Borrowed time, tampered prime, descenigrating lapse of systems.
Taser filled opportunist lumes over sensibility. Exact knowledge of rephrased wisdom. Confiscated mishaps of vengeance paralyzing the, what if. In the midst of flavor verses favor, I prepare a table. Intense undermining of preparation, I convict thee. To serve or not to serve, the facade of the misled. The challenges exceed exhaustive state of forward movement but I stay ready. Tempting thoughts of fragmented steps so you can get ready and when you do, you stay ready!

Everything happens for a reason. I use this statement alot. I think in the moment of certain situations, events, memories. Past, present, and future. We think that things will never get better, feeling all sorts of emotions whether that be sad, angry , or frustrated. And why did this have to happen to me or that wasn’t fair or I don’t deserve this but what we don’t know the impact it will have months from now, and years from now. It is all planning a course you don’t know. All that teaches you a lesson or to make you be able to handle something harder than you know of. So you don’t make the same mistakes again. Gives you a whole new insight. And you will realize that it was meant to happen to be able to fight through to get to the other side. You can’t go back to the past but you can look at it and figure out how to change it. It won’t be easy and you may have old habits to break but its all about retraining your mind to be all that you want it to be and more

A friend once told me, “Wait until you get home to the States and see someone freak out like their whole day is ruined because someone messed up their coffee.”
Only for me to return to the land of the free…
To truly see how privileged and ungrateful we are…
I’m not denying that we all have our scars
The hardships that be
Yet we’re blessed beyond what we ourselves see…
My relatives grew up stereotypically poor
As their physically abusive drunk of a father left them wanting for more
Often abandoning them, and leaving them to live with different relatives
Who really didn’t have two craps to give
And when they had a home, their power would be shut off because they couldn’t pay the bill
Their food was often stale. Their clothes withered and torn
Only to be passed onto the next born
There was so much that could crush one’s will.
They had no gas in their car, and struggled to pay rent
As for an idea of their life cruel
One of them was once beaten because he needed a pencil for school
Yet there’s one message to me that same relative sent:
“We still have it better here than other people in the world. There’s people who are willing to help, and programs to help give us opportunities. There’s people in the world who don’t have that”
And I’ve never forgotten that…
As my own journey has unfurled
I have tasted and seen
Both what he and my other friend mean…
I’ve witnessed people fleeing their homes and pitching up tents
For the bombings refused to relent
My heart was heavy as a boulder
When I saw an elderly woman who was hit by shrapnel, and all of the flesh could be peeled from the back of her shoulder
Yet the doctors turned her away because she wasn’t a serious enough case
The realization of it all… I couldn’t stop the tears down my face
People scrambling to make themselves seem of use, in the hopes we wouldn’t send them back
Playing with kids, who for a little while, got to act like a normal kids
Things that could make anyone’s heart crack:
Mothers overjoyed to just see their kids having fun and full of joy
Fathers thanking you because of the smiles on their wife, girls, and boys
Or having to see the misfortune
Of seeing a child show up without his parents, because now he’s an orphan…
Now let’s move onto a different location…
Different place, different nation…
The capitol of the country is like that of a small city
Compared to our standards it’s almost a pity
You barely have to go just a few miles out
To witness people who are really going without
Living in wooden shacks with dirt floors
Only a cooking pot, and one mattress for a family of ten
But they were so friendly and kind, I would love to go there again
They were incredibly glad
To bend over backwards, offering you anything they had
It seemed so surreal…
Strangers inviting us to their homes and cooking us meals
Like… “I want to bless you, but instead you’ve blessed me!”
And it really began to open my eyes to see just how much of the States is a mess….
How we get hung up on issues so petty…
I watched a beggar with no legs, hopping up and down in a handstand for change…
So to get hung up on issues so small… to me… is kinda deranged…
But again… why don’t you tell me…
What exactly’s wrong with your coffee?

Dear Unsealers,

When I was married, my ex-wife and I fought a lot.

We were married for eight years, together for thirteen.

You would think we would learn to get along by then.

