Sharing More About My Life & How I Came to Find The Cassiopaens

[Alix]

Alright. I’ve decided that I need to put down more information as to how I found the Cassiopaeans. It’s not an easy thing but I’ll have a ‘go’ at it.

I’ve always questioned religious authority. Born into a Roman Catholic family, I was sprinkled into this religion as a baby. I went to Mass every morning before school to be blessed by the priest and my mother’s best friend was a nun. I admit that I admired the decorations of the church and one of my first memories is of looking to the side of the church from our pew and staring at the stained glass and a large statue of Mary nearby. My other early memory was of my father sexually abusing me.

Now, I think my first doubting came around at the time of my first communion. I was dutifully going through the catechism that the priest was teaching us but, when it came time for my first confession, I asked several questions regarding God that the priest didn’t care for and all he would answer is ‘that is a mystery of God’s and if he wanted us to know he would tell us’. This didn’t sit well with me but I continued to do as my mother expected and became a good, little catholic.

As I went through my school years I had, of course, come to know many children from many walks of life. I could see that there were ‘good’ and ‘bad’ among them but that, overall, everyone was just what the world would consider ‘normal’. No big questions in their heads for the most part – although I would meet someone every once in a while who would question what was around us in much the same way as I was doing myself. My best friend went to the southern Baptist church. I would spend weekends or vacations with her and, in the course of these, would go to church with her. After I had been doing this a while, I asked her pastor the same questions I had asked the priest. The pastor’s answer was that he didn’t know but we had to have faith in God. Basically I was getting a ‘don’t ask questions’ vibe from every religious individual I ran into.

It was during this time in my life that I started to investigate the world’s mysteries (starting with the world’s history then to secret societies; why people thought the way they did; the Templars). Each tree of research grew branches and twigs and buds. In fact, I can say that there has been no time in my life since then in which I haven’t found something different to learn about concerning (as is sad – the Big Blue Marble), the societies around us, and the universe at large. I had always been a book reader, but now I became a book vacuum cleaner.

I dated sparsely from the high school years on and was offered marriage on several occasions. I deferred until I met my ex-husband. At the same time I met him, I met a woman who belonged to the Mormon church. I asked the same questions I had asked the other religious leaders. In her case, she seemed to have ready answers to everything from cavemen to God’s status in the universe in general. As I look back, I can see that I just needed something to make sense somewhere. My ex-husband and I joined this organization and were ‘good’ members until I began to question in my mind why I would be going to a lesser place if we didn’t give 10% of what we earned to the bishop; why it was almost ‘sacrilege’ if I didn’t do exactly what was expected of me as a woman in the church; why I had to go through a special rite to be considered one of the few elect that ‘would make it’ come the End of the World (these were just some of my questions). My questions to the leaders were now considered to be impertinent and my husband was counseled to bring myself and my children in compliance with the church.

During the early part of my marriage, my husband and I got along well. We had many of the same interests in life and many of the opinions. This changed when children entered our lives. My husband started ‘lording’ it over us (using the teachings of the organization to back up this ‘privilege’). We were no longer partners in life, we now belonged to a hierarchy. He began to expect perfection out of our children. He verbally abused them; he physically abused them. They were frightened of not doing the right things when he was around. Now, I realize that he had come from a Prussian family background and that he had been brought up in that manner, but my children were not going to be ‘militarized’ if I could help it. I had come from a broken, dysfunctional family as well, but I wasn't about to treat my children the way I was treated. It didn't make sense to me.

I tried for over a decade and a half to reason with him that this manner of bringing them up was not going to work. I reasoned; I became angry; I cried; I sought help from the church leadership, etc. None of it seeped through. In fact, he would use the bible or his upbringing to back up his actions and words. My first child started spiraling into depression before the age of eight. I tried hard to use the teachings I had been given to help my eldest survive and to remain a good member of the church.

Well, this went on for a very long time and I began to deeply and seriously question what I had been taught. I began to read information on psychology and other ‘deep’ subjects – and I started to see.

The ‘big bomb’ went off one morning when I saw the self-same ‘look’ blast from my youngest child’s eyes (that had been apparent in my eldest’s eyes for nearly a decade) as he was shoved and yelled at by his father for not being dressed yet. The ceiling dropped (and it literally felt like the ceiling had dropped on my head – my mind dipped and whirled) and I knew it was done. I had allowed my eldest’s life to be turned into a grey mush by thinking I was doing the right thing by the standards of the church. I had fought a battle every day to try and make things work. Soothing and teaching my children; trying to placate and reason with my husband. No more. It was over.

