A Wretch Like Me: A Modern Day Mary Magdalene Saved by Grace

By Major

A Wretch Like Me is a bold, provocative, and raw memoir

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miracles Manifested, LLC
• Release date: Apr 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218187095

Book preview

PROLOGUE

There’s a saying that ignorance is bliss and I think it’s spot on. There was a time in my life when I was blissfully unaware of the truly ugly, dark, seedy side of life. Sure, I had seen stuff in movies and certainly, I’d experienced more than my fair share of pain, loss, and rejection, with more mistakes and failures than I could even begin to count. Somehow, despite all that I’d witnessed, experienced, and survived up to this point, I had dodged the real threats; the kinds of evil snares that are all too real in this lifetime.

There are things that no one in my circle ever talked about, or even whispered about. The reality of a kind of evil that can overcome a person so thoroughly and completely that there’s absolutely nothing they can do to get out of it on their own, let alone live to talk about.

I know it’s a drastic thing to say, but what I’m talking about isn’t some ancient myth, or a story from 2,000 years ago. It is as real as you and me. It’s an actual living thing, this kind of tangible evil, that can absorb you into itself. It’s a cold, silent, all-consuming darkness that, if you open the door, will sneak right into your life, patiently waiting to kill, steal, or destroy any kind of life you once thought you had.

It has no mercy. It feels no fear. It is like death itself has come over you. Yet, it lets you live, just to torture you and gleefully laugh at the pain it causes and havoc it creates, sucking every drop of life left in you, over and over again. In retrospect, I think death, in and of itself, is kinder.

Being kept alive as a demon’s plaything is no joke.

CHAPTER

ONE

Born of Shame

Now, before I tell you what happened, I need you to understand that I’m NOT what some may call a bible-thumping, ranting, raving fanatical kind of churchy, religious-zealot type of person. In fact, I would consider myself the complete antithesis of that, especially given my background. I have loathed and detested these kinds of people for most of my life. I remember learning about hell early on in life from many religious people who were just plain nasty to be around. They were hypocritical and mostly seemed to behave as mean and judgemental as everyone else. I wanted nothing to do with them or their religion. So when I was suddenly faced with the darkest kind of evil I have ever encountered, I wasn’t prepared for it. This was the kind of evil that silently, patiently waits for exactly the right moment to slither its way around your neck, ever so gently squeezing the life out of you, without you sensing a single thing until it’s too late. I never saw it coming. Had you tried to warn me, I probably wouldn’t have believed you either.

It was not entirely clear to me until many, many years later how this could have happened at all. I had been a hard worker for as long as I can remember. I loved to work. People often commented on my accomplishments and achievements, and I was praised for my hard work and dedication on any job I’d ever had. Where my baggage seemed to manifest was in my personal life. I made one bad choice after another and picked a lot of not-so-great guys to partner with. Despite all the hard work and accomplishments professionally, I’d ended up with losers who matched my level of self-loathing and shame. I was no stranger to rejection, abandonment, or abuse.

My biological father left when I was five years old and started a whole new family. He told me not to call him daddy anymore and I never saw him again. I grew up with a stepfather who literally couldn’t stand me and actively expressed his dislike and disdain for me. I wanted his approval and love when I met him as a little girl, of course, but nothing I did made any difference. He didn’t want me. I watched how he was with my two younger siblings, and he treated them very differently. He was their daddy, just not mine. These early experiences created a palpable and exaggerated sense of deep inner shame.

I would never make that mistake again.

As far back as I can remember, I believed deep down in my soul that there must be something wrong with me. Clearly, I was unlovable and unwanted, it had to be my fault. It left me extremely vulnerable to being victimized by others. I was sexually abused early on, and the trauma from those events produced an even deeper, secret sense of shame that takes hold when you believe it’s your fault – you must have done something to cause it. Growing up, I never saw a relationship that lasted or one that didn’t end up physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive in some way. Every family dynamic I’d ever witnessed was broken and extremely dysfunctional. Relationships came and went. Different people would be introduced, but always with the same result – complete chaos and one form of disastrous consequence or another. I developed my own pattern of relationships that were equally chaotic, dysfunctional, broken, and disastrous. I didn’t just date the wrong kinds of people, I often married them. Par for the course, I was left flat broke, devastated, heartbroken, and convinced I had really learned my lesson that time. I would never make that mistake again.

