Natalie Parkerson

While Cradle To The Grave might appear to be the condensed version of my life story, truth of the matter is that nobody really cares about the life story of Natalie Parkerson, and much might be said for the rest of us, to some degree.

This is why we aren't all getting our life stories published left and right or appearing on the New York Times best seller list for having landed the most chics and traveled the most countries.

The reason I've posted my life isn't to garner inordinate attention but to offer it as hope. We're all broken in places, some of those places are visible, some are not.

The message is, "Even you can be fixed, because 'even I' was."

My Life As Natalie Parkerson

Remember the bumper sticker, "Your mother dresses you funny." Okay, that was my life.

My grandmother had only 2 children; a boy and a girl. Both of these children were mentally ill. The male child, my uncle, spent his entire life living with my grandma. The female child, was of course, my mother.

My mother had me out of wedlock. She was mentally ill with an extraordinarily strange and skewed thought process. She was extremely violent and bizarre. She abhored me and resented me with every ounce of fiber in her. From the time I was even remotely sentient or cognizant, I recall her horrendous tyrannical tirades of endless abuse and her profound ripping at me both physically and emotionally.

She regularly referred to me as, "The Bad Seed," and "The Fuckin' Brat." She'd work herself into these inexplicable and bizarre psychotic frenzies and beat me mercilessly and without provocation. She had an insatiable lust for very violent horror films of every and all types and took me to view these twisted, bent, deviant films since I was old enough to breathe. Perhaps she had an inner blood lust and the films helped to contain it. I don't know.

My bedtime stories from her consisted of tales from the jungles where cannibals would hunt their victims and vampires were real.

She was promiscuous and often informed me that her new boyfriend [insert any name here] didn't like me and concurred with her that I'm a bad seed.

My 'other' father, the good father who adopted me, graduated from U.S.C., short of his Ph.D in clinical psychology and is currently a licensed psychotherapist. He likens my mother to the mother in the film "Carrie" or the mother in the film, "Sybil." He remarked that my mother was deranged. My mother was deranged, unquestionably and undeniably.

When she would dispute with my uncle, who was her brother, she'd storm out grandma's house, where he and I and grandma lived, and she'd take me aside before she got in her car and say, "Don't go to sleep. He's insane. He could very well cut your throat while you're sleeping."

Needless to say, I went to school everyday with no sleep. I was hooked on speed at the age of 16 because I sat up all night, terrified out of my mind that he would slit my throat like my mother said.

My biological father, who died at the age of 42, was also deranged and of vile character.

At the age of 3, my mother turned me over to the care of my grandmother and uncle. My uncle was also a batterer and often assaulted me, repeatedly.

We're Polish Jews, straight from from Poland, though I'm half Ukranian. My grandma was very Old World and knew nothing of fashion, young people or American culture. She spoke often of how she slept in the same bed with her 5 sisters. Consequently, I slept in the same bed with her until I could make a good enough living to get out of that house. Sleeping with her wasn't pleasant. She didn't wear underwear and when she urinated in the middle of the night and return to bed, she'd throw a leg over me to cuddle? and her urine would dribble onto me.

At the age of 17, I stopped coming home, given any chance to sleep elsewhere. That can't be a good thing.

My mother attempted to kill me when I was 16 years old by pushing me down a flight of stairs. Now keep in mind, I'm witholding all of these gruesome secrets because first off, I'm embarrassed and humiliated enough at school by the kids and secondly, I didn't really have the ability to recognize that it was so abnormal. I had nothing to compare it to. Finally, the most important reason to remain silent on the extraordinary abuse I suffered was a sheer, unadulterated terror and fear of my mother. She was really, really, psychotic and dangerous and kids weren't so protected by authorities in those days like they are today.

I was, however, removed from her care when she tried to murder me.

She was extremely, incredibly, beautiful. On the rare occasions, she actually attended any of my school functions, various kids would often ask, with shocked faces, "She's your mother?"

I'd reply, with great pride, 'Yes,' hoping that now, perhaps, I was worthy enough to become a part of their circle of friends.

