Even Sasquatches want to throw rocks at Candy!

[fundyduddy]

Go read the craziness over at Candy's blog today. She's posted her life story part 1!

joyfulchristianhomemaking.com/

Favorite part:

When I didn't have school, I would take off into the woods all day. I never got lost, because I would follow game trails. I had some strange encounters in the woods. One day, stones and small rocks were being thrown at me, but there wasn't any person around. I was in the middle of the woods, and felt like an animal was stalking me. I knew animals couldn't throw rocks, but I also knew there was no person there. I now believe it was a sasquatch. Many researchers claim sasquatches throw rocks at people, perhaps to be territorial.

[keen23]

She's nuts. Flat out nuts. I wouldn't be surprised it it was something like acorns falling out of the trees, or some other real life explanation.

[fundiefan]

Nah. It was god. He was trying to get her attention because he knew even then she was to be his representative on earth. How else would all the pagans, heathens and Catholics learn the TRUTH?

[Jessica]

Here it is, because you know she'll take it down eventually.

**********************************

Dear reader,

I have been considering writing my story for a while now. To be completely frank, what has stopped me, is that if I’m going to do this, I’m going to be a bit vulnerable, and I don’t like feeling vulnerable. I would hope that those interested, and who read, will remember that I am a human being on the other side of this keyboard, and I am putting myself out there. I was still unsure if I wanted to do this, but then at church yesterday, the sermon ended up being about telling our stories. Here’s mine, then…

My parents were married for several years before I came along. They wanted children, and their hearts were willing to hold more than one child, but one was all the Good Lord gave them. I was an only child. My father had dark brown hair, and my mother - black. Both parents had a bit of Indian in their lineage, along with British, and perhaps a touch of German. It was a surprise to both my parents, when they first saw their little girl. I was born with red hair.

Perhaps my hair color was the first noticeable thing different about me. I am different, but I think it's in a good way.

Soon, my parents moved to another state, where my father got a better job, in the same field, but with a bigger company, and with better pay. My childhood was spent in that state. As I left babyhood and entered toddler hood, my hair changed color. I became a little blonde girl.

My hair stayed blondish until around the age of five, then it started darkening, and over several years, came to the color I have now.

We lived in a nice little mobile home park for a while. It had a pool, club house, and nice playground. We stayed there until I was around 6. One day, when I was 2, my dad was at work, and a tornado hit. My mom had no where to go, and at that time didn't have her license, or know how to drive. She watched the tornado approach, and took the best cover she could, with me, in the mobile home. The tornado jumped over our home. It destroyed the mobile homes on both sides of ours, but ours was untouched.

I have a few memories from a preschool my parents would drop me off at. I remember being served cooked spinach for the first time, and thinking it was super gross and slimy. I also remember a long haired girl taking me to use the bathroom, and her hair was straight, parted in the center, no bangs, and VERY long. I wanted long hair like that, too.

When I was around 4 years old, I remember my dad was working the night shift at his job, so most nights it was just mom and I. One night, I was awakened by some noise, and saw a tattooed, long haired man in leather, walking down the hall and yelling. He then came into my bedroom, and started rummaging through my dresser drawers. I quietly slid out of bed, and went underneath my bed to hide.

Soon, he left to another room, or outside for something. My mom ran into the room, and I came out. She had me follow her, and I hid under her bed. She laid on her bed, and arranged a cord around her, to look like she was tied up. The robbers had tied her to the bed with a vacuum cord, while they rummaged and pillaged our home. At first chance, my mom got loose, and went and got me. The robbers had a truck outside, and were loading much of my parent's possessions into the truck.

Our neighbor came out to see what was going on, and they shot him in the head, and he died on the spot. After the robbers left, mom called my dad, and the police. All through the rest of my childhood, I suspect she had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She would sleep walk at night, and scream in terror, and hit the walls. She never left her bedroom during these episodes, and they would only last a few minutes most of the time. I got used to it.

One morning, she woke up with her front tooth missing. She had no idea how that happened. I'm thinking maybe she walked into something, or fell during her sleep walk.

