Ordinary Evil: Memoir of a Buried Life, Chapter One: The Messenger

 Ordinary Evil: Memoir of a Buried Life

by Alethea Marina Nova (all rights reserved)

 Chapter One
The Messenger

“If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.”
― George Orwell

From my journal, April 10th 1993:

In the silence and darkness, I strained to see the clock; as always it read 3:00 a.m. The house was quiet and I had no conscious reason for fear, yet I dared not move my body; not even an inch.

Like countless nights before, my mind jolted me awake precisely at the same time. It’s never 2:59 or 3:01; it’s always 3:00 a.m.

This abominable hour has aroused me out of my unconscious for more than ten years, so assuming it’s just a coincidence is futile. My hope that the clock will read differently, turns into a sickness in my stomach, as the red digital numbers relentlessly glare 3:00 a.m., like a warning.

I even fear the clock.


In January of 1994, at the age of thirty-one, I suddenly developed nausea, dizziness, along with ringing and popping in my ears. Frightening pressure in my head and neck quickly followed. After years of being an active lover of the outdoors, my ability to exercise, greatly diminished and I grew fearful when unusual headaches started to occur. The pain in my head felt as if someone were squeezing it in a vise while stuffing cotton in my brain.

In a desperate search for answers, I began seeing several of the best medical doctors in my state. Each time that I sat on the edge of cold examination tables in my backless hospital gown, and with my legs dangling and my heart racing, I feared a horrific disease had enveloped my body, and my lifelong dread of an early demise kicked into high gear.

I was eventually told by a neurologist that I might have multiple sclerosis and needed to have an MRI of my brain.


It was well past nine in the evening when the nurse handed me back my clothing and jewelry after the magnetic resonance imaging test (MRI). The impersonal receptionist behind the beveled glass window said my doctor would call me the next morning. It would be another twelve hours before I knew if I had a serious disease, or a brain tumor.

While waiting the agonizing twelve hours, I was too frightened to speak, scream, or sleep so my body expressed my fear by literally twitching and trembling all night, as if I was having mini seizures.

The next day, my distress melted into relief when the results of the MRI came back negative, but with no indication of what was causing my physical suffering, the bewilderment and fear remained.

When disorientation, heavy fatigue, a lack of concentration, vision problems, and short-term memory loss joined the group of symptoms already invading my body, my existence became unbearable with pervading fear, and the fear fed my long-held, and always unreasonable, feeling that I would die an untimely death.

Over the next several weeks, I continued seeking help from several top physicians. Yet after enduring extensive tests and probing of my body, the doctors repeatedly told me, “You are one of the healthiest patients I have ever seen.”

As the dizziness intensified, I began to have a severe increase in appetite —to the point of shoveling food in my mouth at alarming rates. The insatiable hunger was felt not only in my stomach, but in my head and throat. Even after ingesting four burritos, the emptiness in my stomach penetrated and debilitated me.

Within weeks, my body erupted in mounting symptoms: sore throats, a pulling feeling in my lungs, swollen lymph nodes in my neck, terrible gas pains, stomach cramps, and diarrhea. Driving more than a few miles became impossible without having to find a restroom. Pulling to the side of the road, doubled over with abdominal pain, became routine for me.

It began to take an extreme amount of effort to perform the simplest tasks, and depression attached itself to my mind like the pervasive overcast that creeps along the northern Pacific Coast each spring, gripping the mountains.

Unlike ocean fog, the haze in my brain never lifted.

I saw some of the best internists, neurologists, and cardiologists in the state, and my bed became nothing more than a place to lay awake at night, wondering what disease was killing me, only to be told by doctors that nothing could be found.

It was subtle madness.

Almost a year into the illness, more than thirty different physical symptoms haunted my daily existence, and I repeatedly suffered from outbreaks of shingles, which is a virus that attacks the nervous system.

The shingles always lodged itself as an eruption of unsightly blisters on the left side of my neck, right at my jaw line, and included terrible pain in my head and left ear. Although it was obvious that my body was desperately trying to send me a message, I wasn’t ready to listen.

I didn’t even understand the language.

By spring of 1995, panic attacks began. I couldn’t drive my car without a feeling of impending doom. Streets that I had driven hundreds of times before, now created an indefinable fear of death in my mind. Shaking, I would turn the car around, go back home, and lock myself inside with the shades drawn. Barricaded in the house, I waited until the sun went down before retrieving the mail. I screened all phone calls and rarely answered the door.

I told two close friends what was happening. One of them was extremely supportive. The other stopped being my friend.

I didn’t reveal my illness to my biological family because they had never been very functional at speaking about matters of importance. Uncomfortable subjects were forbidden. My three older sisters, Abigail, Kylie, Madison, and myself, all learned this lesson from our mother, who was highly skilled at maintaining relationships purely with superficial pleasantries.

Any memory of my mother being nurturing or deeply kind to me were non-existent. Our relationship had always seemed as though we both mechanically loved one another. We tried our best to behave as mother and daughter would be expected to, but for me, the unnaturalness was too much to bear.

Abigail was my oldest sibling, followed by Kylie, and then Madison. Memories of my childhood home were so scant, and I had little memory of Abigail and Kylie, as well as very few memories of Madison.

The only real memories I retained about my childhood were of attending Catholic school. One memory which always stuck with me, was sitting in Mother Superior’s office in third grade with another little girl, being reprimanded for rolling our plaid uniform skirts up too high. We squirmed in our chairs while being told that showing our knees was unacceptable.

I also remember frequently allowing two boys touch my crotch during math class.

My father died of cancer when I was twelve, but even in my teens, I could barely remember him. Until the time of his death, and even in the years following his demise, my entire childhood had been virtually extinguished from my mind.

I could recall my father’s overpowering height and hulk-like exterior, and family photos revealed an extremely handsome man in his younger years. More recent photos depicted a balding man with grey hair, but in my eyes, he always remained attractive.

My father had been a police officer, but no memory existed about this except that he converted our garage into a game room for Monday night poker, where off-duty police officers could stop by for a beer on tap. One of my only happy childhood memories consisted of trying to hang around the poker room, sneaking a sip of beer when my father happened to be in a jovial mood. Although I have no memory of his demeanor, as adults, my sisters spoke of my father as being dictatorial. His explosive anger was apparently common knowledge, and he had a dry sense of humor. I remember laughing at one of his jokes, and two fragmentary memories of his temper passed though my mind from time to time. Both involved him throwing objects across a room.

Other than Monday night poker, my family didn’t have much of a social life. As an adult, Kylie said she always felt trapped in our childhood home. Kylie said she only felt free while walking to and from school. She also told me that we never really went anywhere, or had anyone over to the home.

Abigail, Kylie, and I all shared memory that our father was an alcoholic, but any mention of this brought vehement denial from my mother; maybe because it was my mother who handed him his scotch and water when he walked in the door from work.

Denial and minimizing was the way my mother survived, so I knew that speaking with her about my illness would result in the same kind of negation, or attempt to minimize my physical problems.