My mother was a model and an actress and married to my step-father, John Lambrecht. He was involved with the Columbian Cartel. Educated as an attorney and dentist, he did not end up practicing either. He practiced many things, few of which were legal. He was a boisterous, loud mouth who hated children and was thoroughly indifferent to me. He was very handsome, as were all of my mother's lovers.

She found herself in an affair with David Carradine. She was very much in love with David. She inadvertently slipped once and mentioned this to me. Perhaps she was just brazen enough to go ahead and tell me, knowing I feared her. One summer, saturday afternoon, we were at the top of the stairs of her townhome. My grandma and uncle were out of state visiting relatives and I had to stay with my mother and John. She made everyday an event in pain tolerance but this particular day was a day a remember. She kept on me and on me and on me without end the entire day, badgering me, storming around, railing me, riding me, belittling me and I couldn't take it anymore and said, 'If you don't leave me alone, I'll tell John about David.'

Okay, now when I see scenes like this occur in movies, I know the next scene is the funeral of the idiot who threatened to tell.

My mother, grit her teeth, drooled a tad, looked me in the eye and without even a moment of consideration or thought, exclaimed, "Oh no you won't because I'll kill you first."

She then pushed me down a flight of stairs, dragged me into the bathroom where she began her attempt at smashing my head into the rather pointy corner of the bathroom countertop. When they asked her how it happened she remarked, "Natalie's been very depressed. She wasn't pay attention and fell." They did not believe her and that ended that.

When I left the hospital, 2 weeks later, an old friend phoned to invite me to the park to hang out. I agreed. When I got to the park, there she was, Thelma Houston. We had always been very good friends. We sat on a park bench near the street. Coincidentally, her brother showed up and brought us each a soda - in a bottle. I began to notice other people I knew, just kind of arriving. I thought nothing of it. My girlfriend asked, "Can I try your glasses on?" She then just removed them. Suddenly, came a tap on my shoulder and as I turned, I was punched directly in the face by a heavy set girl I didn't know. Behind her were 4 of my friends. Farther away, were other friends who came to watch. They beat me bloody, stole all my jewelry, broke my glasses and laughed as they all walked away.

When I later asked Thelma why she turned on me like that, she replied, "I had to. They found me first and knew we were friends and told me that if I didn't lead them to you, they would beat me." It was forgotten moments after it happened. One thing I always knew, I'm just as capable as 'they are' only I choose not to. When you realize this, forgiveness comes much easier.

I am most grateful to God that it happened just when it did. Had this same incident happened only 3 years later, there would be a death or two. When I was 19, I was a skilled, fearless fighter. I would have known exactly how escape that. Their first mistake was trying to look inconspicuous and natural - handing me that coke would have been their demise. What they didn't know was that I saw better up close without glasses. I was nearsighted and it wasn't severe.

I went down with that coke bottle in my hand. At 19, my foot would have connected with her pelvis like Gorilla glue on glass. The others didn't assault me, only the female gargantua they brought to help take me. The others watched with excitement, standing back. No other single, solitary thought would have passed as I connected her head to my coke bottle. Once she was down, I would have broke that bottle on the table and let the rest know, in no uncertain terms, whoever even thought to walk toward me, would die.

It was shocking in and of itself, how many passersby watched me take a fairly grueling beating while surrounded by 4 teens and police were never called. As it turned out, these girls had been looking for me for quite some time. They were under the erroneous impression that I had committed a lascivious act with the husband of one of them. They were not gang members or anything remotely close, just foolish, young girls, probably more emotionally troubled and abused than me, who, like I said, could have innocently died that day, hoping to level a score they never should have been involved in to start with.

What brought it to my attention that they had been looking for me was the weird and strange remark made by the "Beater," herself. While she was kicking me in the head, she began laughing and announced, "Even your mother say's your crazy."

Oh?

When I asked my mother with a bloody, beaten face, if anyone had come to the house she said they had. I then confronted her and asked her why she told a carload of girls, who were obviously out to jump me and beat me half to death, that I'm mentally ill -- WHEN, IN FACT, I'M NOT.

My mother claimed that because of the family ties to the Cartel, and other things (international trade of stolen gold and silver) that my mother was involved in and had forced me into as her accomplice, that she couldn't deal with police and thought that if she told them I was mentally ill, they'd leave me alone.