In kindergarten, I remember getting picked on for the first time. I don't know why, didn't understand what the girl was talking about, or why she was mean to me. We were friends, then she turned on me, just like that. I clearly remember her name, and exactly how she looked. Years later, I ran into her, after moving away, and was surprised that she was nice. I thought she didn't like me anymore. I didn't want to resume a friendship, because I didn't want her to be mean to me again. She seemed very weird to me.

The neighborhood paperboy was weird, too. One day, he pushed me down, and rode my own bike across my chest. I had no idea why he would do that, so I just laid there, and thought about how the pressure on my chest didn't hurt as badly as I would have expected. After he ran me over, I got up, and asked for my bike back. He looked at me strangely, gave me my bike, and left me alone.

A teenaged boy showed himself to me - yes, that. I turned tail and ran. I sensed that was wrong, and that he wasn't a good boy. I stayed away from him.

When I was in first grade, we moved to the Rocky Mountains, where we lived in the woods, off of a dirt road, at about 9,500 feet elevation. I LOVED it. Over the years, I learned how to carve, forage, build shelter, find water, find caves, and more. When I didn't have school, I would take off into the woods all day. I never got lost, because I would follow game trails. I had some strange encounters in the woods. One day, stones and small rocks were being thrown at me, but there wasn't any person around. I was in the middle of the woods, and felt like an animal was stalking me. I knew animals couldn't throw rocks, but I also knew there was no person there. I now believe it was a sasquatch. Many researchers claim sasquatches throw rocks at people, perhaps to be territorial.

One day, I found a shed - right in the middle of the woods. It looked like a bear tore into it, and took some food. I looked inside the shed. There was a cot, a camping toilet, canned food, and lots of guns and ammo on shelves on the wall. I stayed away from that shed, and kept it a secret. I didn't want anyone to find it and take stuff, and get hurt or in trouble.

On another day, I found an underground structure that was partially becoming exposed due to years of erosion. I couldn't find the complete door to open it, so I left it alone, but it was a fascinating find.

I found a spot once, where someone must have dumped a lot of their junk. I found working Christmas lights, old doors, and all sorts of interesting, discarded things. One day, I found a pond in the middle of the woods, that it seemed only I knew about. That became my special place.

Meanwhile, school was pure hell. It was torture. People acted weird, said things they didn't mean, and did things they said they wouldn't do. It felt like I was in a world of liars. In fact, I used to question if I somehow came from another planet. For years, that was my joke - I came from another planet - only, I often felt half serious about it. I just didn't fit in, and I had trouble deciphering people. My school peers called me "weird" all the time, but they were the weird ones. I meant what I said, and said what I meant. Why didn't they? I couldn't tell when they were telling the truth, and when they weren't. My life in public school was fraught with constantly watching my back, so as not to get a sign on my back, or gum in my hair, watching where I walked, so as not to be tripped by a foot extended out, and keeping my books and my bag or backpack with me constantly, because my stuff was often stolen and vandalized. I considered school an unsafe place, where I couldn't relax, and could trust no one.

Meanwhile, I would regularly get punished by teachers, parents of other children, and my parents, and most of the time I had no idea why. I'm sure they thought whatever I did was obvious, but I didn't know. I honestly had no idea. In my world, it looked like adults were unbalanced and dangerous. One moment, everything is fine, and the next, I am being yelled at, sent to time out, being denied treats, or getting spanked.

Certainly, sometimes I knew what I did, but a good amount of the time, it just looked to me like I was being cruely treated by various adults, and I didn't understand why. I can't explain it more than that, because that's all I perceived then, so that's all I remember now.

In later years, boys would ask me out. One of them was considered "popular." I have no idea if these were jokes or real, but I didn't trust them, so it didn't matter. My answer was "no," and to leave me alone. It didn't matter how "cute" I thought they were. They were untrustworthy.

I made a small off and on circle of friends, which usually consisted mostly or completely of boys. They weren't as weird, and usually made more sense. Girls were totally strange to me. They'd whisper in one another's ear, have strange laughs, and say something, but act opposite to what they said.