From my journal, July 24 1995:

The nightmares which plague me have increased and are even more frightening. The majority of the dreams consist of intruders coming into my home, in an attempt to rape me. Other dreams are filled with waves the size of tall buildings about to envelop me, but I always wake just before drowning and before being raped.

Panic attacks come without warning. Sleep is little and tortured. When I do manage to drift off, the physical discomfort prohibits any real rest. The nightmares frequently wake me up. Bolting out of the terror, the clock reads 3:00 a.m.


By late summer of that year, while driving to see yet another medical specialist, I began to envision what it would be like to turn my car off the highway into the ocean. Looking out over the stillness of the water, I saw peace. The waves moved effortlessly, like a baby’s breath. In the water I would find no uncertainty, no fear, no more physical suffering or nightmares, and no more examinations from impersonal doctors. I also knew that turning the wheel in the direction of self-termination would not cure my torment, so I abandoned my momentary thought of suicide, and continued down the highway to the appointment.

Before long I was having instruments inserted into my ears by the Otolaryngologist. He was performing medical-induced vertigo and looking for tumors. After the completion of the invasive tests, the specialist concluded there were no tumors, but he felt I might be suffering from chronic fatigue immune dysfunction syndrome (now known as myalgic encephalomyelitis).

At first I didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared; I was simply stunned over a diagnosis. Then the doctor told me there is no treatment and no cure for the disease. Bewildered, I asked what could be done for the dizziness, diarrhea, pain, and neurological problems. He casually replied,

“Rest in the afternoon.”

Uncertain of how to respond to the doctor’s cold and ridiculous advice, I thanked him for his time and left the office. Knowing this was not a sufficient answer for me, I consulted two experts on cfids/ME. Both doctors agreed with the diagnosis, and that there is no known cure. It became clear the medical industry could not help me, so I began searching for answers in books on holistic healing. Nothing proved valuable, except to confirm the illness.

By then, my daily routine was waking to stomach cramps and diarrhea, but still feeling the need to force food in my mouth. The gas pain, dizziness, and sore throats were close to unbearable by midday, and the fatigue felt like someone had drugged me and was holding me down with a giant foot.

In the evening, I usually had ringing and popping in my ears, abdominal cramps, and swollen lymph nodes. When the physical suffering was so incapacitating that death would have been preferable, I realized what one of the cfids/ME specialists meant when he told me,

“The good news about this condition is that you are not going to die. The bad news is that you are not going to die.”


In early fall of 1995, I developed sore muscles, numbness of my limbs, and new and unusual stomach aches. The short-term memory loss grew worse. It became necessary to re-do simple daily tasks because I could not recall having just performed them. Remembering common words and names grew increasingly difficult, and I began to experience extreme mental disorientation.

After sleeping until nine in the morning, unbearable exhaustion forced me to take a nap by noon. Awakened un-refreshed, I lay in bed for entire days at a time.

Something was horribly wrong. In a desperate attempt to be heard, my body screamed for my attention, but I was not yet ready to listen.

From my journal, September 30, 1995:

I can feel it entering my nervous system. I have become aware of it moving around, like an entity inside of me — a living energy traveling around my body. Yesterday it was blurred vision and a sore throat; last night, diarrhea. Today it has decided to attack my nerves. It’s like it has a will of its own.

After writing these words I forced myself to prepare a meal. Even making food had become a laborious act, but the incessant feeling of starvation meant a never-ending need to stuff food down my throat.

As I half-heartedly dragged the bread and cheese out of the refrigerator, my thoughts drifted to nowhere. Spacing out had become routine. While slicing the bread, I watched the motion of the large knife in my hand and wondered if I had the guts to cut my wrist. Get it over with. Kill the pain inside. In the weeks that followed, I often thought about driving my car off a cliff in the nearby canyon. Any possibility of ending the chaos in my mind and body could not be overruled.


My sisters eventually learned about my physical problems because the point came when I could no longer pretend that things were fine, and one of them told my mother about my illness. Shortly after, Kylie revealed that my mother’s response to my suffering and numerous doctor visits was to call me a “Camille,” a character from the Alexandre Dumas novel. Apparently Camille was always sick and she eventually died. My mother’s cold and ignorant remark gave me one more reason to keep most of the knowledge of my illness to myself. I felt it impossible to share my pain with a mother who would be so callous about her daughter’s agony.


When I first became sick, a friend referred me to her hypnotherapist, but I ignored her suggestion. Consciously I wasn’t willing to try something that I had never even heard of, and subconsciously, I was not ready to face the ugly truths locked inside my mind and body.

I tried to justify my decision to not call the hypnotherapist by reminding myself that I had already seen two conventional therapists and neither had helped me. The first, a psychologist, told me I needed to get out of the house more often. The other, a psychiatrist, prescribed an anti-depressant within half an hour of my first visit. I took one dose of the Prozac and subsequently suffered a panic attack. When I told him about my reaction to the drug, he said, “Oh yeah, that can happen.”

I never took another psychotropic drug again.

So nearly two years into the illness, desperation forced me to make a phone call that would change my life forever.

Even though the mainstream medical and psychological experts had been unable to help me, I was skeptical of hypnoanalysis. I didn’t know much about it, and didn’t even know what psychoanalysis was, but when I realized that suicide was my only other option, I made the call.

The hypnoanalyst lived in another state, so the therapy sessions would be done over the telephone. Although, at first, this seemed odd, I realized it would be no different from seeing a therapist in an office; the benefits of treatment don’t derive from seeing a person’s face. I was also able to have the therapy from the privacy and comfort of my own bedroom.

In the initial phone call, my hypnotherapist explained how conventional therapy concentrates on the conscious mind, whereas hypnotherapy, gradually penetrates the subconscious mind where our true emotions and repressed experiences are retained in order to protect us from emotional pain, and to enable us to function and maintain relationships with anyone attached to those experiences –those who caused the pain.

She helped me understand how the tool of hypnotherapy allows the client to discover what is causing their distress. They do so, by their own will, and in their own time.

Typically, conventional therapists place a label on their client after a few sessions of dialogue or they diagnose the patient based on a general list of symptoms. But with hypnoanalysis, my psychodynamics would come directly from the source —my own mind, and not from the personal conclusion of someone else, or from a text book interpretation of generalized symptoms. This organic method struck me as profound and I scheduled my first telephone session.

The hypnoanalysis turned out to be nothing like I had expected. I maintained complete awareness of my surroundings, every word my therapist said, as well as each thought that entered my mind. Yet I found the sessions to provide me with the ability to be in touch with my deep emotions, and this caused my mind to revive conflicts and fears which I had not thought about in decades.

During the first few weeks of therapy, the sessions involuntarily stimulated the recall of the never-forgotten memories of normal tormentors that most children encounter in grade school. It impressed me to discover that even though I had not thought about these people in decades, they still had a subconscious affect on me.

After re-experiencing, and then expressing the repressed emotions, I created a positive solution, contrary to what had originally taken place. I did this by imagining scenarios that had been unavailable to me as a child. In the regressions, I faced the popular girls in class who had been critical of me. I told them that their friendship was no longer important to me, and I fired a teacher who had once been cruel to me. This way, the childhood event no longer affected me.