Now at this point something changes in me. I realize then that if I don't escape this entire household, I will not live. I was just not a violent person and I could never get angry enough to want to hurt anyone. That changed for a while. I wasn't a sneaky person like my mother. I was a confront you right to your face kinda fearless whacko.

I caught a guy beating his girlfriend in the parking lot of the Rose Room in Rosemead when I was 21. I took a tire iron out of my trunk and as he had her on the ground, punching her in the face, I knocked him out and called police.

I would never, as long as I lived, allow anyone to die or be beaten on my watch, even if it meant my own death in the process.

My grandma believed you bathe once a week and dress in whatever is handed to you. My grandma put me in the most out-dated clothes, shoes and accessories imaginable.

I was thoroughly clueless and helpless. My entire family resented with me an unusual contempt. I was the "bastard" child. In those days, I was likened to Ishmael.

They all made such a monumental production of caring for me; informing me, a small child, of their extraordinary sacrifice in life to raise me.

My grandma was 61 years old when I was ten. She was also very crippled. She was a really wonderful woman but she needed to remain, "just a grandma," and not a full time parent.

She made some critical errors in judgement that invited tremendous emotional damage to me, to all of us. She didn't 'know any better.'

I had an excruciating home life and then came school. I don't think I need to tell you about that because most of you know.

I was beaten at school from start to finish, without end. I was reviled by most of the kids, tormented, tortured, and daily bludgeoned with incomprehensible insults, chronic, habitual name calling and mockery.

Then, I'd go home to it. My mother was very sadistic and cruel. When I was in Rosmead High School, to make matters worse for me, she had my hair cut ridiculously short. My grandma, a few months later, in an effort to make it more 'fashionable,' had her hairdresser give me a permanent wave. It was horrific.

My mother used to dye her hair red and thought it was cute to color my hair red as well.

Life with them was just a constant, never ending wheel of unfathomable, aberrant, psycho-strange, deviant, atypical, absurdities, oddities and brutality.

I did not have even one ally; not one confidant or person in authority I could turn to. When I was 17 years old, I turned to my counselor at Rosmead High School to tell him everything. He knew my mother very well. He proposed a peculiar offer but at the time, I didn't realize it was inappropriate or unacceptable. He invited me to dinner. He took me to a rather pricey dinner house in Arcadia; candlelight, linen tablecloths, wine. That high school counselor was none other than Carl Fisher.

We never spoke of my horrendous life at dinner. After dinner, in the car, he asked if I'd like to go with him to a hotel. I kindly declined.

Do you remember the character, "Linda" in the film, Forrest Gump? I was Linda and Linda was me.

Fast forward life -- at 21, I became beautiful.

My mother married into the Cartel. I was beautiful.

I was deadly. I was lethal in a fight, criminal at heart, poised and prepared for absolutely anything. I was geared up, thoroughly trained and quite serious.

No more Miss Nice Guy. You were goin' down. He who wasn't for me, was dead. I never killed anyone but I was quite talented at making your life Hell and I enjoyed it.

I was everything your mother not only warned you about but everything your father protected you from because to me, you meant absolutely nothing once I had no use for you.

I used men for the sheer entertainment of their beauty, prowess, virility and because I could. I developed a circle of friends that could populate the state of Texas alone.

I had all the cocaine anyone could ever want. I had beautiful homes, the coolest cars and your name on my pillow.

I had enough money, sex, drugs and sugar-coated posion to satisfy your hollow, empty, broken heart long enough for me to have my fill of you and then you were excused and I didn't care how much it hurt you.

For 13 years I worked for my "Family." By then, I had finally attained their acceptance and respect. I was the kindest, sweetest, most loving, caring, giving, child and teenager anyone could have ever hoped to have. Tragically, however, it was crushed out of me like an ant under a truck.

When I watch the show, "Most Evil," and hear of the various childhood lives of murderers, serial killers and psychopaths, I'm often horrified out of my mind when I see how identical a childhood I had to them. I knew it already from my previous education in psychotherapy but to actually watch the docudrama/reenactment of their lives, was painfully creepy and disturbing. They were me, on many levels, until adulthood.

