Bliss: Behind the Mask

By Deborah OBrien

In this raw, candid memoir, Deborah O’Brien describes her life growing up and the steady progression of alcoholism that led her on a path of self-destruction. After twenty-four years of silence, O’Brien reveals the lessons she learned about life while she was dying of an acute overdose of pills and alcohol. Bliss is an inspiring, uplifting story about the strength of the human spirit and the power of redemption. O’Brien shares her message of hope. She believes that spiritual awakening is accessible to everyone.
• Learn a simple yet profound method of meditation to improve your life and your connection to the Divine.
• Learn how to cope effectively with pain and stress instead of trying to escape from it.
• Improve your self-image and relationships with others.
• Learn to be free, to be you, and find the bliss that is waiting inside of you…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Dec 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781982277413

Deborah OBrien

Deborah O’Brien is an authority on self-image consulting, interior design, and meditation. She guides her clients through an insightful process, helping them to discover who they truly are at their core, and to express and embrace their essence. She also teaches 2nd grade children Faith Formation at her local church. Deborah and her husband Ed reside in Falmouth, Massachusetts. They are blessed with fifteen grandchildren.

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Copyright © 2021 Deborah Obrien.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

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ISBN: 978-1-9822-7740-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-7741-3 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date:  11/10/2021

For you

We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.

—Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

CONTENTS

Preface

Prologue

PART 1

Chapter 1 Beginning Years

Chapter 2 Adolescence

Chapter 3 Early Adulthood

Chapter 4 Emerging Adult

Chapter 5 Adulthood

Chapter 6 Mid Adulthood

Chapter 7 Ending Year and New Beginnings

PART 2

Chapter 1 My Evolution

Chapter 2 Meditation

Chapter 3 Beginning Meditation

Chapter 4 Intermediate Meditation

Chapter 5 Ten Stages of Meditation

Epilogue

About the Author

PREFACE

Five years ago, after I finished a breathing session, I leaned forward to get up and as I did, I heard a whisper in the back of my left ear that said, TEACH. It was a long, slow, drawn-out whisper. I froze! A few seconds later, I heard it again, TEACH. I held my breath. I felt a stillness all around me. I was calm. A third time I heard, TEACH MY FLOCK. This time I knew it was Jesus, but I couldn’t comprehend that Jesus would speak to me.

I was teaching faith to children in our church, so I knew Jesus was calling me to teach, to reach out beyond my church. He said to teach His flock. I wondered what He meant. Suddenly, I knew without a doubt. I had to tell my story and teach about God’s saving grace.

I thought about His request and from time to time, I revisited that moment in my mind, but I didn’t do anything about it. Can you believe it? I couldn’t bring myself to do anything except keep it a secret. I was afraid people would think I was crazy.

Last summer, as I was looking out of the window of a taxicab, I saw a big billboard. It read, The Time Is Now. These four simple words resonated in my heart. I got the message loud and clear.

That day I let go of all my fear of what people would think and started to write my story. I hope you can learn something from my mistakes and embrace the lessons God taught me about life on the day I was facing my death.

While I lay there waiting to die, God showed me the way to the state of bliss. I want to share with you how you can get there too. This book is for you.

PROLOGUE

I blink my eyes, but my vision is blurred. The light from ahead is muted, shining directly in front of me. Its gathering beam blinds me as I stretch out to grab the light. It inches further away as I reach out again. Slowly I move forward away from the safe and warm place, along a path of unknown, following the light. It widens as I get closer and now I am in the spotlight. The soft silence from before is broken. Where am I? What is all that noise? I need to get away. Squirming onto my side, I curl up and hide. I can feel panic in the air out there. Then I feel a touch; it sends shivers up my spine. I open my mouth to scream but the breath I need to vocalize is blocked. I try again to inhale, to let out a cry but there is no air. My nose and mouth are covered by a thin film that clings tighter with each attempt to breathe. I can feel hands on me. I want to yell, Let go, I can do this myself! But I feel stuck. I am terrified of being manipulated by those hands. They are pulling at me. What is that cold stainless-steel thing coming at me? … I am born!

Since my first memories, I knew I was special. I was born with a veil over my face. This thin shimmery coating covering my face was the remnants of the amniotic membrane. Whispered conversations about my birth were always clouded in mystery until one night when I overheard the secrets that changed my life.

PART 1

CHAPTER 1

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BEGINNING YEARS

I couldn’t sleep with all the noise. Someone was playing the ukulele. I think it was Uncle Vinnie. Everyone was singing I’ll Be Down to Get You in a Taxi, Honey.

I lay there wide awake, picking tufts of chenille out of my cozy white bedspread. Humming along to the cheerful tune soothed me for a while but not for long. As soon as the song was over, I heard loud yelling and laughing. When my curiosity got the best of me, I couldn’t resist the urge to get out of my nice, warm bed. Quietly, I scampered across the cold hardwood floor, and I tiptoed down the dimly lit, narrow hall to the soft, gray, carpeted stairway. As I scrunched down on the top step, I noticed a cloud of smoke floating in the air. Then the smell of cigarettes hit me like a slap in the face. I squeezed my nose with my little fingers so I couldn’t smell the awful odor. Quiet as a little mouse, I sat there and listened.