I struggled in school. If I could just read the book, and have straight forward assignments, I was fine, but the teachers would stand and yap, yap, yap, and then the assignments were to read parts of the book, then do parts of the assignments, but do this instead of that, etc. I tried, but I couldn't absorb what the teachers were saying during their lectures. Because of my distrust in the hostile environment, I ended up with selective mutism. I didn't know what that was, then. I just knew that when teachers would call on me to answer questions, or reprimand me for not asking for help with my assignments, I would be crying out inside that I couldn't talk. I was scared to death. Dangle me by my foot off of a high bridge, and I wouldn't have been more scared.

My selective mutism was ridiculous, and I knew it. I knew if I tried really hard, I could overcome it, but I chose not to. I had no interest in it - when at school. Outside of school, I was so different that I'm told I actually looked visibly different. I was relaxed and happy, and not at all mute.

One day I met a new family who lived about a half mile down the dirt road from me. I used to go to that house sometimes, because an old man used to live there, and he'd give me candy. Well, he moved, and a young family moved in. The mother was pretty, modest, and feminine, and she introduced me to her children. They were NICE. Up to that time, I had never met such nice, loving children. I asked why I never saw those children at school, and the mother said it was because they were home schooled. I had never heard of that, and asked what that was, and she happily explained it to me. Wow.

I went home that afternoon, and went up to my mom.

"Mom, will you PLEASE homeschool me?" I described the family I met. My mom said she just didn't feel like that was something she was able to do, and even though my father was a very smart man, he had to work, so he wouldn't be able to do it, either. I begged, and I cried. I saw a possible exit from the hell I was exposed to at school, but the door slammed shut. I was stuck - at least, for a while longer.

********************************

(and it just gets weirder from here, peepz!)

[polecat]

Here it is, because you know she'll take it down eventually.

**********************************

Dear reader,

I have been considering writing my story for a while now. To be completely frank, what has stopped me, is that if I’m going to do this, I’m going to be a bit vulnerable, and I don’t like feeling vulnerable. I would hope that those interested, and who read, will remember that I am a human being on the other side of this keyboard, and I am putting myself out there. I was still unsure if I wanted to do this, but then at church yesterday, the sermon ended up being about telling our stories. Here’s mine, then…

My parents were married for several years before I came along. They wanted children, and their hearts were willing to hold more than one child, but one was all the Good Lord gave them. I was an only child. My father had dark brown hair, and my mother - black. Both parents had a bit of Indian in their lineage, along with British, and perhaps a touch of German. It was a surprise to both my parents, when they first saw their little girl. I was born with red hair.

Perhaps my hair color was the first noticeable thing different about me. I am different, but I think it's in a good way.

Soon, my parents moved to another state, where my father got a better job, in the same field, but with a bigger company, and with better pay. My childhood was spent in that state. As I left babyhood and entered toddler hood, my hair changed color. I became a little blonde girl.

My hair stayed blondish until around the age of five, then it started darkening, and over several years, came to the color I have now.

We lived in a nice little mobile home park for a while. It had a pool, club house, and nice playground. We stayed there until I was around 6. One day, when I was 2, my dad was at work, and a tornado hit. My mom had no where to go, and at that time didn't have her license, or know how to drive. She watched the tornado approach, and took the best cover she could, with me, in the mobile home. The tornado jumped over our home. It destroyed the mobile homes on both sides of ours, but ours was untouched.

I have a few memories from a preschool my parents would drop me off at. I remember being served cooked spinach for the first time, and thinking it was super gross and slimy. I also remember a long haired girl taking me to use the bathroom, and her hair was straight, parted in the center, no bangs, and VERY long. I wanted long hair like that, too.

When I was around 4 years old, I remember my dad was working the night shift at his job, so most nights it was just mom and I. One night, I was awakened by some noise, and saw a tattooed, long haired man in leather, walking down the hall and yelling. He then came into my bedroom, and started rummaging through my dresser drawers. I quietly slid out of bed, and went underneath my bed to hide.

Soon, he left to another room, or outside for something. My mom ran into the room, and I came out. She had me follow her, and I hid under her bed. She laid on her bed, and arranged a cord around her, to look like she was tied up. The robbers had tied her to the bed with a vacuum cord, while they rummaged and pillaged our home. At first chance, my mom got loose, and went and got me. The robbers had a truck outside, and were loading much of my parent's possessions into the truck.