The most important aspects of my personality that I was never robbed of, or, shall I say, that I never forfeited to anyone or anything, was my extraordinary abundance of mercy, compassion and a profound, vehement, fervent, ardent love of and for people and animals.

Sparky, (Mark Santillian) lived with me for 2 1/2 years. We began dating when I was 26 and it ended amicably when I was 29. Shortly, thereafter, I began dating Daniel Terrazas, the owner of "The Fish House," on Las Tunas in Temple City. He was a devout Christian. It was the local pet shop. He was wonderful. In fact, for the most part, all of my boyfriends were genuinely kind, loving, caring, warm, affectionate and endearing. We were all very troubled people, that I won't deny or ignore, though we were all so profoundly dysfunctional and on so many levels, me, of course being chief of dysfuntional almost to the point of outright INSANE.

At the age of 31 years old, I was completely finished with attempting to please my family or continue my lifestyle and in one weekend, I became a Christian, then sold and gave away everything.

There was no ticker-tape parade for me and nobody killed the fatted calf. Life as I knew it would soon become a living, nightmarish Hell. My mother wasn't finished with me and now I had no money to support her. I had no idea that I would find myself embroiled in one of the most notorious, complicated, incomprehensible custody battles ever fought.

I rented an apartment in Temple City. I was learning this life, the way it's suppose to be played out, moment by moment with no help from anyone. I needed parents and siblings and aunts and uncles and friends to teach me these things. I had none of those. Most of my friends had moved on with their lives, married, moved away, changed their own lifestyle or died.

I was 30 going on 31 years old with an empty resume and couldn't tell anyone where I had been all those years.

Nobody would hire me. I had no viable skills, whatsoever. NONE. I went from $100,000 dollars a year to ZERO, literally overnight. My mother informed me that if I didn't go back to work and make some real money, in order to continue supporting she and my daughter that I would never see my daughter again. I allowed my daughter to stay in my mothers home in order to protect my daughter in the event I was ever arrested -- she wouldn't be put in a foster home.

All these years, Bobby and I were like family. He visited Sparky and I often. Everyone in the 'neighborhood' did. He never knew he was Jennifer's father.

My mother sued me for custody upon my 'retirement.' Jennifer was 10 years old. It's a very compelling, chilling, horrendous account, yet far too exhaustive and detailed to write at this juncture, though I was invited all those many years ago, to tell my story on Oprah, of which I declined.

When my mother didn't pass the psychological examination as ordered by the court, she fled the county with my daughter, knowing she stood no chance of winning custody of my daughter. One interesting thing she did before her departure was to blurt out to the judge, "David Anthony Lopez [who went by the name, Anthony] IS NOT JENNIFER'S FATHER!" Everyone was stunned. David Anthony Lopez was the brother to Delores Lopez. They both attended Rosemead High. My mother knew that he was her father, she was merely hoping to buy time and cause chaos. The judge then ordered a paternity test. I had zero concern and even laughed at my mothers foolishness.

By this time, I was dating my new boyfriend, David Magro. He was 6 years younger than me, he was 25, I was 31. We met in biology class at Pasadena City College, where I was taking my prerequisites for mortuary science in order to transfer to Cypress College. He was the most gorgeous guy I had ever, in all my life, locked eyes with. David had graduated from Don Bosco Prepatory. He had qualified his entire academic life with a genius I.Q.

David and a crew of friends and family, showed up and showed out to support me in this vicious custody battle. I remember David, sort of gingerly remarking to me, "Anthony is her father right Natalie? You have no doubts do you?" David and I had become friends with Anthony and his wife, Rachel. Rachel was wonderful and they, too, attended the custody battle and became quite involved of their own volition. They were going to be my backup in the event, for whatever reason, the court did not find either my mother or I qualified. I wasn't too concerned, but I wasn't going to ignore the possibility. What would have hurt me was my inability at the time to provide a two bedroom house or apartment.