As therapy progressed, the people I had issues with were no longer schoolmates. They soon became an old boyfriend, a previous employer, and then…my mother.

Even prior to having therapy, I knew my mother never wanted to be pregnant with me. When I was an adult she openly revealed her feelings about not ever wanting children, but the power of this, and my mother’s lack of regard for me, had not truly shown itself until the pain of her emotional abandonment began to surface in my regression therapy.

At first it was tremendously difficult for me to deal with any suffering connected to my mother. Bound by my religious upbringing, which had commanded me to honor my parents, I felt a huge sense of guilt for discovering such negative feelings towards her.

It took numerous sessions before I understood that I was not a bad girl who should be punished for being angry inside. As I began to tap into my long-repressed resentment, it gradually became liberating to release those emotions.

Part of discharging the pain involved replacing my mother (in my mind), who never wanted me –replacing her with the perfect mother floating into my thoughts. The woman who appeared was myself, as the grown adult woman I had become, and instead of allowing the anger towards my mother to affect my life, I transformed it into a peaceful solution in the therapy sessions.

The process of learning how to love myself and to honor my true feelings had begun.

This became the first step in letting go of my need to have my mother be who and what she had no capacity to become, and this led me to forgive her for resenting me for having been born.

During the first few months of hypnoanalysis, there was no expectation of connecting my childhood with my physical affliction. I began the therapy in hope of driving away the depression and thoughts of suicide. To my amazement, after resolving the emotional deprivation of being unwanted by my mother, a number of my physical symptoms suddenly disappeared. The power of the mind was illuminating. Cfids/ME is a medical diagnosis, so I had no belief that any change would occur in my body. My therapist had not disclosed to me that my mind had the power to create the illness, and thus, the power to heal it. She instead allowed the process to gradually unfold on its own.

The blurred vision and lack of concentration were the first to go, followed by the unusual headaches and the numbness in my limbs. While symptoms were being expelled, my emotional well-being began to emerge out of the depths of my previous malady.

The therapy worked like a surgical procedure, removing pain from my body, but by using my mind, not a knife. It was not unusual to feel as if I was recovering from surgery. By the afternoon, or the next morning, I always felt clearer, more cheerful, and I began to reconnect with the person I truly am, the person who was once buried beneath the toxic clutter of hidden emotions.

As time went by, further exploration into my childhood triggered events much more disturbing to a child than having a mother who never desired to have children.

Something ugly stirred inside of me, and made itself known by manifesting physically. Symptoms that were linked to the less serious grief had vanished, but different physical problems began to replace them.

Although I didn’t realize it at the time, the new symptoms were memories that I had not previously been willing to deal with. Unbeknownst to me, the therapy was healing me, but also forcing me to begin slaying dragons that I never even knew existed.

One of those dragons had manifested itself in the form of a sharp pain which shot through my lower pelvic area. The stabbing came from inside my vagina, and was so painful, that it caused me to clutch the edge of the bathroom sink until it passed.

Although I had experienced the vaginal pain on many occasions -even long before beginning the therapy- it never before had such intensity.

Regular gynecological appointments had consistently ruled out any physiological problem, and curiously, the pain only came when I walked into my bathroom. However, my self-survival system depended on me pushing this knowledge into the back of my mind. It was easier to deny the existence of the vaginal pain, and thus, ignore the dragon.
In an attempt to fool myself into thinking that denial would be successful, I kept the pain a secret from my therapist.


Rather than deal with the haunting vaginal pain in therapy, I chose instead to ask my therapist if we could work on the shingles outbreaks. The latest attack had caused the pustules to spread down my neck more than usual.

As I drifted off into a hypnotic regression, she told me to focus my mind on my neck. As I followed her instruction, time slipped away. Suddenly it was the late 1960’s and I found myself sitting in the backseat of my family’s old station wagon. The second this memory surfaced, fear invaded my body, and I felt myself curl into the fetal position on my bed.

In the memory, I felt the afternoon desert sun beating down on the vinyl car seats, heating them like an oven. Someone was wearing a sun hat; my sister Abigail, maybe. As I vaguely recalled the vacation road trip, the memory brought back the awareness of all three of my sisters and my mother being present in the car. My father was at the wheel.

The tension in the car was suffocating. Abigail looked fearful as she slumped down in the back seat. My father was putting our lives in his hands by dangerously trying to pass a slower vehicle in front of us. I was aware of Kylie and Madison in the car but they were not significant in the memory. My mother, however, was prominent because in spite of another car rapidly approaching us in the same lane, she was disturbingly quiet. The rush of adrenaline punched me in the pit of my stomach.

My feelings as a child flooded my mind. My father seemed obsessed with his own needs and he lacked self-control. I could recall thinking that he felt driving recklessly was acceptable because he was a police officer. I’m sure he thought he was a great driver, but being on the police force didn’t give him permission to place our lives at risk, and instead of trying to protect us by speaking up, my mother just sat there and said nothing.

My body lay on the bed in the therapy session, but my subconscious mind was back in time, inside that station wagon.

My therapist told me to mentally make myself as tall as a building and to reprimand my father. Without thought, a child-like voice came from my mouth and I heard the child inside of me say to my father, “You have no right to put us in danger dad! Stop the car!”

The relief was immediate. After thirty years of holding in what I had wanted to say as a child, my body exhaled the fear and anger at my father.

I bravely told him, “and I’m going to take over the driving, you got that?”

In the session, in my mind, I pictured taking the wheel, and told my father to sit in the rear of the car with the ice chest and luggage. I scolded my mother for not protecting us, and this felt exceptionally wonderful. I really let her have it, “You should have told him to slow down! You didn’t do your job as a mother so I am taking it away from you. I don’t need you! I am my own mother now.”

In the next scene in my mind, I drove the family station wagon at a safe rate of speed, even hanging my arm outside the window. As I carefully cruised along the open road, I felt liberated. Unlike my father, I was in no hurry, and in my bedroom during this therapy session, I was no longer in the fetal position. Safety enveloped me. The act of rescuing myself from danger, and lack of protection, had begun.


In January of 1996, my first deeply repressed memory came afloat. In the regression, I found myself hiding in the closet of my old bedroom. Crouching down, I could feel the clothing hanging around my head and smelled the musty closet odor that made the memory all too real.

When my therapist asked me what I was doing in the closet, I replied, “I’m hiding.”

My words took me by surprise. My father having driven the speeding car seemed somewhat familiar, but this memory felt like I was touching on something more obscure. At the same time, I felt an instinctual awareness that this indeed happened to me.
Although no recall entered my mind about whom or what I was hiding from, there was a distinct understanding that I was a small, vulnerable little girl, cowering in the closet.

My therapist had me concentrate on the fear and asked me to tell her what was going on. I became aware in my memory that my father was approaching the bedroom. As the vibration of his powerful presence filled the hallway, my body froze stiff. I could not see my father, but I sensed the anger and relentless persistence in his footsteps.