I called a friend of mine and asked if the children could spend a week with her. She live hundreds of miles away and I wasn’t sure how my husband would react to my telling him that there was a divorce in our future – let’s just say that when I told him, I put a large obstacle between him and myself and was quite near the door in case I needed to get out quickly. His reaction was completely abnormal for him. He cried; he begged; he insisted he'd change. I wouldn't buy it and told him it was over and he was to be moved out before I went back to pick up the children.

When the dramas and legal proceedings (at least at that time) were over; when the church and its teachings were set aside, I was able to bring my life and my children’s lives around to some degree of normality and peace. We started on a new adventure…

I promise to write more later. I need to get my thoughts in order to allow myself to write about one of the hardest parts of my life. You see, I met a psychopath.

 

[Alix]

Alright. I’ve decided that I need to put down more information as to how I found the Cassiopaeans. It’s not an easy thing but I’ll have a ‘go’ at it.

I’ve always questioned religious authority. Born into a Roman Catholic family, I was sprinkled into this religion as a baby. I went to Mass every morning before school to be blessed by the priest and my mother’s best friend was a nun. I admit that I admired the decorations of the church and one of my first memories is of looking to the side of the church from our pew and staring at the stained glass and a large statue of Mary nearby. My other early memory was of my father sexually abusing me.

Now, I think my first doubting came around at the time of my first communion. I was dutifully going through the catechism that the priest was teaching us but, when it came time for my first confession, I asked several questions regarding God that the priest didn’t care for and all he would answer is ‘that is a mystery of God’s and if he wanted us to know he would tell us’. This didn’t sit well with me but I continued to do as my mother expected and became a good, little catholic.

As I went through my school years I had, of course, come to know many children from many walks of life. I could see that there were ‘good’ and ‘bad’ among them but that, overall, everyone was just what the world would consider ‘normal’. No big questions in their heads for the most part – although I would meet someone every once in a while who would question what was around us in much the same way as I was doing myself. My best friend went to the southern Baptist church. I would spend weekends or vacations with her and, in the course of these, would go to church with her. After I had been doing this a while, I asked her pastor the same questions I had asked the priest. The pastor’s answer was that he didn’t know but we had to have faith in God. Basically I was getting a ‘don’t ask questions’ vibe from every religious individual I ran into.

It was during this time in my life that I started to investigate the world’s mysteries (starting with the world’s history then to secret societies; why people thought the way they did; the Templars). Each tree of research grew branches and twigs and buds. In fact, I can say that there has been no time in my life since then in which I haven’t found something different to learn about concerning (as is sad – the Big Blue Marble), the societies around us, and the universe at large. I had always been a book reader, but now I became a book vacuum cleaner.

I dated sparsely from the high school years on and was offered marriage on several occasions. I deferred until I met my ex-husband. At the same time I met him, I met a woman who belonged to the Mormon church. I asked the same questions I had asked the other religious leaders. In her case, she seemed to have ready answers to everything from cavemen to God’s status in the universe in general. As I look back, I can see that I just needed something to make sense somewhere. My ex-husband and I joined this organization and were ‘good’ members until I began to question in my mind why I would be going to a lesser place if we didn’t give 10% of what we earned to the bishop; why it was almost ‘sacrilege’ if I didn’t do exactly what was expected of me as a woman in the church; why I had to go through a special rite to be considered one of the few elect that ‘would make it’ come the End of the World (these were just some of my questions). My questions to the leaders were now considered to be impertinent and my husband was counseled to bring myself and my children in compliance with the church.

During the early part of my marriage, my husband and I got along well. We had many of the same interests in life and many of the opinions. This changed when children entered our lives. My husband started ‘lording’ it over us (using the teachings of the organization to back up this ‘privilege’). We were no longer partners in life, we now belonged to a hierarchy. He began to expect perfection out of our children. He verbally abused them; he physically abused them. They were frightened of not doing the right things when he was around. Now, I realize that he had come from a Prussian family background and that he had been brought up in that manner, but my children were not going to be ‘militarized’ if I could help it. I had come from a broken, dysfunctional family as well, but I wasn't about to treat my children the way I was treated. It didn't make sense to me.