David and I returned to my apartment together, one late afternoon, on his day off. I had a message on my answering machine. I played it. "Hello Natalie, it's Noel [my attorney]. Listen, I recieved the paternity test results from the lab and I have some bad news. David Anthony Lopez is not Jennifer's father." I stood frozen and paralyzed in abject shock and horror and disbelief. David remained silent for a moment and when he couldn't stand it any longer, he emerged with, "Natalie, do you know who her father is?" I knew immediately. I knew instantly. I knew unquestionably and undeniably. I replied, 'Yes.'

If you're wondering how I wound up with an attorney on a custody case, when I had no money, I'll let you know, now. My mother had told the court she wanted custody because I was a working for the Columbian Mafia, selling cocaine and a Beverly Hills prostitute. She further stated that she believed me to be extrmely armed and dangerous. That took the case from a 'normal' custody case to a potential criminal case. I was never arrested for this but I was given an attorney.

Ironically, her incomprehensible, preposterous and outrageous lies would cost her the very thing she wanted most in life - my daughter and welfare money. My retirement left her broke.

My mother, who's own career failed miserably as a model and actress, left her to join the ranks of Porn Stars. My mother, became a porn star and got involved with John Holmes.

Her 'other' lover was the famous plastic surgeon, Jack Startz, who practiced in Beverly Hills and completely overhauled my mothers face and to this day, she looks considerably younger than even me and I look pretty good. He later committed suicide.

Once the 10 billion paged deposition of my mother was read by the judge, he looked straight at me in court and asked me directly if I was "currently" working as a drug dealer, stolen silver exporter and prostitute. I never lied to him, no matter what it would have cost me. I completely trusted God.

I replied, "No I am not. I was all of those things, yes. In fact part of my work was for my own "family," if you will, including my mother. We're not here today because she's mad that I'm involved in such endeavors, while caring for my child, your Honor. We're here today because I retired after 13 years of supporting her in a lifestyle that she became quite used to after my step-father, John Lambrecht, left her for another woman and ended all ties and support. My mother is very upset and doesn't know how she is going to support herself now without me doing 'all of those things.' I quit everything in one day, in order to go to college and become something that I and my daughter could be proud of. She is livid and not happy with this decision.'

I never flinched and I never felt afraid or intimidated in the least. I was extremely calm, collect and confident.

He listened intently and replied, "Okay, Natalie. That's an excellent plan. Get started now."

I did.

My attorney, Noel Johnson, became considerably fond of me and as this case garnered fame in Los Angeles, he became determined to win it. He became terribly infatuated with me and took the case to a new level. I had overwhelming and profound favor with both he and the judge. Noel told me that the judge told him and the lawyer representing my daughter that he believed me implicitly and found my mother to be a total "weirdo."

When you stand on God's Word and walk on His Word and Obey in all things, He will give you miraculous favor.

I remember while I was still pregnant with Jennifer, Patricia used to say to me, "I know Bobby [Orona] is Jennifer's father. I just feel it. Are you sure about Anthony?" Well, at the time, Anthony was a boy whom I had extraordinarily, deep, puppy-lovish, feelings for. I had a profound crush on him and in order to escape my life as I knew it, I'd spend every single moment with him that I possibly could.

Bobby on the other hand, was a fun and wonderful friend. We went to churches together, parties, events, nightclubs, hung out with his friends at his home and sometimes my friends at their home. He was incomprehensibly gorgeous; Bobby Orona was, without a doubt, one of the most gorgeous guys who ever graced the threshhold of Rosemead High School.

One night, Bobby and I were together as friends at Papillons in Monrovia. We were standing at the bar in back, when I excused myself to the restroom. Now back in those days, I dressed pretty hot. I was wearing a black, nylon, skin tight, one piece cat suit. I returned from the restroom where some guy was standing at the bar talking to Bobby but he was standing directly in front of my cocktail. I sort of shoved my way in to retrieve my drink, a little pissy about it, when they both turned around and Bobby said, "Natalie, meet a friend of mine, this is Dave." I was suddenly standing face to face, kissing distance, even, to the then, WORLD FAMOUS, David Lee Roth of Van Halen. Tragically, I was never a Van Halen fan, by any stretch, though I never relayed that to Dave. He was a kind, amiable, fun-loving, great natured, beauty of a boy and as a man. I knew him on both levels.