Of course, that sentiment never lasted long. By husband number three, I’d moved on to yet another partner. We had the typical whirlwind romance and lots of promises of forever and until death do us part. We got married at the end of August 2001. As fate would have it, we decided to start a new life together in a brand new state and had both landed new jobs. We were in the midst of the cross-country move as the horrific events of 9/11 unfolded. My husband, Roger, was starting his new job before me, so we drove to New Jersey together and then I was flying back to Wisconsin on a late flight to finish packing up. We had such a fun weekend, getting the few things he’d be needing immediately, set up and ready for Monday. We rented an adorable little house to start this new life together with Miranda, my beautiful 11-year-old daughter from my first marriage. Before I flew home, I went out for a lovely dinner with a new lady friend who had grown up in the area. She took me to the Windows of the World restaurant at the top of one of the Twin Towers on Sunday, September 9, 2001. It was a gorgeous night and Roger wanted to stay behind to finish getting some last-minute things done before starting his new job the next day.

I returned to Wisconsin in the wee hours of the morning. One of my friends stayed with Miranda until I got home. The next morning, despite being a bit groggy, I got up quickly and Miranda and I chatted back and forth as we tackled all the packing we needed to do. I was telling her about the new things we had to look forward to as I shared snapshots of the cute little house that we were moving to. She was excited and asked all kinds of questions about what her new school would be like, how she was going to be taking a bus to school for the first time, and when we could go shopping for new school clothes and supplies.

We finally took a break sometime later in the day and went out to grab some food. It had been a busy day and I was starting to fade as the effects of the late-night trip caught up with me. I told Miranda I was probably going to head to bed early that night.

I was still sound asleep that dreadful Tuesday morning of 9/11/01. Miranda had snuck in my room and was cuddled up next to me as my cell phone started ringing. I was so zonked that it barely registered in my brain, and I pretended I hadn’t heard it at all. She nudged me and said, Mom, it’s Roger again. I didn’t budge and told her to just let it go to voicemail. I’d call him back later when I eventually woke up. When I finally crawled out of bed, I was groggy and felt hungover from the trip, but I looked at my phone and realized there were at least 20 missed calls, mostly from Roger. I knew I’d better call him back right away. I couldn’t imagine why he’d been calling since early in the morning, especially since this was only his second day at his brand new job.

He answered on the first ring, and it sounded like he’d been crying and couldn’t quite catch his breath. I was instantly concerned and asked him what was wrong, and he said, Can you believe it? I said, Believe what? What’s wrong? He was crying again and having a hard time getting the words out of his mouth. Haven’t you seen the news? I had no idea what he was talking about, and I was trying to understand why he was so upset. I was making a pot of coffee and I stopped as I heard him say that the Twin Towers had been blown up and that terrorists had flown airplanes into different buildings. I sat down on the floor and motioned for Miranda to come and sit next to me. Roger was telling me that hundreds of people had been killed and all he could hear were sirens and helicopters.

He said he was scared out of his mind. It felt like someone had sucked all the air out of the room as I began to process what he was saying. He didn’t have many details or know if it was over or not. There was nothing more either of us could say. I had no idea how to comfort him but told him to hang tight, that Miranda and I would be there soon. After we hung up, I plugged in one of the TVs, but I’d already canceled the cable service, so we couldn’t get a single station to come in. I turned on the radio then, and started to hear the reporters talking about the horrific scene and relaying some of the details. I quickly turned it off because Miranda looked like she was starting to panic. She was asking me if that’s where we were moving. I tried to reassure her that we weren’t going to be right there in the city, but my stomach was in knots, and fear welled up inside. Somehow, we’d get through this. Everything would be okay, we had each other.