I tried for over a decade and a half to reason with him that this manner of bringing them up was not going to work. I reasoned; I became angry; I cried; I sought help from the church leadership, etc. None of it seeped through. In fact, he would use the bible or his upbringing to back up his actions and words. My first child started spiraling into depression before the age of eight. I tried hard to use the teachings I had been given to help my eldest survive and to remain a good member of the church.

Well, this went on for a very long time and I began to deeply and seriously question what I had been taught. I began to read information on psychology and other ‘deep’ subjects – and I started to see.

The ‘big bomb’ went off one morning when I saw the self-same ‘look’ blast from my youngest child’s eyes (that had been apparent in my eldest’s eyes for nearly a decade) as he was shoved and yelled at by his father for not being dressed yet. The ceiling dropped (and it literally felt like the ceiling had dropped on my head – my mind dipped and whirled) and I knew it was done. I had allowed my eldest’s life to be turned into a grey mush by thinking I was doing the right thing by the standards of the church. I had fought a battle every day to try and make things work. Soothing and teaching my children; trying to placate and reason with my husband. No more. It was over.

I called a friend of mine and asked if the children could spend a week with her. She live hundreds of miles away and I wasn’t sure how my husband would react to my telling him that there was a divorce in our future – let’s just say that when I told him, I put a large obstacle between him and myself and was quite near the door in case I needed to get out quickly. His reaction was completely abnormal for him. He cried; he begged; he insisted he'd change. I wouldn't buy it and told him it was over and he was to be moved out before I went back to pick up the children.

When the dramas and legal proceedings (at least at that time) were over; when the church and its teachings were set aside, I was able to bring my life and my children’s lives around to some degree of normality and peace. We started on a new adventure…

I promise to write more later. I need to get my thoughts in order to allow myself to write about one of the hardest parts of my life. You see, I met a psychopath.

Okay, onward and outward…

I’ve written briefly about the first decades of my life in the previous offering. What I need to do, before I continue, is to set down what ‘kind’ of person I was at that time.

When I was young I was very kinetic, sometimes confused, and a reader. I know I gave my mother fits sometimes, but I just remember trying to fit in with my siblings more or less. Now, one of the things that stand out in my childhood is that there seemed to be competition going on as to whom my mother liked ‘best’. I remember my older sibling being very ‘bossy’. I remember the one just younger than me being one of my mother’s darlings. The sibling next in age was just ‘there’ but was a sweet person. The youngest was the beloved. My older sibling and I were the product of marriage; the latter three were the product of my mother’s affair with the one person she loved but could not marry because everyone were good Roman Catholics and such was not done under ‘pain of hellfire’.

I don’t recall exactly when I decided not to engage in the Battle for the Best. Perhaps I knew I wouldn’t be the winner. I’m not exactly sure, but I do know at one point when I was a pre-teen, I gave up trying. I found out later that my mother didn’t ‘like’ me because she said I looked just like my father. My mother tried to kill my father when she found out what he had done to my sister and myself. We stopped her and called the father of my younger siblings, who came over immediately. My father was sent to a mental facility for alcoholism (he was a man well-liked by the community and had a very good position with a national corporation so it was necessary to send him away on a different pretext than what actually was, apparently). The attending physicians at the facility did warn her though to never leave us alone with him in the future. She divorced him and our world rather fell apart.

I was a rebellious teenager – although I did as required by our new circumstances and went to work to bring in money not long after the divorce. I was rebellious but I never indulged in the 1960s/1970s excesses of my peers, except for one evening of drinking beer with a girlfriend on the day she turned eighteen and could buy it legally. I tended to stay to myself when at home, reading. I read so much that my mother one day declared that I was ‘autistic’. I have no doubt there were times I must have horribly exasperated her but I don’t think I was quite in the league that she placed me in. In fact, I met up with her a few years ago and she told me that she was sorry for the way she had treated me when I was young and that she had finally seen that I was the ‘most level-headed’ of her children and that I was the other-half of her. Yes, I always have and do love my mother.

I had been writing since around the age of fourteen. Little stories, poems, once in a while in a diary of sorts. In high school this did me well and I was lauded by my creative writing teacher and my journalism teacher. I entertained myself greatly with this skill until my elder sibling found my ‘work’ and I was made fun of because of it. I never wrote another word at home again.