We tried couples therapy for almost three years, to no avail.

It came to me one day.

I never felt right with her.

I never felt as if I could tell her anything.

I hid a lot of my life from her.

She read me her journal entries.

I kept mine under lock and key.

Something inside of me told me not to trust her.

And it came to me:

I never felt like she was home to me.

I always felt out of place.

As if I weren’t welcome in her heart.

Because I never let her inside mine.

I left her the next day, for good.

I walked away from thirteen years of misery – emotional homelessness and destitution.

I could not, in my heart and soul, stay with her another day.

I thought that was the turning point of my life.

When I found a new place to live in, I felt the same.

I had not found home, even back with my family of origin.

My dad reluctantly welcomed me and threatened to kick me out several times.

I felt unwanted there, too.

When he died, I found relief.

But I still had not found home.

I was still with my loving mother, who said I always had a home with her.

She meant a domicile, not a true home.

I don’t think I knew what a home was, yet I was still trying to find it.

I searched far and wide.

I drove everywhere, speaking with the locals.

I formed tight friendships locally, sharing our lives together.

Where was home?

I still hadn’t found it.

It was not under a roof.

It was not with loved ones either.

I searched outside of myself my entire life – for four decades.

It was time that I looked for home from within.

I found that my home was bare.

I went to building and decorating.

I built on the foundation of my values – creativity, compassion, camaraderie.

I created routines that kept the home functioning.

I cleaned up the cobwebs in my mind by journaling, meditating, and reflecting.

I nurtured my interests – art, writing, mental health advocacy – and that garden flourished.

I secured my boundaries and exercised caution with whom I let inside my home.

After all this work, I realized I had only scratched the surface.

There is a lot of upkeep required.

Constant home improvement projects.

Weeding out the structures and objects that do not suit me.

Slowing down occasionally so I don’t burn out.

Making time for fun.

The work never ends, but it’s worth my time and attention.

It is my home.

I am home.

Remember change is necessary for growth
It can rain all day but prone to flower’s survival
The heat of the sun will come again
And the rain will have already sucked in
More buds
More roots will spread again to make something even more beautiful
Trees die but new ones are planted
You can put your seed in whatever is necessary and good for you
And if not, you can pick it up and plant it elsewhere
Make a new, cozy home for it
Protecting it at all costs
Living with the peace
Focusing on the good
Releasing the bad
Don’t let bad roots stay intertwined in your mind
Release them, cut them, do whatever you need to do
Otherwise you will stay stuck and broken
Clouding what is the greatness of life

Suppressed inconsistencies. Unmatched premonition of self loathing and overwhelming destress. Patience steers the wheel of evolution and science fiction. Within belief I’m stricken. Pulsating convictions with immediate results. Camera shy actions of an insult. Take in criticism like a daily vitamin, with self love as your kryptonite and effective communication as a weapon of might, so use it wisely knowing that patience is working in your favor and is usually reciprocated, allowing for forgiveness which frees you from the intercepting vengeance of bondage, while building character, for joy should be effortless, so don’t just exist, live. 🫶🏿

Dear Unsealers,

“Fake it until you make it.”

I think this motto is disingenuous to the human experience. Here is a modified version which I live by:

“Do until you become.”

Why do I prefer this motto over faking it?

The first motto implies that you are trying to be something you are not.

My preferred motto sounds as if you are stepping into a suit that is custom-tailored for you.

This motto saved my life recently. For months, I had been suffering from severe depression.

I was even admitted to the psych hospital for two weeks.

One day, I decided that this was the last straw. I could not keep living like this –

Experiencing no joy in activities I normally love.

Having trouble getting started on tasks.

Constantly worrying about money.

Hurting myself because I hated myself.

Thinking many times a day about ending my life.

Feeling hopeless that nothing in my life would change.

I thought about everything wrong in my life.

Then I discovered a self-care app that changed my life.

At the risk of sounding like free advertising, l will not reveal the app’s name.

This app helped me develop coping skills.

It kept track of my goals and special projects.

It built my support system.

It made me stay busy so depression would leave my mind.