During the regression, I had no understanding about what caused this situation, but knew I was a terrified child hiding from a threat. I heard it in my voice and felt it in my veins. Suddenly my fear diminished when the footsteps continued past my bedroom door and disappeared into the bedroom of my two older sisters, Abigail and Kylie. Had I been spared that time? The regression felt so real that I even referred to my sister Abigail as “Abby.” I had not called her that name in over thirty years. As an adult, I always called her “Abigail.”

No further sound was heard. My mind went blank, and there seemed nothing more to remember. My therapist asked me to end my regression by envisioning a magic wand that would take away the fear. She then told me to grow big in my mind and to come out of the closet without the fear.

As instructed, I imagined bursting down the closet door, knocking it to the ground, and my body heaved out terror that had been lodged inside me for three decades.

Relieved of the energies that were unknowingly bottled up inside my mind and body for decades, I ended the session as my own perfect mother -myself. I took my little hand and led my inner child out the front door of the home I grew up in.

My only question, was where was the extreme fear coming from?

I was not ready to know…

Chapter Two: The Plastic Sheet to follow soon.


© 2016 Alethea Marina-Nova. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

Posted in Child Abuse, child molestation, Health, Holistic, Mind, Body, Spirit | Tagged , , , , | 13 Comments

Memoir: Forward and Acknowledgments


e65466b972d9c2dca7bc6722629135af By Alethea Marina Nova

In 1994 I suddenly became seriously ill with a disease that some of the best medical doctors in the country could not diagnose. After almost a year of debilitating physical suffering, unrelenting fear, repeated examinations, lab tests, EKGs, heart stress tests, an MRI of my brain, and intrusive medical procedures…the doctors could not help me.

This was the moment that I began my journey of my own mind and discovered on a personal level that total repression of interpersonal violence is real, understandable, and essential for some children to protect themselves from the unbearable pain of incest, child sexual abuse, child rape, torture, death threats, and severe emotional abandonment.

Before I regained my memory, if someone had asked me, “what’s the worst thing that happened to you in your childhood?” With no doubt,  I would have answered, “the death of my father when I was twelve.”

I was a lie to my own self.

As an adult, when traumatic memories begin to come back to consciousness, denial can be a part of the memories themselves. The child denied to survive, so the adult will try and repeat that pattern. But denial never works because it is impossible to lie to ourselves forever.

Our soul knows the truth, and when the truth is remembered, people who find the courage to reveal it to siblings, or a parent, often learn that there can be psychological punishment from family members who liked it much better when the truth was hidden. I learned this in the most emotionally brutal way possible…but what my biological family did to me, only made me made me stronger, and drove me to be more vocal.

Truth heals the mind and the body, and it takes tremendous courage to be honest with yourself by releasing unwanted truths from the depths of the unconscious. It takes a soul that is longing to be free, and a personal will to endure anything to get there.

I am hoping other victims and survivors of child sexual abuse, and incest, will read Ordinary Evil with a desire to convert their pain into strength, and to use that power to speak their truth.

Ordinary Evil: Memoir of a Buried Life, is about my passage of transformation from victim into warrior, and I want to take my readers on that journey because I have carried the sickness of my story inside my soul far too long. It was like being in a prison for decades with no human contact.

Yet, I also held the key.

True fortitude is to look within the darkness of one’s own soul –into one’s own subconscious mind. “Psyche,” as in psychology, or psychoanalysis, means “soul” and we must be willing to face the darkness of our emotional pain, and face that darkness and to heal it in a true and dynamic way.

The trauma of victims and the agony of survivors drove me to write these memoirs with the hope that others will also want to heal themselves in the most powerful way there is, through self-confrontation, honesty, and a desire to see the darkness in themselves and then transform it.

“I know that Alethea has an enormous treasure trove of experience, strength and hope to offer to not only those of us that have survived abuse, but to countless others, as well. I came to know, from reading the comprehensive articles she fearlessly posts – that she is an unmistakable, undeniable voice of uncompromising values, when it comes to standing up and speaking out on sexual abuse — in all of its many forms.” ~A Survivor

“I love Alethea’s writing – forthright, clear with each revelation, though emotionally stirring, so immeasurably insightful. I always find myself so lifted by your determined courage – the hope and possibilities for healing unmistakable – as woven throughout your journey to wholeness.” ~Anonymous Survivor


I owe my freedom to my psychotherapist, Ysatis De Saint-Simone, and to myself, for not being afraid to confront the darkness.

To the people who were called my parents: The trauma, emotional pain, betrayal, lies, and sexual abuse you put me through have made me strong, and allowed me to help others, so for that, I owe you a huge debt of gratitude…

Author’s Note

These memoirs are not being published to harm, or embarrass, anyone in my biological family. It was written to put my grain of sand into the world so I might help adult survivors of child sexual abuse, trauma, and incest –but especially for all the little children still suffering right now.

In order to protect the privacy of my family members, I have used fictitious names for everyone except myself. This is out of privacy for them, not because I am trying to hide. I have no more shame. More importantly, I have no more fear.


This book does not propose that any person should avoid seeking medical attention, or a medical diagnosis, for any particular physical symptom, illness, or disease. This book is merely my personal experience with illness and disease. This book should never replace medical care, nor should its contents, or my experience, be used as a way for someone to heal themselves of any medical or psychological condition.

Chapter One to follow soon…

© 2017 Alethea Marina Nova. All rights reserved. No part of these memoirs may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, saving to your computer, copying and pasting elsewhere, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

These articles may be posted on people’s Facebook Page as a link, or on Pintrest, Twitter, or any other social and sharing media –as long as it is shared as a link.


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Publishing My Memoirs On My Blog


“Our backs tell stories no book has the spine to carry” ~Rup Kaur

I have decided it is time to change that.

Many of my long time readers and friends, have patiently waited for me to publish my memoirs in a book. Yet, these memoirs remained unpublished due to fear, lack of confidence, and worrying what the reader’s response would be. My answer to that last concern is, who cares? I have to be able to speak my truth without regard of the reaction of others, and I have finally gained enough self-confidence that I have decided to publish my memoirs, for free, right here on my Blog.

What about fear? Fear stops us from living, from helping others, and if we are not careful, it can create sickness and self-harm.

I know damn well that survivors of child sexual abuse and incest are tired of books that coddle them. They want stark truth, not feel-good words or catch phrases. They don’t need positive thinking, and they don’t want to be lied to.

Most survivors want to read material that is ‘not acceptable’ for conversation.

My memoirs are rebellious and liberating -probably even shocking-but include the rawness of vulnerability and childhood innocence.

My hope is for my memoirs to quench the thirst for validation which is desperately needed by those who have experienced delayed memories of child sexual abuse and incest. I also hope my memoirs will furnish those in the field of psychology with fresh perspective about dissociation and traumatic memory repression, and to aid mental health experts by providing a better comprehension of the mind of a victim.

My dream is also to help people in the medical field to pay attention to the fact that the power of the mind can create, and heal, serious illness and disease. My story can open their eyes.