My mother remarried and had another child. I was eighteen by this time and was working to continue to bring money in to pay my way. I spent a lot of time with my best friend but she was going to moving soon to attend college. As an aside, I modeled the type of person I wanted to be on my best friend’s mother. She was educated, pleasant, and just an overall good person. I wanted to be just like her.

Things at home had become a bit hard to take. I didn’t know from one day to the next what was expected of me. Eventually, I left home and found a job at a retail store. At the same time I began taking on a few courses from our local community college. One of these courses – horseback riding, led to being offered a job at the stables. I took it and loved it. I did this for some time then moved on to a better paying job. This is where I met my ex-husband.

​

I had a couple of relationships after the divorce. I was searching for someone who actually ‘loved’ me. The first relationship was somewhat pleasant but this person really didn’t like my children – or any children basically, even though this person was an elementary school teacher.

I went to work in retail to bring in money for us to live on (one thing I will say about my ex is that he always paid the child support on time). I met someone who was a manager of another part of the store and we hit it off. We got along well and this person got along great with my children. When this person was offered a higher position in another store (but in a town about an hour away), they took it and my youngest and I were to join them soon. Eventually we were all together (my eldest had graduated and was going to school in the previous town). At one point, my youngest asked to move back to our old town because they didn’t like the new school and missed their old friends. With reluctance I allowed the move. Later on, my youngest stated to me that moving back wasn’t a good idea and wished they had stayed with me.

Anyway, everything seemed to be going well in the new place. We lived on a farm outside of town and I became a manager as well at the new retail store. I began to research any and everything that interested me. I started to write again and flourished. I mostly write for my own entertainment, but I started a blog at one point. I put up articles of anything that interested me and put up a few chapters now and again of a story I was writing. My following grew slower in size and I had a wonderful time talking with people from all over. This is where the psychopath entered my life.

I always answered and comment that was written. I joked and traded information and opinions with everyone who visited. One day a person came to the blog and stated that they were a writer and an editor. We traded bits of stories, opinions, future wishes, etc. I found this person to be funny, charming, well-read, and a good writer. You know, to this day I can’t say exactly what started our ‘romance’. I truly don’t know the beginning of it all. All I can say is that suddenly this person was telling me that they were ‘in love’ with me and was offering me the chance to put together and edit a book based on my main story. I was called ‘brilliant’ and ‘beautiful’. This person told me of their deep unhappiness with the person they were with and what a horrible life they had had until they met me. I started to neglect my blog. I concentrated on my writing – and on editing the other person’s writing for them.

Eventually, we agreed to meet. They lived in an entirely different state and I took vacation in order to go and see them.

This person told me how desperately they wanted to meet me and be with me. Long story short (too late, eh?), I pushed everything aside (including the relationship I had been in for almost ten years) and drove 11 hours in an ice-storm to get there.

I was rejected. Not because I wasn’t who I said I was, but because they weren’t physically attracted to me (yes, we had shared pictures of one another). I was devastated and heartbroken. Where was the person who said they loved me more deeply than they had loved any other person in their life? We spent a few days together just seeing the city. This person was acting like nothing had just happened – like we had merely arranged to meet so I could see the sights of the ‘big city’. It was insisted that they had ‘never promised me anything’. I should have noted that on the afternoon of our first physical meeting that I was told that their present partner had threatened to commit suicide if I came. Whoosh – right over my head! I was told to stop ‘playing chess’ as I was waved farewell from the parking lot of the eatery where we had breakfast. What an idiot I was, right?

It doesn’t end there. I went to visit my eldest, who lived in a state close by, and dissolved. I felt I couldn’t go back to the farm. I couldn’t be in the city with the person who still held my heart (yes, they still said they loved me but it couldn’t work because of possible suicide). Another WHOOSH! My eldest was a rock during this time, anchoring me in my grief and depression. When we spoke later it was obvious that what was crystal clear to them was horribly muddied for me. Eventually I made plans to return to the town I came from.

But WAIT! A call comes from the city where my ‘beloved’ lived! There is a job opportunity there for me to become an editor and this person knows that I’m the only one who could adequately do the job! Yes, I took it.