The band started a new song and Dave got closer to my face and cheerfully asked, "Wanna dance Natalie?" What a remarkable night that was. I ran into Dave about 9 years ago at Bristol Farms Market in South Pasadena. He was shopping and so was I. We talked about that night. I said, "David, you were so, so drunk by the end of the night." He paused for a moment, and looked me dead in the eye and asked, "Ah, yes, I know but tell me this, did you have fun?" I replied, 'The time of my life.' He then said, "Then I'm glad to be of service." His public personality, sober, was generally very wonderful, warm, charming, friendly and benevolent.

Once the test results returned that Anthony was in fact, not Jennifer's biological father, I phoned Bobby to inform him that he was in fact Jennifer's father.

Randy took the call and I told him to tell Bob and Grace. I had always adored Grace. Bobby called the very next day, quite enthused and excited and remarked, "Everytime Jennifer was at your house when I came over to see you and Spark, I looked at her face and thought, 'I'm sure I'm her father,' but I never said anything about it because I was worried it would only cause her problems."

He eagerly asked, "When can I see her?" I then explained to him the current circumstances and that she was with my mother until the case was settled.

Another irony in this story is the fact that once I finished Mortuary School, the very first person I would ever bathe, embalm, cosmetize and lift into a casket in a mortuary, would be Randy Orona, himself, who was not only Bobby's brother but the "other" boy I grew up with. Randy was one year behind me in school. He visited David Magro and I often and Jenny spent a summer or two swimming at his apartment since he was, of course, her uncle. The family embraced Jennifer with open arms and total love and acceptance. That in and of itself was truly amazing.

I suddenly had a family that I never anticipated. Jenny was formally introduced to her father, Bobby Orona, at the age of 12. She looks just like him. I think that helped. Heh. She has 4 sisters since Bobby had 4 daughters with his first wife, Tina. Tina was also my friend. Jenny loves her sisters very much, though I believe she and Nadine are the closest. I know they occasionally go to church together. Bob has since remarried and all is well in the world.

Bobby often brought his little daughters with him when he came to our home. Each and every one of them was incredibly beautiful. I loved them so much. I have wonderful photographs of them all, scattered about the house, playing and laughing.

The Bible says,

Psalm 68:6 (King James Version)
"God setteth the solitary in families: he bringeth out those which are bound with chains..."

I now had a family to spend holidays with. I attended their home and they attended mine. I didn't have that with Anthony. His family actually stopped having me over once I became pregnant. I didn't care in the least. What did I know of family. That was normal behavior to me.

Partially through the trial, my mother realized she had lost this case and therefore, packed her things as she and my daughter then left the county of Los Angeles. A warrant was issued for her arrest and for Jennifer to be taken into protective custody.

It would be two grueling, agonizing years before Jennifer was found by police and the detective herself, who had spent two years searching everywhere for her. She was returned to me and her story is utterly gut-wrenching, horrific and tragic. Her two years was Hell on earth. The court immediately sent her home to me. Against All Odds, I won, hands down. I never stopped asking God to save us.

By then I had a gorgeous, 5 bedroom, 2 story, Craftsman home at 246 N. El Molino Avenue, in Pasadena, California. It was everything I ever asked God for. God gave me every desire of my heart. I was engaged to the most gorgeous guy on the planet, David Magro, and was living a dream life, with my daughter's return. Her room was now ready. I was finishing Mortuary School and had a great job. The world was right again.

I was with David for 5 years. It did not work out. You're probably wondering why my relationships never worked.

I had no follow-through in anything. I was grown-up on the outside, yet a very wounded, immature, lost, confused, child on the inside. I had no role models as a child, therefore, while I never, ever chose abusive men, I did choose fabulous, wonderful men who were tormented by various issues never confronted in their own lives. When we'd connect, it could never be just us, it was us and whatever personal demons we brought with us. I didn't end my relationships without rhyme, reason or cause and just walk out on someone. Let's just say that it would end fairly abruptly, with no looking back, when I could no longer tolerate various behaviors in people, in my men, varying from: extreme alcoholism, drug addictions (from cocaine to heroin), certain criminal behaviors, manic depression, clinical depression, fights with men, drug dealing and one of my boyfriends robbed a bank, which ended that relationship real fast, and sometimes it was just a matter of clarity where suddenly the reality of how mismatched we were would suddenly surface.