Our neighbor came out to see what was going on, and they shot him in the head, and he died on the spot. After the robbers left, mom called my dad, and the police. All through the rest of my childhood, I suspect she had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She would sleep walk at night, and scream in terror, and hit the walls. She never left her bedroom during these episodes, and they would only last a few minutes most of the time. I got used to it.

One morning, she woke up with her front tooth missing. She had no idea how that happened. I'm thinking maybe she walked into something, or fell during her sleep walk.

In kindergarten, I remember getting picked on for the first time. I don't know why, didn't understand what the girl was talking about, or why she was mean to me. We were friends, then she turned on me, just like that. I clearly remember her name, and exactly how she looked. Years later, I ran into her, after moving away, and was surprised that she was nice. I thought she didn't like me anymore. I didn't want to resume a friendship, because I didn't want her to be mean to me again. She seemed very weird to me.

The neighborhood paperboy was weird, too. One day, he pushed me down, and rode my own bike across my chest. I had no idea why he would do that, so I just laid there, and thought about how the pressure on my chest didn't hurt as badly as I would have expected. After he ran me over, I got up, and asked for my bike back. He looked at me strangely, gave me my bike, and left me alone.

A teenaged boy showed himself to me - yes, that. I turned tail and ran. I sensed that was wrong, and that he wasn't a good boy. I stayed away from him.

When I was in first grade, we moved to the Rocky Mountains, where we lived in the woods, off of a dirt road, at about 9,500 feet elevation. I LOVED it. Over the years, I learned how to carve, forage, build shelter, find water, find caves, and more. When I didn't have school, I would take off into the woods all day. I never got lost, because I would follow game trails. I had some strange encounters in the woods. One day, stones and small rocks were being thrown at me, but there wasn't any person around. I was in the middle of the woods, and felt like an animal was stalking me. I knew animals couldn't throw rocks, but I also knew there was no person there. I now believe it was a sasquatch. Many researchers claim sasquatches throw rocks at people, perhaps to be territorial.

One day, I found a shed - right in the middle of the woods. It looked like a bear tore into it, and took some food. I looked inside the shed. There was a cot, a camping toilet, canned food, and lots of guns and ammo on shelves on the wall. I stayed away from that shed, and kept it a secret. I didn't want anyone to find it and take stuff, and get hurt or in trouble.

On another day, I found an underground structure that was partially becoming exposed due to years of erosion. I couldn't find the complete door to open it, so I left it alone, but it was a fascinating find.

I found a spot once, where someone must have dumped a lot of their junk. I found working Christmas lights, old doors, and all sorts of interesting, discarded things. One day, I found a pond in the middle of the woods, that it seemed only I knew about. That became my special place.

Meanwhile, school was pure hell. It was torture. People acted weird, said things they didn't mean, and did things they said they wouldn't do. It felt like I was in a world of liars. In fact, I used to question if I somehow came from another planet. For years, that was my joke - I came from another planet - only, I often felt half serious about it. I just didn't fit in, and I had trouble deciphering people. My school peers called me "weird" all the time, but they were the weird ones. I meant what I said, and said what I meant. Why didn't they? I couldn't tell when they were telling the truth, and when they weren't. My life in public school was fraught with constantly watching my back, so as not to get a sign on my back, or gum in my hair, watching where I walked, so as not to be tripped by a foot extended out, and keeping my books and my bag or backpack with me constantly, because my stuff was often stolen and vandalized. I considered school an unsafe place, where I couldn't relax, and could trust no one.

Meanwhile, I would regularly get punished by teachers, parents of other children, and my parents, and most of the time I had no idea why. I'm sure they thought whatever I did was obvious, but I didn't know. I honestly had no idea. In my world, it looked like adults were unbalanced and dangerous. One moment, everything is fine, and the next, I am being yelled at, sent to time out, being denied treats, or getting spanked.

Certainly, sometimes I knew what I did, but a good amount of the time, it just looked to me like I was being cruely treated by various adults, and I didn't understand why. I can't explain it more than that, because that's all I perceived then, so that's all I remember now.