To shorten this I will tell you that an awful tug-of-war took place. I got the job and was considered very valuable and knowledgeable to the senior editors. I did my job well and received more and more responsibilities. In the undercurrent of all this positivity lurked the ‘shark’. We would make little plans. For instance – having lunch together, going to see amusements together; that type of thing. I was still ‘in love’ but knew it would go nowhere. However, I felt surely we could be friends, right? Plans were made and somehow never actually done. I could buy tickets to see some personality that we both liked (standing right beside the person as they bought a ticket as well) and suddenly the day of ‘something came up’ and I would go alone. This happened again and again and again. Anytime I actually tried to become friends with the shark they darted away – as if afraid to let me learn more about them. Little barbs were tossed in my direction more often. Questions about my ability to write began to burble up. Constant efforts to make me doubt myself were…well…constant.

I had made friends, of course, at my job and we got along very well and had fun together. This was a life-saver. I began to speak with my best friend at the workplace about what had happened – after they noted how sad I was on some days. By just listening, this friend helped me to see things as they truly were. The shark would be friendly when they needed me to do something for them then turn deadly when I started to question them on certain things. I began to wake up to what I was dealing with when I started to read psychology books in order to try and understand why the shark was the way they were. Oh, my.

I learned, by happenstance, that not only had the person the shark was still with threatened suicide but that the person the shark had left to begin a relationship with that person had actually attempted to commit suicide. I found out that another person the shark had dandled along online had actually committed suicide. WHOOF! Through my research and by carefully going over what had happened to me in the last year, I learned I was dealing with a psychopath.

The more I became aware the less hold they had on me of any kind. One day I walked over to where they worked and told them that it was no longer possible for us to even be friends. I was cutting any kind of relationship off with them. It was rather amazing to see in their eyes how incomprehensible it was to them. A bit of a tantrum followed after which I was told that they ‘wished they had never met me and that I was mentally ill’. I told them that, honestly, I wished I had never met them as well. What followed was an attempt by the shark to persuade my friends and colleagues of what a horrible person I was. I continued to do my work and be with my friends as before. If a ‘nasty rumor’ surfaced now and again, I paid it no mind – although my friends would leap to the fray and set things straight.

The end of this part of the story came about seven years later when the ‘shark’ was diagnosed with cancer and came to me asking if I still liked the subjects I had once written about (yes, I stopped writing after I felt destroyed). I told them that I was and told them as well that I hoped that they were going to be able to ‘beat’ the cancer. That was the last time I had any dealing with the ‘shark’.

In the following years I was reunited with my youngest and we decided it was time to find a place to call ‘home’. My old research bug bit me again and I was all over the place – my budding tree was alive again. I read earth sciences, archaeology, anthropology, astronomy, ancient history, and – of course – continued to delve into the mysteries of the world that had always held my interest. We moved to Montana about six years ago and life went on. Suddenly I found this site and everything started to actually make sense!

Do I recognize that I have hurt people in my past by my actions? Yes, I have and have done my best to talk our shared past over and to try and make things right. Will I ever get 'life' right? The future is 'open'.

Thank you for putting up with this long story.

 

[KristinLynne]

Thank you for sharing your journey here with us and what a journey it was! IMO the experiences we have can help us to see that questioning things leads to more questions and to try and find the answers ourselves is what is important. I mean other peoples opinions are important if they have one, but as you found with the priest, they usually aren't interested in discussing matters from esoteric subjects. I used to be frustrated with that but have come to be thankful because not only did it leave me open to things I may not have considered other wise, it helped me figure out how to learn things on my own... the hard way!

 

[Alix]

Oh, yes! I've always told my children that one cannot learn easily; it takes study, patience, or 'hard knocks' to fully appreciate lessons.

 

[Chu]

Thank you for sharing more, Alix! I would say that yours are examples of how "ignorance endangers, knowledge protects". After some experiences, something pushes us to know, and when we know better, when there is a will, there is a way to make life better for ourselves and others.

 

[Alix]

Thank you for sharing more, Alix! I would say that yours are examples of how "ignorance endangers, knowledge protects". After some experiences, something pushes us to know, and when we know better, when there is a will, there is a way to make life better for ourselves and others.

Thank you, Chu - and by the by, late congratulations to both you and Scottie! It's very interesting when I replay the past in my mind now that I've found this wonderful forum and its members. When I think back, I realize that around 2014 I began to really question what was going on in the world around me and, for some reason, decided it was time to learn Russian (no, I'm not very good at it yet; I did it in fits and starts, but I'm starting back on it again) and to learn to play a musical instrument. I also started back into my researching phase concerning esoteric topics and began to consider how I could make a difference in the world. It is my hope that my soul group just went, "Okay, enough messing around, Girl. Get to it!"