused, and were poor farmers who were dis acknowledged by the society around them, especially my grandmother on my mom’s side who “looked too Indian” for white people. She was born in the early 1900’s, long before integration happened in America. This is my lineage.

Generational trauma is passed down through in vitro DNA. Science has proven this. We must individually do the work to heal our own DNA so that we stop passing it on to our children and behaving badly in front of them. Kids aren’t stupid. They see far deeper than adults give them credit for.

These are things I wish I’d taken the time to pay attention to when I was younger, yet I accept that I had no access or social knowledge of such things. I was cult programmed to be terrified of therapists, who would “take my mind.” Ironic, isn’t it, to be mind controlled that those who could help me are mind controllers.

This planet will heal, when each individual chooses to go softly into their deep wounds and do the work to heal that personal wounding.

May love guide and light shine a path on truth for you. Do the work. It is worth it. It opens your eyes and lets you recognize lies. Healing brings mental clarity and higher intuition as we come into connection with our own soul. Walk the talk, friends. Do the work. It’s painful as hell, but well worth it. 💫💫💫💫

𝒱𝑒𝓃𝓃𝒾𝑒 𝒦𝑜𝒸𝓈𝒾𝓈

This photo is post-cult. Martin, TN. 1986. I am on the left at 16 looking like my eyes got slapped by a rainbow, (I was finally allowed at 16 to wear makeup), my mom in the middle and my older sister on the far end in the white shirt.

We loved the best we knew how, and it was dysfunctional as heck, yes. I grew up, continued to choose dysfunctional relationships which caused much suffering to me and those related to me, until I made a choice to heal MYSELF and understand that healing individually is the only way humanity will end their suffering. 💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

Skeletons Remain

Skeletons remain in the spaces beneath the pain. My brain becomes a seismograph of moving timelines and opportunities to rewind.

I enter the dark caverns armed. This is no place for charm or niceties. This is a war to be fought by a single army. I am one with what was formed.

I go quiet into the dormant caverns. I chart the patterns. I connect dots and string, creating a weave of evidence and acceptance.

There is no vengeance in this excavation. Only explanations and lain out bones, examined fractures and a puzzle creating a visual of the whole.

I am in the solitary state of self reflection. I have entered the stargate, reading the files stored when I was a child, my own familiar, my brain an elemental releasing brand new truths to process through written language in scrolls that hold secrets.

We Are Your Resurrection

There are ghosts in my view. I am traveling hallways. We are coming back for you. Your breath quickens as you wait. Will your heart give in to the ache; the secrets you hold? They rot your insides, you know.

We are your shadow self.

Every deed, word, blow and theft of innocence lurks inside the remnants of your biological cells. You never considered that hell would come from those you desecrated.

When we come, we are a pack without a leader.

We have no need to follow, holding hands side by side, we yell, “Red Rover, Red Rover, come on over!”, and we smile. You taught us to rip at each other’s wrists, remember? Danger as an entertainer. That was your pleasure.

There were the games we played in secret, away from your judging eyes, sneaking moments with quiet giggles. We reserved our spirits from your shattering, scattering into life, struggling through its mores as we held ourselves in fetal positions to survive. Now, we rise.

We have gathered the ashes of our pasts, reconstructed our wings, and we are prepared to fly.

We are the children of your terror. We are the outcasts and sinners, scar bearers and wayward waifs. We are the tattooed tyrants, birthed from your horror, walking our own paths against your wrath. We color our hair bright. We carry ourselves Light. We know each step with precision as we enter this fight.

We are not mercy. We are strength. We are not bitterness. We are valiance.

We are turning your worlds inside out, releasing the doubt you preach from pulpits and podiums and classrooms to children and vulnerable humans. We are Dragons, gathering in the night.

We have been watching you a very long time. You see, you taught us well, but you failed to keep the tide from turning. Now we take everything you forced us to absorb, the intel and verbal hell, battered bones and dissociated minds, childhoods left behind, never to be relived, and create a mighty hurricane, gathering speed every time another survivor speaks their abuser’s name.

We release shame. It is not ours. It belongs to you. Your time to be burdened with your own deeds is long overdue.

I am a lurker in the darkness, mystic of the floated corners where the view is clear up here. I see the past and futures merging. I see the sadness and the pain purging. I feel every heart hurting, from the wicked to the wounded and my eyes can only focus on the cries of the affected, injected by decades of apathetic sociopathy using human flesh in the deadliest fashions.

For those who have a passion for hurting others, it is you I watch, even those who cloak themselves in the mask of mirrored goodness. We are keenly keeping our eyes focused. We are passed hoping. We are ready for war. Are you? How fast will your knees buckle when the first blows come? How long before your run?

No more will we be ruled, organized or contained. No more will we remain silent or compliant.

Associations and organizations meant to capitalize on those who’ve almost died inside and outside are crumbling at their feet. Too long you have preyed on the weak. Your time has come to an end, and no matter how much you pretend, keeping an illusion of control, you are quickly slipping into a sinkhole.

Even as your wrinkled fingers hold the purse strings, we sing.

Even as you watch us still, spinning tales of the ones who tell truths on you, we laugh as your ropes fray. It is your day. Your reckoning has arrived. We have been released from the hive, a swarm, marching with precision. Welcome to your new religion.

One must wonder about the abusive adult whose mind is so oblivious it cannot rationalize, that what you forced us to internalize would return to watch you burn. Yet, into the flames you will run, because the thought of combusting will feel less painful than the torture we will enact. Every item accounted for. Every brick will be removed. Each stone you drove home to build your wall will fall, and in the end what will be left, are more humans, free from your invisible chains, living in happiness.

For now, you shake beneath the hands of a mighty earthquake. In this surge, graves are unearthed and after years of holding still, we now run swiftly, legs strong, to destroy the villainous ones.

You will relax, forget to watch your back, and we will attack, because you deserve to be fought. You deserve to be tested with unrest.

Welcome to the Resurrection.

Swaddle Your Heart

Where do I go when I float?

Away from the frayed tentacles

Of memories and ligaments,

Strained from twisting, turning,

Child, they said, this hurts me

More than it hurts you. No.

I go back to moments and sit,

Quiet inside the hopelessness it’s

Good to remember this; to never forget

Lest I leave behind the reasons why

I fight until my brows ache.

You got lucky if you didn’t get raped.

It takes the soul away; flight, it

Wanders in dark nights and mires,

Like quicksand, it is the hand of

Every time we were violated

Again and again and again.

Rock with the sadness, my loves.

Hold it bravely in your tender arms,

Like a baby you can re-love the child;

The defiled despair living there

In the core that is shattered and torn.

Fly with the visions, sweet thrivers,

Take back your mind. Release the ghosts.

You are not that anymore; not the

Forgotten child in the chains

Of monsters and madness. No.

You face yourself in the mirror;

Command the past and swaddle

It into the depth of your soft heart.

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of Cult Child and other publications. She is a also a poet and hostess of the podcast Survivor Voices Show.