In later years, boys would ask me out. One of them was considered "popular." I have no idea if these were jokes or real, but I didn't trust them, so it didn't matter. My answer was "no," and to leave me alone. It didn't matter how "cute" I thought they were. They were untrustworthy.

I made a small off and on circle of friends, which usually consisted mostly or completely of boys. They weren't as weird, and usually made more sense. Girls were totally strange to me. They'd whisper in one another's ear, have strange laughs, and say something, but act opposite to what they said.

I struggled in school. If I could just read the book, and have straight forward assignments, I was fine, but the teachers would stand and yap, yap, yap, and then the assignments were to read parts of the book, then do parts of the assignments, but do this instead of that, etc. I tried, but I couldn't absorb what the teachers were saying during their lectures. Because of my distrust in the hostile environment, I ended up with selective mutism. I didn't know what that was, then. I just knew that when teachers would call on me to answer questions, or reprimand me for not asking for help with my assignments, I would be crying out inside that I couldn't talk. I was scared to death. Dangle me by my foot off of a high bridge, and I wouldn't have been more scared.

My selective mutism was ridiculous, and I knew it. I knew if I tried really hard, I could overcome it, but I chose not to. I had no interest in it - when at school. Outside of school, I was so different that I'm told I actually looked visibly different. I was relaxed and happy, and not at all mute.

One day I met a new family who lived about a half mile down the dirt road from me. I used to go to that house sometimes, because an old man used to live there, and he'd give me candy. Well, he moved, and a young family moved in. The mother was pretty, modest, and feminine, and she introduced me to her children. They were NICE. Up to that time, I had never met such nice, loving children. I asked why I never saw those children at school, and the mother said it was because they were home schooled. I had never heard of that, and asked what that was, and she happily explained it to me. Wow.

I went home that afternoon, and went up to my mom.

"Mom, will you PLEASE homeschool me?" I described the family I met. My mom said she just didn't feel like that was something she was able to do, and even though my father was a very smart man, he had to work, so he wouldn't be able to do it, either. I begged, and I cried. I saw a possible exit from the hell I was exposed to at school, but the door slammed shut. I was stuck - at least, for a while longer.

********************************

(and it just gets weirder from here, peepz!)

Wow, that's honestly just heartbreaking.

[ExLuther]

Holy shit! I see posts about Candy all of the time but I never read her blog prior to this entry. Is she serious?

[ViolaSebastian]

I could think only of this:

[Trynn]

Ummm following game trails in the woods only made me MORE lost and I was told one shouldn't do it anyway. Am I the only one?

[SoybeanQueen]

This made me laugh so hard! My nephew and I watched one of those horrible sasquatch hunting documentaries a few years ago, and ever since, we make up stuff about what sasquatches do and like. Because if the sasquatch experts can make that stuff up, so can we!

Every once in a while, during an ordinary conversation, one of us will mention that sasquatches prefer whatever item we're discussing. Last week, it was fruit-scented hair gel. Sasquatches love that stuff. They also enjoy watermelon (seedless), the smell of cattle in the distance, the way the air feels just before it rains, and chicken salad with grapes and pecans.

[polecat]

Holy shit! I see posts about Candy all of the time but I never read her blog prior to this entry. Is she serious?

I suspect some of it is real, some of it is highly embellished and some of it is simply a figment of her imagination. She has extremely elementary story-telling experiences, and she seems to be desperately trying to cull sympathy. It's sad to read on several levels, but I suspect that this was a sad, lost little girl who created an entire world of imaginings to protect herself from what she feared and give her power when she had none.

Note: I don't usually read her nor am I actually a psychoanalyst. This was just my impression.

[fundyduddy]

Part 2 is up today. She reveals that she was molested by a "trusted relative". If even part of her story is honest, she had a very sad life as a child.

[polecat]

Part 2 is up today. She reveals that she was molested by a "trusted relative". If even part of her story is honest, she had a very sad life as a child.