~Alethea Marina Nova

Title and Forward to follow in my next post.



Posted in Child Abuse, child molestation, child sexual abuse, Crime, dissociative amnesia, evil, Headlines, Health, Holistic, Mind, Body, Spirit, News, repressed memory | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The Vagina Monologues Promotes Child Molestation and Rape


The Vagina Monologues, was created by Eve Ensler, who placed a scene in the play called, “The Little Coochie Snorcher That Could.”

In the skit, a 24-year-old woman seduces a 13-year-old girl with alcohol, and then sexually molests her. By moral law, this is RAPE, and it is a crime under the law.

In the play, the little girl declared:

“Now people say it was a kind of rape … Well, I say if it was rape, it was a good rape…”

After concerned individuals complained about The Vagina Monologues, the reference to “good rape” was stopped in some performances of the play, but the so-called ‘positive’ experience of a young girl being seduced and sexually abused by a grown woman, remained the theme.

In the play, the little girl raved about her orgasm (an orgasm brought on, during an act of child sexual abuse). The child proclaims in the play, “she gently and slowly lays me out on the bed”… “I’ll never need to rely on a man.”

In updated versions of the play (also due to complaints by the public), the 13 year-old girl was changed to a 16 year-old. However, even a sixteen year-old girl does not have the discrimination to make rational decisions when seduced and manipulated by an older woman who, by age alone, is an authority figure to the girl, and usually someone the victim trusts or looks up to.

The suggestion that female-female sexual abuse is “good” for the child, and not sexual abuse at all, was made quite clear in this play.

The Vagina Monologues encouraged the disturbing belief that if a woman sexually molests a female child, it’s okay, and even good for the little girl.

The Vagina Monologues is presented nationwide, every year on Valentine’s Day, a day which symbolizes Love, devotion, self-sacrifice, courtship, and romance. This play has devalued what true Love is, by advertising the play as “V” Day, as in “vagina” and by running the play ‘in honor’ of Valentine’s Day.

This play has nothing to do with Love, romance, courtship, or mutual respect in a committed relationship. The Vagina Monologues consists of numerous monologues read by many different actresses, with each of the monologues addressing varying aspects of female experiences, like sex, love, rape, menstruation, female genital mutilation, masturbation, birth, and orgasm.

The recurring theme of the play is that the vagina is a tool of female empowerment, and ‘the ultimate embodiment of individuality’ and the play goes into tampons and tools used in OBGYN exams, and even considers the word “cunt” to be positive.

Supporters of the play praise its fund-raising abilities, and that it will help “end violence against women.” On the contrary, this play encourages violence against women.

The Vagina Monologues, is alarming on multiple levels.

Many versions of this play not only promotes female to female child molestation against a teenage girl, but the play portrays the idea that women don’t even need men –that they should become lesbians.

The play also annihilates the beautiful concept of Valentine’s Day and denegrates it into a day for the celebration of lesbians, child abuse, vaginas, and feminism.

Women, by nature, are supposed to be the protectors of children, not the abusers of them.

Throughout time, females have been counted on to retain compassion, dignity, and the right for life to exist. It is women who have been given the sole right to nurse a child, and who have been looked to for comforting victims, and are the only gender to be able to give birth to a child.

Feminism, is not about empowering women. Feminism -as it stands- has nothing to do with women’s rights, equal pay, or political, social and economic equality to men.

There is nothing empowering about ‘talking vaginas,’ the degradation of women, the physical and emotional power of sexually abusing a child, or the purposeful degradation of men. It is not empowering for a woman to discuss her vagina.

Empowerment of women begins when women stop only defending one another, and instead, defend truth, justice, femininity, children -and men when men need defending or nurturing, or to feel like real men.

The empowerment of women begins when women stop believing they are the superior sex (both sexes have good qualities), that they don’t need men, and when they honor the true feminine qualities of grace, compassion, softness, inner beauty, and respect and dignity for all life, and for men.

Powerful women look to the good attributes of men, and admire them, by uplifting men with honor and respect for their goodness, masculinity, and as the defenders of women and children that manhood is supposed to be.

How can women expect a man to be a protector and a guardian of women, if women continue to demoralize men, and make them feel obsolete?

Powerful women use their bodies as a way to be gentle and powerful simultaneously.

Women were once considered Sacred in this world, but feminism has all but abolished the sanctity of women.

Ultimately, Valentine’s Day, is linked to Saint Valentine. Saints represent sanctity, holiness, self-sacrifice, and consecration to a place of honor and reverence.

This is what women should strive for –not to be more powerful than men, or to outdo them, or to replace them –but to raise their consciousness to a place where men desire to revere women again.

If women want to end violence against women, then they need to begin by looking at themselves, and their role in how men see them.

It’s no wonder why so many men are full of anger and resentment, and feelings of inadequacy. A lot of women -especially feminists- treat men like crap by degrading them, and by minimizing their important role in life.

Love has respect for both genders, and Love honors the innate qualities in each sex.

May the innocence and intrinsic love in children, remind you of Valentine’s day.


Posted in Child Abuse | 15 Comments

Personal Mental Defense Systems in Sexual Abuse Victims

(Edited re-post)

Stacey Lannert’s father sexually abused her for years, and her mother ignored it. Stacey ended up protecting herself by killing her father. After she was incarcerated for murder, (Stacey has since been released from prison) Stacey spoke out about needing to remember the good side of her father.


Stacey said that, instead of remembering that her father had raped her, she remembers when he would, “just be my daddy and he’d hold me, talk to me, or just call me his tiger in a loving voice.”

Truddi Chase (pictured below with Oprah)  suffered sadistic abuse and rapes by her father. Her mother also physically abused and threatened her.

“It’s hard to think mean thoughts about a mother who trimmed the crusts off the bread for your school sandwiches” ~Truddi Chase speaking about her mother

Truddi Chase on Oprah

As adults, Stacey and Truddi express the human denial system in its purest form –with the simplicity of a child.

“It is understandable that some would choose to deny their memories, preferring to endure the anguish of symptoms rather than the anguish of the remembering process”~Anne Hart

A Holocaust survivor, who lived in the Auschwitz concentration camp for one year, also offers an example of how sincere the human denial system is.

When asked by her therapist about her memories of being imprisoned. the previous prisoner of war said, “I remember it had beautiful flowers.” She then sat silently for five full minutes before finally beginning to cry.

The conscious denial of the prison camp, allowed her to operate in the present. However, the woman’s method for repressing her experience had failed, because she continued to suffer in her daily life.

This is what happens when adult survivors of child sexual abuse, or incest, function in the same denial system that helped them survive the horrors of abuse in the first place.

However, this unconscious ritual ends up failing when -later in life- the soul cries out to be relieved of the pain. For a time, the previously useful arrangement between the conscious and unconscious mind, helped the person maintain a somewhat functional life, but eventually it becomes a prison and the memories beg to come through to consciousness.