I was also very intolerant with men and had a fairly wicked and vicious temper where they were concerned. I was probably Hell to get along with, hyper-sensitive, relentless, mean and cruel in verbal arguments; always opting to go below the belt. I could have Santa Claus thinking of ways to do himself in with the mouth I had on me. I'm not saying each and every one of them didn't actually deserve my scathing, tongue of inferno but when I knowingly chose broken-hearted, weak-kneed, spineless, troubled men who never meant any harm, it was really sick to take them in and on, only to beat them up for who they were when I knew what they were, and that's what I did. I thought that might fix them and make men out of them.

In this, I was behaving just as my mother. No matter how much we despise our own upbringing and detest and abhore the ghastly and brutal, unconscionable abuse, it almost never fails that either a lot or a little, on some level, follows us everywhere we go. The alien is always somewhere on board. Remember the film "Alien?" The queen was there the the whole time.

I am no longer that person in any capacity but then again, I'm single and I intend to remain that way for the rest of my life. It enables me to better concentrate on my work and the people I serve. I feel I'm of far better service to my Heavenly Father this way. That's just me.

For the most part, I carefully selected gorgeous guys who were somewhat slight in stature on the outside and very passive on the inside. I was attracted to men who were almost slightly effeminate.

I felt safer. I was safer and I'd probably choose similiar today. Heh. Listen, there's a whole lot of men in prison for murdering their wives and girlfriends. It's fast becoming a growing trend. I'm not saying that I'd pick my next husband out of a Group Home or anything, but Macho will have no role in my life.

"Tough guy" personas are thoroughly revolting to me. I liked Harold, in Harold and Maude. That's my type. Oh Yeah.

I purposely chose men like this in order to assure me that I'd never be with someone who could hurt me either physically or emotionally. I tell you, it worked.

I generally always made sure I had the upper hand. I chose needy men who needed something from me and that was our bond. I chose men who were often hardcore unemployable and this strengthened their need for me and therefore, assured me the power and control.

You see, my father who was 6' 5," beat my mother all the time. She fought back and they'd have these terrifying, death defying fights. As a child, I couldn't grasp how they slept in the same bed without clothes on and come morning, could war so violently as opponents. I was caught in many of their fights and my mother often told me that it was my fault. Therefore, NO MAN was ever going to sleep in my bed and put his hands to me with violent intentions. Subsequently I've never subjected myself to abuse and never will.

My step- brother, Andre' who graduated from Arroyo, is 6' 6." My dad raised him and Andre' turned out to be a guy you didn't push around as well. He and Patricia dated off and on for quite some time. She was wild about him. He really liked her.

When I was 36 years old, living in Palm Springs, I walked out on the very love of my life - the man, whom, to this day, I have loved more than any man I've ever known. He was my prince, my life, my dream and my answered prayer. He and I, along with my daughter shared a home in Palm Desert at the time. Jenny was 15 years old when I left David Magro, after 5 amazing years.

I was incapable of being a wife and he was incapable of being a husband - plain and simple. We were little children trying so desperately to behave as grown-ups and neither of us had a single clue as to what we were doing. We were the Stepford couple, just fumbling along, hoping to look like we possibly knew what we were doing by mimicking whatever Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver usually did on T.V.

We were selfish, emotionally arrested, childish, unlearned idiots. I was also concerned about other issues, such as drinking that teetered on alcoholism, questionable heterosexuality and career choices. Something was amiss and I couldn't decipher it no matter how hard I tried.

On the other hand, David Magro was probably the kindest, warmest, most loving, compassionate, merciful man I had ever had the incredible pleasure to know. He was incredibly responsible, loyal, dedicated and true.

I do believe his heart concealed secrets - another person inside he hoped would just go away. There was a peculiar air about him that resonated what seemed staged, scripted, contrived and forced.