Is it even possible to break a toddler's arm by putting a shirt on? I have had toddlers fall off their beds, jump off the couch and heck, tumble down the stairs and not one broken arm (or other part, knock on wood). I suspect her dad's arm was not broken the way the family history claims it was. :cry:

[Cran]

I haven't heard of toddlers' arms being broken in this way, but I have heard of several cases where inexperienced parents broke their newborn's arm in this manner, without any intention to abuse or hurt the child.

That doesn't mean I believe Candy's account of events, far from it. I've already written in the other Candy-thread that I think her post to be highly embellished and in parts explicit lies.

[Georgiana]

As a member of the Old Candy Guard, I must humbly request that we take her story with more than a few grains of salt. This is somewhere between the 3rd and the 5th Candy Life Story that I have read, and (surprise, surprise) it doesn't resemble any of the previous ones.

The only thing that I believe has remained consistent is that she's an only child. So that's good. She isn't making up actual people.

However, please remember that Candy has claimed to be BRILLIANT. Did REALLY WELL in school. Had a HIGH POWERED CAREER AT IBM.

But then she diagnosed herself with Aspergers. So now she has those traits and trouble with the social aspect of school.

I don't remember other particulars, though perhaps other members of the Guard can help, but she has always depicted her childhood as happy (and Sasquatch-free). And never with this much emphasis on nature/mystical nature/mythic beings.

This is an old Candy trick, friends. She is re-writing her past to match with her new ideas of who she is. Now that she's all AnnaMatrix'd up, she needs a childhood to match. And here it is.

I'm sympathetic because I think there are some things very, very wrong with Candy. But I don't think you'll find them in this account.

[fundiefan]

Once a victim, always a victim. Poor Candy. "Woe is me. Why does everyone hate me so?".

Whatever, Candy. Your reputation precedss you. At best, there is serious embellishment. At worst (and most likely) there is a lying liar who lies attempting to gain attention and spread her version of salvation. "See, I was doomed from the start but now I am saved and you, too, can be just like me if you just listen to me and do what I say".

[Jessica]

Part 2

******************************

Much of Elementary school is a blur. I remember being put into the school counselor's office, and being tested. I was asked dumb questions, like "Candy, are you a girl or a boy?" I responded that I had thought it obvious that I was a girl, but if they couldn't tell, then perhaps I should work on my appearance. They were trying to label me with something, but my mind, personality, and reactions just didn't fit anything they knew of at that time, and as there is nothing wrong mentally with me, there's nothing mental that can be put on me. I'm different, and I'm harmless. That's okay.

I failed the ink blot test. The school psychologist wanted me to tell them completely honestly what each ink blot looked like. They all looked like trees.

What's the name of the test, where you are shown a picture, and you make up a story about it? Well, I flunked that one, too. The psychologist who gave me that particular test changed my innocent stories into perverted ones, and I told him his stories were disgusting, and I wouldn't come up with such atrocities. He responded by telling me that I spoke very intelligently, and was quite advanced and mature for my age. (Then, why did they put me in Special Ed, I wondered.)

Yes, Special Ed. You see, I was taken out of class for these therapy sessions, which my parents had repeatedly said "no" to, to the school, and then I'd fall behind on my school work. Having no friends, and being scared of my teachers (some of them were not so nice), I had no one to catch me up. So... They put me in special ed, where I spent my time reading stories to younger children. I could have and should have taken the initiative and self-taught to catch up, but I didn't care. I had no commitment. I was not in school by choice, and it really felt like a prison to me. I was just trying to make it day by day, and then trying not to think about school when I wasn't there.

Off and on through the years, I'd ask my parents if we could go to church. The answer was always "no." Mom's family was "Methodist," so mom said that's what she and I were, as well, but we never attended church. Mom's family was "Methodist," because that's what their kin were, so 'we were too, by blood.' I don't know that my mom and her family ever attended church, either. They didn't have a phone or car, because my mom's dad was an alchoholic and was often inebriated. He died before I was born - his liver gave out. My dad's side - well, that was confusing. His dad wasn't very literate, but he was a pastor. My dad was born with a cleft palette, and they believed that was a sign that my dad was devil possessed. Gee, never mind the Epilepsy medication his mom was on when pregnant with him. Hmmm. Anyhow, he was neglected and mistreated. One time, when he was very young, he got a cut on his nose. No one took care of it, and he ended up getting flesh eating bacteria, and had to have his nose surgically reconstructed. One time, his arm was broken when someone was putting his shirt on him. I believe he was somewhere around the age of 2.