It’s not surprising, or uncommon, that victims of sexual abuse would deny their history of abuse. Even perpetrators deny having been sexually assaulted as children.

FBI agent Roy Hazelwood did a survey on forty-one rapists, who combined had perpetrated at least 837 rapes. The perpetrators were asked about any personal experiences with having been sexually abused as a child. Only one man stated that he had been abused. This surprised Hazelwood, so he asked the rapists about their earliest sexual experience. It was clear that most of the men had been victims of child sexual assault. Thirty-one of the rapists (seventy-six percent) did not realize that their first experience with sex had been abusive –even though one man had been raped by his father until he was eleven years old.

The case of a five year old girl who saw her father fatally shoot her mother and then commit suicide is an excellent example of how victims begin to deny the trauma and pain shortly after the traumatic experiences take place. Five weeks after the traumatic crime, the child was asked by a mental health professional, what the worst thing was that had ever happened to her.

In that moment the child displayed a marked alteration in her facial expression, stopped playing, moved her face and head away from the interviewer and stared into space. After a long pause, she said, “I wanted to stay up late last weekend and have pizza, but I had to go to bed.” After her statement, the interview consisted of the girl giving only single word responses.

Abused children will do anything they can in order defend their survival. This includes “fantasy escapes,” or by forcibly attempting to drive the events from consciousness.

When Dr. Joy Silberg asks her child patients to recall their trauma, they reply, “Don’t ask me. It hurts my brain.”

These victims are actively trying to compel the events out of their mind.

Another woman, with no conscious awareness of any child abuse, was extremely troubled by rage. When her therapist asked her to draw a picture of what had caused her anger, an instantaneous flood of hidden emotions were provoked. Without knowing why, the woman drew a picture of the Catholic Church she had attended as a small child. A short time later she began to recall being sexually abused by her childhood priest.

Validation for the woman’s memories was established when she and her husband did some investigating and found that three years earlier, the priest pleaded guilty to molesting a ten year-old girl and was serving time in prison.

Another example is how the mind can sometimes use symbols for traumatic events. Two books, The Courage to Heal and Uncovering Memories of Sexual Abuse in Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy, both discuss women who remember a knife as what penetrated them instead of a penis.

To a small child, the first time a penis is forced inside their vagina or rectum, it can feel as if they have been penetrated by a knife.  I can attest to this first-hand.

Traumatic memories can surface in other protective ways. One woman had been experiencing moments of vaginal pain along with flashes of lollipops. In therapy she remembered molestation that had taken place on routine visits to her pediatrician.

At first, the woman thought she had been molested with a lollipop. However, when she relayed her newly recalled memories to her parents, they told her she had been sexually abused as a child by the family doctor, who had given her a lollipop after each visit.

The more severe abuse, or psychologically damaging aspect of sexual abuse, usually shows itself as treatment progresses, or even towards the end of therapy.

Children, who have just been removed from an abusive situation, commonly disclose the least terrifying, or the less intense parts of being sexually abused, before finally reporting the more severe trauma.

Adult survivors of sexual abuse and trauma, who are still blocking out certain experiences, allow themselves to remember the abuse in essentially the same way.

However, some people might think that being raped by a parent, or having been threatened with death with a knife, would be the worst part of having been traumatized and emotionally scarred as a child. But when sexual abuse is not recalled until adulthood, the most emotionally painful event often emerges after memories of a physically violent rape or terrifying experiences are recalled.

It has been my personal experience, and of others, that memories of the emotional attachment to the perpetrator and any sexual stimulation a victim might feel during the molestation or rape, usually come back to the adult survivor much later in the healing work.

Most adult survivors keep extremely painful truths hidden from themselves for a very long time. This can include that some of the sexual abuse felt good, orgasms, that they enjoyed being touched, or that they felt sad when the abuse ended.

For other people, the deep and powerful emotional pain can be remembering sexual abuse by a family member of the same-sex, especially if it felt good. Or the victim had an orgasm with their perpetrator.

This system is a self-survival system. But it only works for so long, and one day, the memories beg to come through to consciousness. When this happens, the adult survivor will begin to develop serious problems like self-punishment, self-sabotage, destructive behaviors, self-hatred, self-abuse, eating disorders, drug and alcohol addiction, and other psychologically-induced physical illnesses.

When we do not deal with the subconscious mind, it deals with us.


Source Notes:
Hearing the Survivor’s Voice: Sundering the Wall of Denial, Sandra Bloom, Journal of Psychohistory, Vol 21, Number 4, spring 1994, page 462
Stacey Lannert, Free Stacey Lannert Website, Stacey’s Writings
When Rabbit Howls, Truddi Chase, Introduction and Epilogue by Robert A. Philips Jr., Ph.D, 1987
Holocaust Survivor’s Mental Health, T.L. Brink Ph.D. Editor, pages 22-23 (Also published as Clinical Gerontologist, Volume 14, Number 3 1994), 1994 Haworth Press, Inc. Birmingham NY Holocaust Survivor’s Mental Health, T.L. Brink Ph.D. Editor, page 23 (Also published as Clinical Gerontologist, Volume 14, Number 3 1994), 1994 Haworth Press, Inc. Birmingham NY
The Evil That Men Do: FBI Profiler Roy Hazelwood’s Journey into the Minds of Sexual Predators, Stephen G. Michaud with Roy Hazelwood, St. Martin’s Press, New York, 1998, page 123.
Memories of Fear How the Brain Stores and Retrieves Physiologic States, Feelings, Behaviors and Thoughts from Traumatic Events Bruce D. Perry, M.D., Ph.D. The Child Trauma Academy, Academy version of a chapter originally appearing in “Splintered Reflections: Images of the Body in Trauma” (Edited by J. Goodwin and R. Attias) Basic Books (1999)
Memories Called Key in Abuse Suits, Beth Miller, The News Journal, April 13, 2007
“The Recovered Memory Project” Ross Cheit, “Woman relies on Repressed Memory in Alleging Priest Abuse” Maine Sunday Telegram October 26 1997: 1B
The Courage to Heal, Ellen Bass and Laura Davis, page 90
Uncovering Memories of Sexual Abuse in Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy, Charlotte Prozan, Construction and Reconstruction of Memory: Dilemmas of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Charlotte Prozan Editor, Jason Aaronson Inc., 1997, page 126
The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse, Ellen Bass and Laura Davis, Updated Third Edition, HarperCollins, 1994, page 90
Behind the Playground Walls: Sexual Abuse in Preschools, Jill Waterman Ph.D, Robert J. Kelly Ph.D, Mary Kay Oliveri MSW, Jane Mc Cord, Ph.D, 1993, The Guilford Press page 68
Memories of Fear How the Brain Stores and Retrieves Physiologic States, Feelings, Behaviors and Thoughts from Traumatic Events Bruce D. Perry, M.D., Ph.D. The Child Trauma Academy http://www.ChildTrauma.org  Academy version of a chapter originally appearing in “Splintered Reflections: Images of the Body in Trauma” (Edited by J. Goodwin and R. Attias) Basic Books (1999)
The Voice of Memory: One Woman’s Journey to Reclaim the Past, Beatriz Terrazas, Dallas Morning News, June 11, 2000
Posted in Child Abuse, child molestation, child sexual abuse, Headlines, Health, Holistic, Mind, Body, Spirit, News, Religion, repressed memory, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Forgiveness Frees Our Soul and Generates Joy

“When we harbor negative emotions toward others or toward ourselves, or when we intentionally create pain for others, we poison our own physical and spiritual systems.”