It gave me motivation and strengthened my will to live.

I’m not going to say that this app worked right away. That, too, would be disingenuous.

It took a few weeks of using the app to feel euthymic again.

Tranquil and stable instead of highly anxious and severely depressive.

My head is now filled with positive affirmations.

When I have a negative thought, I ask myself “Is this thought helpful to me right now?”

If the thought suits me, I do something about it.

If it does not help me, I table the thought until I can take action, or I let it go and replace it with a positive thought.

“Do until you become” almost always involves a slow burn, but it is effective when I work at whatever change I desire.

It can help you, too. It may take weeks or months to see results. Be patient. You will find the outcome you need.

Dear World,

It started when I was in the psych hospital in August 2020 for a severe mixed manic-depressive episode.

I was sitting at the table, coloring pictures with the friends I had made at the hospital.

I looked up and saw the psychiatrist who was seeing me during my two-week stay. Except this time, I was looking at him… differently. He stood across the day room at the nurses’ station, his back to me.

I actually checked him out.

Checked. Him. Out.

“This is crazy!” I thought.

“What’s crazy?” my friend to my right said.

“Did I say that out loud?” I asked.

“You sure did.”

“I think I’m… in love with my psychiatrist.”

There was pandemonium at the table. My friends asked me so many questions. Nobody had ever talked about having romantic feelings for their psychiatrist. The interest was high.

The problem was that I had no idea how to answer any of their questions. This concept was new to me, too.

After I was discharged from the hospital, I spent months battling my romantic interest in my psychiatrist. I felt confused. Ashamed.

I was seeing my psychiatrist in intensive outpatient therapy as well. I never once mentioned my love for him. I was afraid that if I told him, he would reassign me to another psychiatrist, and I would never see him again.

One day in January 2021, five months after I… you know, I was curious and typed “I’m in love with my psychiatrist” into the Google search bar.

The results were amazing. I was not alone. There were articles about people falling in love with their therapists. Psychiatrists were less common.

I was experiencing a phenomenon called transference. Simply put, it happens when a client transfers feelings about an attachment figure in their lives, usually their parent or guardian, onto their therapist or psychiatrist.

Usually, those feelings of transference are familial, but sometimes those feelings are romantic. So while I am not a common occurrence, I am certainly not alone in my romantic feelings.

I digested this information on my own for two weeks. Then, I summoned the courage to tell my psychiatrist that I had been having romantic feelings toward him for the past five months.

My psychiatrist was compassionate. He said that while he will never pressure me to reveal anything else, the invitation to discuss my love for him will always be there.

I poured out my feelings to him slowly over the next four months as I kept switching between inpatient and intensive outpatient treatment. However, I still felt anxious to tell him yet more.

I had told very few people about being in love with my psychiatrist. I still felt uncomfortable sharing my feelings about him with others.

One day, I finally told my therapy group at intensive outpatient treatment that I have feelings of love for my psychiatrist. Then, I told them a little about transference.

I was not completely alone. Two other clients in the group said they had loving feelings toward their therapists, but it was parental for them, not romantic.

The group therapist said that transference is “the goal” in therapy – that if a client wants to make any progress in resolving their attachment issues, then they need to experience those feelings with someone compassionate – a therapist or psychiatrist – who will help them process and heal their attachment trauma.

I don’t think I’m a typical case of transference. I don’t see my psychiatrist regularly, only when I am in crisis at the psych hospital.

I have a therapist I see weekly, with whom I process my feelings toward my psychiatrist. I wish I could see my psychiatrist at least twice a month, but that, unfortunately, isn’t possible.

It has been four years since I fell in love with my psychiatrist. I have not resolved those feelings yet. I have processed so much, yet something feels stuck. However, I still believe it is possible to heal, so I am honest and open during every session with my therapist.

Here’s my message for you: If you develop strong feelings for your therapist or psychiatrist, whether your feelings for them are familial or romantic, you are not experiencing a setback.

You are making incredible progress.

Keep going. Explore your feelings for your therapist or psychiatrist. Talk to them about how you feel. A good one will be receptive, warm, and friendly.