Around that time (age 2), he was removed from his home, where he bounced from foster home to foster home, until he finally landed in a good one when he was 16. They are my grandparents on my dad's side. His birth parents would have nothing to do with me. One time a trusted relative took me on a road trip and vacation. My parents thought it would be good for me. I had red flags. I did not feel comfortable around this relative, and my parents couldn't understand what the big deal was. They probably thought I was being bratty. Anyhow, one of our stops was to see my dad's parents. They stayed on the opposite side of the room from me, didn't talk to me, and barely looked at me.

Meanwhile, on said trip, the 'trusted relative' was molesting me. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't know how to get him to stop. One day, I decided I was going to hurt him and run, if he touched me ever again. With a knife in my pocket, and my hand around it, I told him to NEVER touch me again, and I warned him. He backed off.

I am not scarred or at all ruined from that happening to me. I felt empowered that I made it stop, and I took control. I forgave him after I got saved, years later, and contacted him and told him so. He cried. The immense guilt he had carried all of those years must had been severe. He was happy to hear my testimony of salvation, and he proclaimed that he had a saving faith, as well. He was washed in the blood of the Lamb for his sin, and I forgave him, too. At the time of my contacting him, this relative was very sick. Several months after I told him I forgave him, his body gave out, and he died. Forgiving someone not only helps them, but it helps you more. If someone has done something bad to you, don't hold on to it. Forgive them. Even if it seems to make no difference for them, it will for you.

[DGayle]

Someone in the comments internet-diagnosed her with autism. It wasn't a suggestion, just a declaration.

Part 2 is up. Interesting to read. Does anyone whose been following her know if she's ever said stuff to contradict this? In all honestly, I usually believe people who claim abuse because so many people won't, especially if charges weren't ever pressed.

[DGayle]

Is it even possible to break a toddler's arm by putting a shirt on? I have had toddlers fall off their beds, jump off the couch and heck, tumble down the stairs and not one broken arm (or other part, knock on wood). I suspect her dad's arm was not broken the way the family history claims it was. :cry:

What I got out of that is the toddler broke an arm, and all that was done was a t-shirt wrapped around it. If you're really rough with a small body, you can break bones. They're resilient, but a quick snap can do it.

[DGayle]

As a member of the Old Candy Guard, I must humbly request that we take her story with more than a few grains of salt. This is somewhere between the 3rd and the 5th Candy Life Story that I have read, and (surprise, surprise) it doesn't resemble any of the previous ones.

The only thing that I believe has remained consistent is that she's an only child. So that's good. She isn't making up actual people.

However, please remember that Candy has claimed to be BRILLIANT. Did REALLY WELL in school. Had a HIGH POWERED CAREER AT IBM.

But then she diagnosed herself with Aspergers. So now she has those traits and trouble with the social aspect of school.

I don't remember other particulars, though perhaps other members of the Guard can help, but she has always depicted her childhood as happy (and Sasquatch-free). And never with this much emphasis on nature/mystical nature/mythic beings.

This is an old Candy trick, friends. She is re-writing her past to match with her new ideas of who she is. Now that she's all AnnaMatrix'd up, she needs a childhood to match. And here it is.

I'm sympathetic because I think there are some things very, very wrong with Candy. But I don't think you'll find them in this account.

Do you have some of these links? My natural reaction to certain things is to believe them, especially about abuse, at least until I have a reason not to, like evidence of them saying something entirely different happened instead.

[fundiefan]

Do you have some of these links? My natural reaction to certain things is to believe them, especially about abuse, at least until I have a reason not to, like evidence of them saying something entirely different happened instead.

No, there are no links. Candy won't keep archives. Too much evidence.

[nelliebelle1197]

Do you have some of these links? My natural reaction to certain things is to believe them, especially about abuse, at least until I have a reason not to, like evidence of them saying something entirely different happened instead.