I could hear Uncle Budgie’s wife, Aggie, whispering to another lady, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying because now a lot of people were singing, Yes Sir That’s My Baby. Just as the song ended, I heard Aggie say my name. When I tried to hear what she was saying about me, I almost tumbled down the stairs.

Cautiously, I scooted down a few more steps and strained to listen.

Then I heard Aggie say in her Irish brogue, Debbie was born with a mask over her face. A special sign, you know?

The woman replied in a skeptical voice, Special?

Then I heard that woman say in a nasty tone, She nearly killed her mother, I heard.

As these painful words pierced my heart, a little seed of guilt was planted. For a moment more I sat there on the stairs. In that space of time, I couldn’t hear or feel anything but the pounding of my heart.

When I got into my nice warm bed, I continued plucking the chenille out of my bedspread. But this time, with my thumb and my index finger, I rolled the tufts into tiny balls and stuffed them up my nose.

About a week later, Aunt Vera noticed a strange smell, as if something was rotting inside of me. It got so bad that no one wanted to come near me. Everyone was talking about how badly I smelled, but no one was doing anything about it. Finally, my father called Dr. Namay to come to the house. After he examined me, he removed globs of teeny, tiny balls of chenille from my nasal cavity. I was only three years old, but I was already good at stuffing things.

I was getting good at lying, too. I can remember my first attempt. For a special occasion, my father’s mother made me a beautiful dress, but my mother put it in the closet and went to the store. That afternoon, she came home with the most beautiful dress I had ever seen, and that’s the one I wore.

The following Sunday after the event my grandmother came to visit.

During dinner she asked, How did everyone like the dress I made for you, Debbie?

I felt my little heart sink. I looked at my mother and innocently asked, Shall I tell a lie? My poor mother almost choked on her wine. Then she gave me a look like she wanted to choke me. When I looked back at my grandmother, I could see a little tear glistening in the corner of her eye.

When I first started lying it was because I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. I wanted so much for everyone to love me. I was always afraid to say what I felt. After a while, the truth would get stuck in my throat, but the lies never had any trouble tumbling out.

My mother was a beautiful princess. In fact, with her jet-black hair and pure white skin, she looked just like Snow White. I think I was always a little jealous of her.

Unlike Snow White, my mother didn’t have Seven Dwarfs, but she did have seven brothers who doted on her all the time. There was Bussy, Budgy, Teddy, Vinnie, Gerald, Georgie, and Willy. She had four sisters, too. Everyone adored her.

After my mother married my father, he put her on a pedestal, and he worshipped her.

Every day, my mother’s relatives congregated at our house to eat, drink, play cards, and sing along. At the head of our kitchen table my mother sat on her throne and held court. Usually, she would be wearing a very elegant full-length robe. Stop Red lipstick by Elizabeth Arden was always on her lips. You couldn’t help noticing her lovely, long red fingernails as she gracefully chain-smoked her Chesterfield cigarette.

My father always looked so handsome. He wore expensive suits, neatly groomed his fingernails, and kept his shoes shined. Because his blond hair was kinky curly, he kept it buzzed short to half an inch on top. When you looked at him, the first thing you saw was his beautiful blue eyes—they were brighter than the blue sea. I was always a little afraid to look too closely into my father’s dazzling eyes. I was afraid that he might be able to see right through me and also that I might catch a glimpse of his sadness. I always wondered if he resented me for my mother’s fatigued condition. But I really didn’t want to know.

My father’s only brother was a secret agent. We knew nothing about him. Everything was hush-hush. Because he was always on a mysterious mission, we rarely saw him. It was almost like my father was an only child. I never heard my father complain about my mother’s relative or about the shenanigans going on in our house. As long as Margie was happy, it was fine with Frank.

Whenever alcohol was involved, the gory details of my horrible birth were the topic of conversation. The story about how I almost killed my mother became a legend. My mother would tell the story about how after I was born, she started to hemorrhage. As a result of losing so much blood she said she developed pernicious anemia, a rare blood disease. Then she would go on to tell everyone how Dr. Namay said, Margie, you can never, ever exert yourself.

As a little girl I heard that story so often that I felt guilty for being born. Thinking that if I could make everyone happy, they would forgive me, I started wearing the mask of a people-pleaser to replace the old mask that was removed at birth.

Because my mother could not exert herself, she was unable to take care of me. My Aunt Vera was a living saint. She offered to help. Through rain or shine, sleet or snow, Vera walked over to our house each morning to take care of my mother and I. Vera waited on my mother hand and food. She made sure that my mother never had to lift a finger.