~ Caroline Myss

Incest and child sexual abuse are an abomination. Even people who have not been victimized have a difficult time feeling any objective compassion for those who commit sex crimes against children, so it is infinitely more complicated for victims and adult survivors to find any shred of mercy in their heart.

Genuine absolution is easier for some people, especially if an apology has been offered, or when the abuser has tried to make up for what has happened. When the perpetrator, or their accomplice, completely deny the abuse or admit to their crimes but refuse to apologize or take any responsibility, then finding even an ounce of forgiveness can be perceived as unattainable.

Rage is the most suitable reaction to being sexually molested, raped, or tortured. The sexual abuse of children, especially incest, is an atrocity. This is a degenerate and serious crime. It is the root of many of the ills in our society. Sexual abuse contributes to thousands of suicides and can inflict a lifetime of hell on the victim.

Child sexual abuse and child rape weakens the soul so much that the victim often gives up hope and longs for death. Child sexual abuse destroys dreams and generates nightmares.

The mere silence from the mother who turned away from her child’s screams may seem unfathomable to forgive.

It is usually much harder to exonerate the mother who did not protect us than to forgive the man who molested or raped us. The mother is a much deeper wound because she is sacred to a child. It is infinitely more complicated to forgive a mother who protected the rapist, or molester, over her own child -or who sexually abused her child. These are brutal wounds.

The True Meaning of Forgiveness

First and foremost, the act of forgiveness does not mean the perpetrator should roam free to continue their crimes against children. Some religious belief systems give the false impression that forgiveness means you don’t turn in a child molester, or that you help the perpetrator to avoid prison.

Justice and forgiveness go hand in hand.

Forgiveness does not mean remaining silent about being abused or allowing others to step on us. Absolution does not mean that a person must uphold or adapt to a lie, or cater to the denial system of those who hurt us.

Forgiveness is about offering mercy and compassion to the soul of another person. This, in no way, implies that we condone what happened, or that we allow someone to abuse us again, or that we must pretend that nothing ever happened.

Forgiveness comes only to a prepared soul, and it usually does not come in its totality until the final stages of recovery. True forgiveness requires a will to do so.

Forgiveness is a long hard road, and it must come from within. Forgiveness cannot be forced by anyone or by a religious belief. We can consciously say we forgive our perpetrators in order to feel better about ourselves or about them. We can say it to appease family members or in a faithful attempt to honor God, but the child inside is the one who suffered, and she or he needs to feel cleansed through the natural process of driving out all negative emotions.

Once this is accomplished, the adult survivor can transform their pain into an objective, and even somewhat compassionate, understanding of those who committed the sexual assaults, betrayal, breach of trust, rapes, torture and psychological abuse. YES. These things are all possible to forgive.

For a number of years I thought I had forgiven my parents, but for so long, the child in me refused to forgive because she still felt so much pain, and I had not yet remembered all there was to forgive. When we are still repressing memories that are attached to a deep emotional trauma, we cannot yet release any resentment and anger connected to that memory.

Basically, we cannot forgive what we have not yet remembered.

If someone is still repressing a traumatic event, or years of sexual abuse, or rape, then they will also unknowingly harbor every emotion connected to those experiences, including unforgiveness.

Who Can Be Forgiven?

Everyone. For everything, and anything.

It is even possible to forgive a person who has passed away. Absolution is for the soul -not for the physical body.

Even if the person is still alive, it is the human soul that we pardon. We are not forgiving the act, or the personality of the person, or their human form.

Some survivors say they aren’t sure if they have found mercy for their abuser. Uncertainty usually means they have not completely forgiven, and it is usually the victims and survivors who still cannot absolve themselves of the guilt and shame, who are hindering their ability to forgive their abuser.

We must forgive ourselves in order to find a TRUE place of total forgiveness -the kind of forgiveness that equals the highest possible spiritual place.

A common belief is that forgiveness is for the victim, not for the abuser—but this is not true mercy. Forgiveness is for BOTH victim and perpetrator.

We must forgive ourselves for the shame and guilt we held for years or decades like a suitcase attached to our ankle, but we cannot say we forgive our abusers only to have it be about us. This is not true forgiveness and is a form of selfishness. Human beings must forgive those who harmed them in order to release ourselves from the bond which a lack of leniency brings us. 

Forgiveness is essential for the soul of the perpetrator, and it will ultimately be crucial for ours as well.

Unforgiveness Can Cause Serious Illness and Disease

No one can or should forgive superficially. Cancer, heart attacks, and other illness is often the result of harboring years of resentment that has built up in a person’s conscious or subconscious mind. This is why true healing cannot be done without true forgiveness. This is not an admonition or a religious condemnation; it is just a simple scientific truth.

Various books proclaim that forgiveness is not necessary to heal…. That is a nice thought, but also impossible.

One woman wrote on a message board in a sexual abuse recovery forum that she was “not into forgiveness” for what destroyed her life. She didn’t think it was necessary to forgive her father in order to heal. Yet —in the very same paragraph— she wrote that her biggest problem was not forgiveness, but that she still suffered from a multitude of psychologically induced physical problems resulting from the abuse.

This woman could not see the paradox in her own statement. The issue she avoided and didn’t think was needed or important, was exactly what has the power to heal her lingering physical problems that are connected to anger and resentment.

Louise Hay, author of Heal Your Life, the best-selling book about the mind/body connection, was raped at age five by a neighbor. When Louise was diagnosed with cervical cancer in the late seventies, she knew the cancer was caused by her unwillingness to forgive her rapist. She refused surgery and drugs. Louise chose to undergo psychotherapy and began the road to forgiveness. She also utilized nutrition and other alternative healing methods, but I am certain that letting go of her resentment was the key to her full recovery from the cancer.

Dr. Gabor Maté, author of When the Body Says No: Understanding the Stress-Disease Connection, says that the human immune system is like a “floating brain.” He says the immune system has —in a sense— memory and that many common diseases and illnesses, especially autoimmune disease, are the result of repressed anger and unresolved childhood pain.

Leniency is Not an Act of Weakness, But One of Strength

Turning anger into mercy can deliver vast amounts of positive healing energy for ourselves and for everything and everyone on the planet, but it must be authentic and offered from the heart. It cannot be manipulated or intimidated by another person or by a religion.

Genuine absolution —the kind that frees our soul— must be unconditional and without reservation. The forgiveness journey is not a simple one, nor is it painless. It is like climbing three, five, or sometimes ten thousand feet up a steep and winding mountain path with your bare feet and sometimes you are on your knees.

The climb is painful and can take your breath, and you will have to stop and rest countless times while wanting to turn back.