I called the moving company to see if anything had changed on their end. After several transfers to various departments, I was told that they had no idea how long we might be delayed as all traffic toward that area had been paused temporarily. It was a crazy, scary time for everyone that day. All I could think to do was to keep busy. We had at least three days to finish packing and I figured that would be more than enough time. Packing was a welcome distraction for us. Folding, stuffing, wrapping, taping the boxes shut, and labeling them kept us busy. We had two female cats from the same litter that we’d adopted as kittens. Sassy and Snuggles were Miranda’s YaYas, as she’d called them when she was little, and she was crazy about them. They followed her everywhere. Instinctively they seemed to know something was up as we continued packing and carrying box after box into the den. Roger and I exchanged several more calls and text messages over the course of the next few days. His new employer had shut down the company for the week, so he’d been spending a lot of time alone.

I knew he was anxious for us to get there. Finally, on Wednesday, the moving company called to tell us the good news that they would be able to come the next day to load up all our belongings and make the trek to New Jersey. We were nervous and excited at the same time. Miranda and I finished packing everything up and gathered all the stuff we’d be taking with us in the car for the long road trip, being sure to pack up our favorite snacks, her pillows and blankets, and the special stuffed animals she carried with her everywhere. The vet had given me a few tranquilizers for the cats because they were house cats, not fond of going on any length of car trip whatsoever, so I was pretty sure they weren’t going to enjoy this one bit. The back seat was jam-packed, and I had no idea how we’d get the rest of the stuff crammed in there with us, but soon we were on our way. New Jersey or bust!

Fortunately, my new job didn’t start until October 1st, so I had a couple of weeks to get Miranda registered and situated in her new school, and to start learning our way around this scary, but exciting new area. I really thought I was the luckiest woman on earth with Roger being the love of my life, my soulmate, and all that jazz. I had created a fairy tale life in my head, a life we’d share together with Miranda. Roger had claimed to love her almost as much as he loved me. He had been married once before but didn’t have any children of his own. Over the year that we’d been dating, he’d always been very kind to her, and his entire family had seemed warm and welcoming, being sure to include Miranda in every family gathering. It was all very romantic back then. Everyone that I introduced him to while we were dating seemed to instantly love him.

He was tall, dark, handsome, well-educated, and came from a great family. He shared my love of dancing, which was incredibly rare. We met online through a dating site, with neither of us expecting to find the love of our lives, but here we were. It seemed like we truly were a perfect match. We had so much fun together and hit it off almost immediately. He took me on romantic getaways, told me again and again how beautiful I was, and that he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. I mean, it all seemed so perfect. My happily ever after was finally coming true. What could possibly go wrong?

When we decided to start our new lives together by moving to a small town in New Jersey, not far from Manhattan, it seemed like a great way to kick off the beginning of everything we had talked about. We had big dreams, and agreed that living near NYC was a very exciting part of making those dreams a reality. I was all in. I had cashed out my entire savings, including my retirement, to pay for the move. I contributed more than half the cost of the wedding ceremony, our brief but blissful honeymoon, the gorgeous wedding rings, my princess-style gown, complete with tiara, and all the other happily ever after stuff that goes with a whirlwind romance like ours. We had a gorgeous, intimate little wedding at a beautiful resort in Las Vegas that featured a stunning waterfall backdrop. My best friend and her new husband joined us as our only witnesses. It was all very much like what I imagined to be a true fairy tale. None of it was cheap, but I truly believed this was the beginning of the rest of our lives.

Fairy tale bride complete with waterfall backdrop and tiara

When Roger abruptly announced one day out of the blue that he’d made a huge mistake and wanted to end things, it felt like someone had kicked me right smack in the middle of my chest.

I couldn’t breathe.

CHAPTER

TWO

Fractured Fairy Tale

I was completely devastated. We were both grappling with all sorts of life-changing events. He couldn’t have picked a worse time to drop that bomb. As I started my new job as the director of public relations for a major hospital in the area, I contemplated ways to help him work through his anxiety about our new marriage. He’d been on edge since Miranda and I had arrived that first week. I thought he was still adjusting and feeling freaked out about what had happened. It was a lot to take in and there were so many changes to process all at once.

Undaunted by the complications from the terrorist attack and the ongoing fallout from that, I commuted back and forth daily on one of the busiest bridges in the city. There