Coffee with President Obama


Who am I to teach, preach, or blog like I have it all figured out when in fact the only thing I have figured out is that I have nothing figured out at all!

I am constantly reminded that if I want my blog traffic to grow I have to conform. But, conformity to me is giving advice I don’t have or making  lists of things that, in the end, are irrelevant. I’m not putting any particular blog style down, I’m just saying that it is not my way if I want to stay true to my roots as to the reason I started blogging in the first place.

My goal is to be raw and uncensored. If I can reassure just one person they are not alone then my job is done and I will call my blog a success. If I can continue to grow as a person, to be better than I was raised to be, to not fear my mental illness or be ashamed of it but to grow and learn from it; then again, I will call my blog a success.

My point to reiterating all of this is because what I want to say next is extremely raw and open. I grew up not trusting people and feeling constantly lied to so I think I have become neurotic when it comes to honesty in adulthood. There is no middle ground with me. My personality and way of thinking is polarized to one extreme or another. For example, I have no secrets. Most people keep stuff private, but not me; my secrets are like an itch that is not satisfied until I get them out. I feel like I am hiding a  truth when I keep things bottled up which is another form of lying. But, my neurotic way of thinking regarding honesty is not necessarily a negative so I’ll keep at it until it no longer serves my growth because up until this point it has served me very, very well as I have overcome a lot with this mentality. I mean think about it, I grew up with a borderline mother and a possibly schizophrenic father; I should be locked up somewhere but here I am, typing away, striving for honest and true mental health.



Last night I dreamed I had tea with president obama. I wonder if the tea signifies my ex husband as he has orders to england, but nonetheless, I will call it coffee as I hate hot tea. In my dream I was in a dark office kitchenette fixing myself a cup of coffee when obama walks in to fix himself a cup. I had that “oh, damn” feeling so I kept my head down not knowing how one is supposed to act in the presence of the president.

In the next scene we are in some kind of control room where they monitor people or places, I’m not sure. But someone had set off an alarm and I remember thinking, “why am I here? I don’t have clearance for this!” and “thank God it was not me that set that alarm off!”

The last scene I am with four other woman and we are all fighting people. It was like a scene from a movie where the good guys are fighting the bad guys in an office building. But, I did not know how to fight in this dream. As we are all running up the stairs I hold the door open for the other women so they go in first. I feel cowardly for doing this but something in the dream made me feel like they were there to protect me anyway, so I didn’t feel too bad. As I’m standing at the end of the hall I watch the women kill all the bad guys and clear the hallway; almost like they were clearing the way for me.

When I woke up the dream stuck with me. I believe in the interpretation of dreams as they are a direct link to the subconscious which is nothing but honest, raw, and unfiltered. I also feel it is God’s way of communicating with people. The interpretation of dreams takes a certain personality type and I think I am good at it because I have no reservations, especially when it comes to myself, about being honest and direct. I just have a certain level of understanding for the abstract.

In this dream I feel obama represented God and the other women were, I don’t know, angels? Some kind of spiritual protectors, anyway. What really got me was the fight scene where the women took down all the bad guys. Who were the bad guys? Demons trying to influence my way of thinking and gain a foothold in my mind?  I remember the scene vividly, they all feel under the heavy gunfire without much of a fight or retaliation. It is a comfort to know the things trying to infest my life are so weak and easily taken down by those that have my back.

Here is my spitball of truth. I have been very angry at God lately; blaming him for this mess by thinking he orchestrated it because I am cursed or he hates me. So, when I gave this dream some more thought I really felt the slimy spitball run down my face; I was ashamed of my thinking. But, despite my shame I did not release myself of my bitterness. I continued to rant and rave at God.

With the progression of this divorce and the tensions between my ex and I I was recently forced to apply for food stamps to get us through until I graduated and got a job. Two weeks had gone by since I had originally applied and I was up against the wall once again, having to choose between bills and food. I was waiting on my caseworker to call me to tell me if I was approved or denied when I put God to the test; I was at a crossroads with my bitterness and anger.

Standing outside, desperate and feeling overwhelmingly alone and sad, I snapped. I said, “God, if you are up there listening to me I demand you show yourself. Show me I am cursed or show me I am favored and loved but I demand you show me something. I can not keep living like this. If I am cursed and you hate me so be it, but let me go. Release me of my faith. If she calls and I am approved I will know I am in your favor, and if she does not call then at least I know where I stand”

Now, I will stop right here and just say what everyone reading is thinking; that I can’t talk to God that way, demand anything of him, claim blessing yada, yada. But, I did. The conversation above was me, buckling under adversity, calling out to the only parental figure I have ever known. Think of it like this, in terms of your own children. As parents we can’t fight all their battles for them but when they cry out in pain we can be there to support and love them. I was crying out in pain to God.

Thirty minutes after my meltdown I got the phone call. I had been approved for the maximum amount.

Where does my hope come from? I am constantly asking myself this very question. How is it I am surviving this? Where is the strength to carry on coming from? The answer is I do not have to see with my eyes to know I am not alone. It’s like walking through a path in the forest that has yet to be cleared  but with each step you take branches mysteriously (or not so mysteriously) move out of your way to make room for you to carry on.


This is my truth and I am thankful for it.