I had no idea how 'normal' love relationships worked. I assumed it was normal, just like I did the attrocities growing up but something told me it wasn't. Today, of course, I know it wasn't.

It had always bothered me that I was never asked to the prom. In fact it tortured me. I am working on a book entitled, "I Never Went To The Prom."

David knew this. I began to tell him bits and pieces. I had to because of the custody case with my mother and Jennifer. David and I were avid tennis players. One day, while we were still only dating, as he was only 25, while I was 31 years old, we were playing tennis on a Saturday afternoon on the tennis court of Rosemead High School.

I had just lost a tennis game to David. I suppose I looked rather disappointed. We were walking against the wall behind the tennis courts, preparing to leave, when suddenly he dropped our racquets to the ground and backed me up to that wall, with a minute amount of force, but just enough to make it very sexy and then he lowered his head bit, as if not to take any answer for granted, while wisps of his hair fell against my face. Without an attitude of assumption, presumption or sense of entitlement, he asked, "Natalie [pause], will you go to the prom with me?"

I paused. I didn't pause in an effort to decide whether or not I'd go to the prom with David Magro. I paused because it was in that moment I fell into the endless abyss of love for the very first time in my entire life.

In that instant and in that moment, when I realized how incomprehensibly, painfully and deeply in love I was, with that wonderful boy, my emotions literally transported me to the highest realm of heaven itself.

I could have died right then and there, feeling complete, fulfilled, satiated, with my mission in search of love finally accomplished and my work here, being finished.

I felt for the first time in my life, that everything from the cradle, leading up to that very moment, was suddenly, altogether worth it. If it took 31 years of a living agony, just to feel 3 seconds of the greatest moment of my life, at that time, it was absolutely worth every second leading me there against that wall with that young man. I finally replied, 'Yes. I'll go to the prom with you.'

Of course there was no prom but it wasn't the prom I wanted. It was to be asked. He gave me the greatest gift anyone could have ever thought to give a woman and I believe to some degree, he knew it.

I became a therapist in order to figure out what was wrong with my mother. Throughout her entire life, She refused every, any and all psychiatric intervention because she believed and still does to some degree, that she's completely sane, of sound mind and that it isn't her - it's everyone else. It's me.

I am the one who was finally able to diagnose my mother. Something had caused profound damage to me and worse to my daughter and I was going to find my enemy and confront it with the hopes of treating her. I found it. She has a classic case of Borderline Personality Disorder. I'm now the guru of understanding this mental illness.

Now of course we know we can never counsel our friends and parents. Now I know this to be a fact.

Let's just say, my hoping to treat her didn't work. Now I just say, 'Oh?' as a reply to much of what she says.

In any event, now I know exactly what plagued me, my friends and my family for so many years. I know what killed my friends who are no longer here and destroyed countless relationships, friendships, careers, hopes, dreams and aspirations. I'm living proof, however that many of these things can be repaired, restored and resurrected.

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God has taken my 48 years of:

insanity, agony, rejection, brutality, self-loathing, inane, foolish, useless wandering, fruitless, pointless, vain, nonsensical endeavors, along with the sin and the self and the over-indulgence and my addictions and even the monumental guilt, remorse, regret and the tormenting pain even I carried for having forsaken and abandoned people who loved me and trusted me and believed in me --

And reinvented me, healed me and created in me a brandnew human being. As a pastor and a therapist, with the life that I've had, how much could I not relate to?

God wastes nothing. I didn't grow up to be a murderer or a criminal, therefore, how important is my story to those at the same turning point as me at 18.

While I sat there, grossed out and freaked out by the stories of these homicidal maniacs and sociopaths on the show, "Most Evil," I felt the Lords voice within me... "Show them what I can do, Natalie, show them my mercy that endures forever, my everlasting compassion and my love that never fails. Glorify me with your life; the life I've returned to you and restored."

I am proof that with Jesus, truly all things are possible and if He could change me... so powerfully and dramatically, that in and of itself is proof beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is exactly Who He claims to be as is Jesus and that Bible is evidentiary of His existence and ALL that He can do and will do and wants to do you for you and through you.

Truly, it is never too late to go to the prom.