You will peel back many layers of emotional pain and trauma, and you will eventually heal. I believe in you.

Thinking back, it feels so surreal
Almost like that time in my life wasn’t real…
A young hurting heart, full of anger and hate
Yet also consumed by this hollow emptiness
A hardened stone beating in my chest
Living in a constant state of unrest
Man… I really was a mess…
A suicidal teen ready to accept my fate
Chasing after anything to escape the feeling
Only for it to fester, internally reeling
Washing down pills with liquor
Til my head would hit the floor, and I’d watch the lights flicker…
Using cocaine to ease the pain
Opiates to go numb
And ecstasy to free myself from the mass of misery I’d become
What started as a release and a way to “let loose”
Became my form of self abuse
As scars on the skin are hard to hide…
Tho for a time I tried….
Suicide was something I didn’t just think about, but began to idolize
Cursing God that I’d ever been born
I’d look in the mirror at the thing I despised;
The kind and gentle kid, who’s heart had been tattered and torn
The misfit who just wanted to belong
Downtrodden by this worlds scorn
Til he believed everything about his existence was wrong
I saw myself as less than nothing
Not even a person, only a husk of a man
Wanting to just fade from memory
To set myself free
I started formulating plans
To finally end the suffering
In a moment of desperation
I made a proclamation
To the very God that I cursed
Putting down the knife
Telling Him I’d give Him one opportunity to do whatever He wanted to do with my life…
My wounds He started to nurse
His Spirit touched the depths of my soul
And for the first time, I was whole
The healing process was fast but slow
As I had to face my hurt, and learn what it is to forgive and let go
I learned that this heart I was belittled for
Is something Christ truly adores
The drugs lost their appeal
As they couldn’t compare to the wholeness His presence made me feel
There was nothing of myself that earned His love and acceptance
But only by accepting the covering of Christ’s blood and receiving His mercy
Was I truly set free
And that night was my turning point, my first act of repentance

Dear Unsealed,
My faith keeps me sane.
There are many twists & turns in my life.
I will be 75 on September 18, 2024.
As one that goes before
Gen Z and other decades I have many stories to tell
As deep as an old wishing well.
I worked at The LA Times,
All day every day.
I met my kid’s dad,
Which turned out to be very sad.
He did not work there.
His twin did.
I met Jekyll & Hyde, I did
But blew it off,
Threw salt over my shoulder for a start.
Neither were in journalism or writing or art.
They were both security guards.
Oh lordy!
As an empath I dated a narcissistic guard
Who pretended to care,
Wined & dined me.
So, it would be
I was so naïve.
Well, that would be I had two C-Sections.
Both were ten pound babies,
One was born 1983,
The other was born 1987,
The year before my mom went to heaven.
This was a marriage of two boomers in the 80s.
The father was from south LA.
The mom is from North Hollywood,
Of her own hood.
I am of worldly DNA.
He is a Black Republican narcissist.
He is a gun loving nut.
He is a woman hater.
So, when I found out he lied to me profusely everyday
Along the way of the everyday
Way, we trod to different roads and ways,
Of how I was so naïve.
I was into college and looking forward of being a reporter soon.
But he manipulated me as a man into marrying him.
He wined & dined my parents under the moon
In REDONDO BEACH pier,
Only to smear
My mom’s name after she died of a massive heart attack 1988.
When he told me he hated my mom & glad she was dead
I cried for days.
My heart was broken that day
I found out he was cheating on me,
It had to be,
More lies!
I traveled to Palm Springs with my boyfriend. I left the boys at their dad’s mom’s house. Upon arriving back to my Burbank apartment, I found out my ex, the kids dad and his twin had locked me out because I vacationed in Palm Springs. I cried for hours.
My plan was to pick the boys up from their grandma’s house. When I called my ex, I was banned from seeing them. He told me I was a bad mom. He spent over 30 grand on a divorce attorney. I spent 600 bucks on my Montgomery Ward attorney. It was a horrific divorce. I loved my boys very much, but the courts took my kids and placed them with their narcissistic dad.
The turning point was when I chose to go on a vacation with my movie boyfriend to celebrate my birthday in the year of 1989.
My ex is still trying to turn my boys and now my grands against me because I am a liberal boho hippie chick who still is an empath, a liberal, equality for all, for gun control and education for all.
I accept the fact that he is holding my personality and belief systems against me. He once told me during the divorce that he had to blame me for everything because he was perfect and wanted to keep his job.
I began with a poem and a prose as I have my entire life but the seriousness of the 1980s events changed my life more than anyone will ever know.
I continued to work in the music and film industry moving forward. I was a union rep for the IATSE at Universal Studios Hollywood, worked freelance for three newspapers, and continued my educational pursuits until I was 51 years old.
However, when I told my grown boys the truth, they were angry with me, calling me a liar. It did not end well. Now my ex, my two boys want to shut me down politically and as a human being. This is probably because I tell the truth, and you do not push a narcissist into the wall because they sting like a honeybee and dig into the person spreading their venom across states and other humans. I have been in therapy for many years. I am much better now. The turning point from being a good mother to becoming a bad human as my ex called me in 1989 was shocking and like a horror film.
I watched a movie from the 80s called, “The Good Mother”, a 1988 movie about a divorced mom with a daughter who meets an artist, and her ex gets custody of the child. The movie is available on Prime Video.
I pray every day for peace, love, & understanding. I will continue my humanitarian activist ways!