You can check archives here and on the Yuku board- the archives might help

[fundyduddy]

Part 3 is up: joyfulchristianhomemaking.com

In today's chapter, she experiences a near death experience where God transports her from her bed into the living room and speaks to her.

I was in bed, and I was having that particular thought before I went to sleep. Now let me tell you - I didn't know the Gospel, I didn't know why Jesus died, but I did figure there was a God out there somewhere. Although I should have been old enough to be around the age of accountability, I was innocent still, because I never heard the Gospel at that point - AT ALL. I was clueless. Anyhow, I woke up and sat straight up. I could tell I could possibly be very deathly ill. God made me appear standing in the middle of the living room. I looked up and saw something like a floating pool of golden light in the ceiling. God's voice came from there. He asked me to think about if I really meant what I always wished when I was depressed. He said he would make that wish come true, and I could go be with Him right away, if I wanted to.

[Cran]

Of course she had a birth defect and so much pain during childhood.

It's like she read a handbook "How to garner sympathy from clueless people" and applied all tips at once to her life story.

[Jessica]

Part 3

************************************

I was born with a congenital problem, involving one of my internal organs. It is not genetic, and therefore cannot be passed to my children or my future descendants. In third world countries, children die from this, so I thank the Good Lord I was born in America, where this problem can be corrected. I had years of medications, discomfort, and doctor visits. Finally, when I was 11, it was determined to fix my internal problem with surgery.

What was supposed to be a two day stay in the hospital ended up being six, because of some complications. It took a few months to heal, post surgery, and I had daily excruciating pain just about the whole time.

Some time after my surgery, when I was fully recovered and pain free, but I think before I was a teen, I fell into a deep depression. I used to get depressed off and on a lot before I got saved. My salvation didn't happen until years later. When I would get depressed, I would repeatedly say "I wish I was ---." To fill in the blank, think morbid. Because of what happened to me on a certain fateful night, I never said that phrase again...

I was in bed, and I was having that particular thought before I went to sleep. Now let me tell you - I didn't know the Gospel, I didn't know why Jesus died, but I did figure there was a God out there somewhere. Although I should have been old enough to be around the age of accountability, I was innocent still, because I never heard the Gospel at that point - AT ALL. I was clueless. Anyhow, I woke up and sat straight up. I could tell I could possibly be very deathly ill. God made me appear standing in the middle of the living room. I looked up and saw something like a floating pool of golden light in the ceiling. God's voice came from there. He asked me to think about if I really meant what I always wished when I was depressed. He said he would make that wish come true, and I could go be with Him right away, if I wanted to.

I thought it over for a moment, and thought of how sad my passing would make my parents. I said I didn't mean it, and I wanted to live. I was then back in my bed, and could tell I was healthy, and all was well. I NEVER wished that morbid thing ever again. And my bouts of depression after that weren't as bad.

That was my near death experience. The Lord gave me a reality check.

********************

:roll: to the bolded.

[Georgiana]

Do you have some of these links? My natural reaction to certain things is to believe them, especially about abuse, at least until I have a reason not to, like evidence of them saying something entirely different happened instead.

As Fundiefan said, Candy intentionally scrubs her blog frequently so that people cannot call her out on her lies, half truths, and other sorts of less than truthful behavior.

But there were two websites created just because Candy is such a liar (Candy is a Liar and Sweeping the Cobwebs). These websites did not attract all the traffic and activity they did because Candy told the truth. In my time reading her blog, I have watched Candy lie about her diet, her dress, her exercise routine, her weight, her house, her husband, her education, a whole slough of medical conditions (that would just suddenly vanish and then be denied later), her financial situation, her lifestyle, and I'm sure I'm missing a few.

Basically, if Candy posted about it, Candy lied about it.

Is it possible that she is just now admitting the abuse? Sure (though her reaction is....different). But Candy is a lying liar who lies all the time, and I wouldn't believe this any more than I would believe that Sasquatches were throwing rocks at her or that the government was monitoring their house because of Wunderhubbee's genius. You can't believe a word that woman types, whether about this or about anything else.