But if a person can persevere to the top, then the reward is like turning poison into a beautiful flower in the sunshine

If a previously abused person truly wants to become free, completely healthy, and to be at peace, then they need to remove the black malignant mass that is blocking their heart from receiving healing LOVE. During some of the darkest times of my recovery, a powerful yet gentle voice with no gender, came to me in my sleep and told me, “True healing cannot be done without God.”

God is love and LOVE heals.

Going beyond our pain in order to offer forgiveness is much stronger than if we only love those who love us. What is so special about only forgiving the people who love us, or our friends, or those who have not brutally harmed us as children?

When Love is pushed into a small space of the heart, and is crowded out by anger, resentment, a desire to control, a need for revenge, and by hatred, then a person will never know peace, health, and freedom.

When all the negative energies are removed from a person’s subconscious mind, a deep sense of calm and peace envelopes the soul. It is an indescribable peace. It surmounts any human emotion or pleasurable human experience one can have.

I can now attest to the fact that this euphoric experience is possible and I can tell you that it is the most beautiful feeling in the entire world. It makes you cry tears of gratitude, and you get down on your knees for being so fortunate to be able to have such a deep and intense experience -a profound connection to The Divine.

Resentment will always attack a person. Love does not attack, it generates joy.

It is in giving that we receive. When we make room in our heart for pure LOVE, we receive all kinds of abundance. Once the poisonous emotions are eradicated, then PEACE is the only thing left to fill that once-toxic void.

Leniency is not an act of weakness, but one of strength. By forgiving my abusers, I released the power they held over me, and I freed my soul from the contract that would have kept us bound for an eternity.

Today I am in the happiest, most peaceful, most beautiful place of my entire life.

I am grateful to be alive.


My beloved Guardian Angel Dog and myself, on my birthday 2016.



Wikipedia Encyclopedia, http://louisehay.wwwhubs.com/

Dr. Gabor Maté: “When the Body Says No: Understanding the Stress-Disease Connection”

© 2008 Alethea Marina Nova All rights reserved. No part of this article may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author. Photo copyright owned by author.

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Our Body is a Recording of Traumatic or Negative Experiences

What I have experienced, and know first-hand, through the work my therapist has done for the past 40 years, could be the medicine of the future –that is, if enough people get fed up over being lied to by the medical industry and the U.S. media.

As most of my readers know, my therapist has helped me heal me from illness and disease that medical doctors could not treat or cure. The only “treatment” they say “might” help some people is dangerous prescription drugs -drugs, that if you read the side-effects, you know you take a great risk to your health, or could even commit suicide or murder.

Surgery is no better.

The video at the end of this article, called “E Motion,” explains perfectly, how our unhealed Subconscious energies create current-day stress and more serious illness and disease like cancer, fibromayalgia, or myalgic encephalomyelitis (also known as chronic fatigue immune dysfunction syndrome, cfs, cfids).

Every physical or psychological symptom is the past talking to you -a cry for help- your inner child begging you to pay attention to her or him. Your body is your wounded child, crying to be heard, to be helped, to release those toxic emotions.

As explained in the E Motion video, the Subconscious Mind has no knowledge of time, past or “present.” Time does not exist in the Subconscious, so when the body is in pain, or when a person is experiencing a panic attack, it simply means that something in the outer world, has triggered the ‘inner world’ of the SC Mind.

Triggers can be a sound, a smell, something someone says, the color of someone’s shirt, a painting, a song, a betrayal, a co-worker being obnoxious, or even happy events can trigger the SC Mind to a past experience -usually in childhood- that has a negative connection.

The Subconscious Mind probably retains 90% of our unhealed emotions, memories, and negative experiences, and drives our lives until we heal them.

The good news is that the Subconscious Mind is a holographic image, or a computer (if you will), that knows everything we need to heal ourselves, because it knows how we got sick in the first place.

The SC Mind is a holographic computer that remembers everything. We don’t remember much consciously. Every day, we forget our keys, wallet, sunglasses, what we ate at a restaurant last week, or once in a while, it forgets things like having been invited to a movie with a friend.

On the contrary, the SC Mind knows exactly what’s wrong with you if you come down with psychosomatic symptoms, or illness, or disease that is rooted in unhealed emotions.

The SC Mind also knows exactly how to fix you. It knows what the trapped emotions are, who was involved, and every detail of how the experience impacted you at the time.

Emotions provide information


The human body is a doorway to the unhealed energies in the Subconscious Mind. The conscious and Subconscious Mind send signals to the cells in our body –even to our hormonal cells and skin cells, and also to the chemicals in our brain and body.

The Subconscious Mind is like a lens that blocks our true vision of the world.

Until we totally heal and free the Subconscious Mind, as well as our social and religious programming, and until we change our childhood negative conditioning, memories and emotions about how we view the world, we will always view life from an unhealed person/child state of mind, and also from social conditioning about how we ‘should or should not’ be/think/feel.

This programming and emotions are invisible, unseen, energies that have the ability to create negative energies in our body and mind –negative energies that, if ignored and unrecognized, can cause serious disease, illness, and mental illness. I believe that about 90% of all disease and illness has a psychological root cause.

The E Motion video has people talking about the power of the mind in ways that I have never heard anyone else say, except my therapist, and the video describes the power of the mind –describes it in the exact way in which I have personally discovered in my own healing.

The long-list of illnesses and diseases, and chronic suffering that I have been liberated from and are found in millions of other people, create a loss of hope because medical doctors are treating serious unhealed emotions -disguised as illness, disease, and chronic pain- with dangerous RX drugs and surgeries, both of which only anger the SC Mind even more.

The patterns of pain, re-traumatizing, illness and disease, chronic pain, relationship issues, and self-sabatoging behavior will continue until we heal those patterns at the Subconscious level.

As I have written many times, the conscious mind cannot heal us, and RX drugs, surgery, marijuana, and “positive” thinking will never heal a person because it will never get to the root cause of the problem. These things only suppress the real problem and cover it up, and it is our inner child, and thus our body, wanting our attention. If we do not listen, the SC Mind gets our attention through pain and suffering.

If we tell the body, “I am not going to listen to you,” then it will cry out louder with more serious problems.

The leading cause of physical pain, is the storing of negative emotional molecules

–Creators of the E Motion Video

If a person does not know how to release those negative energies (negative emotions and traumatic memories) then they continue to be stored in anatomical sites, and affect the physiological function of our anatomy. This is when they become diagnosed as disease and illness.

 Trapped emotions are what keep us from our Divine Nature.

If people understood the power of releasing these blocked and unhealed energies, then they would be amazed and blown-away at how much creativity and positive sexual energy, loving energy, spiritual energy, and altruistic desires can flourish through them and out into the world.

True transformation comes from within, and the result of true transformation is joy, love, connection with The Divine, and a deep desire to make the world a better place and to be a better person.

FB One

16 years ago, I was bed-ridden, too sick to go for a hike, and hated my inner child. 16 years ago, I could never have experienced this kind of moment.



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