Dear Unsealed,
My mottos are from my favorite lady Maya Angelou
“IF you’re always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can be”
“You nay not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them”
La vita è bella
I want to share
To the world
The big ball of Earth
Spinning in the sky
My looking forward poem that so relates to my favorite lady poet, Maya Angelou as it similar to my motto of moving forward through the storms.
I found this poem I wrote in 1967 or 1968. I suppose I was beyond my years at that time of my life’s journey. I found out one must ‘carry on’ through the storms that our universe sends us or that we casually ‘bump’ into along the roads we choose throughout our lifetime.
Despite the nays and the ‘you can’t do that’ or ‘you are not college material’ suggestions from a friend of yesteryear. I was already in college, so I tossed her suggestion away into yesterday’s trash bin. Because she knew not how or when or where or what she was talking about.
There are different roads to choose as we reach each decade of our life’s journey in time. I chose the road of different avenues and boulevards along the straight path cause’ I was curious. I don’t regret studying nursing and healthcare. I don’t regret studying union management. I don’t regret studying journalism, art, and film. Now I have so many stories to tell. I have so many songs to write. The avenues and boulevards I strolled down off the beaten straight path taught me lessons to remember in my next lifetime of creation and light.
So, I will share my poem from my back pages of 57 years ago in another time period before computers, cell phones, and AI. Each decade presented a new chapter in my life of fun, work and strife. I don’t look back and say how bad I was for different relationships or different guys in my life each decade. We all meet people along the way. Some people will stay. Some people will go. That’s life in a ‘nutshell’ with detours; the good, the bad, the ugly and the absolutely beautiful scenarios that happened that make me laugh, cry and ‘jump for joy’ in time and space of our universe to live, love and spread light.
“LOOK FORWARD”
Written by Vicki Lawana Trusselli 1967
It’s been a long life,
Had a whole lot of learning.
Had a good time,
But there’s still that yearning.

There’s been bad times
When the way looked dim
I prayed and hoped for better.
Yes, I prayed to her or him. (“God is omnipotent of all genders.”)

Tears have come and gone.
Heartaches I’ve had great,
But each new tomorrow
Opens a new gate.

This gate is bright and shiny.
This gate opened my heart
When I’ve gone wrong
To help me make a new start.

The dark clouds appear,
To which there seems no end
But pray and hope things will change,
That they want be like they’ve always been.

Look forward with a smile
When the end seems near
Don’t give up hope
Just dry that tear,

For your life will change
When you hope and pray
And try and try more each day,
Just over the rainbow there’s a brand-new day.
La vita è bella