I've always tried to apply what I've learned from my personal experiences to my behaviour and actions toward others in such a way as to make a positive difference for them. In other words, when something bad has happened to me, I have tried to use what I learned to prevent the same bad thing from happening to someone else.

The repeated demonstration by a segment of the population I come into contact with that they prefer to make their own mistakes never fails to dismay me. I and many others feel that the hallmark of maturity is the ability to learn from the mistakes of others. It is distressing, depressing, and rather frustrating that a growing number of people think it an achievement to repeat the mistakes of the past as they stumble through life.

When someone asks me for advice, I think they mean it, and try to give good advice without being judgmental. When they disregard the advice, or dismiss it and claim they never asked for it, I tend to respect their right to make their own mistakes, and try to stay away from them.

It makes sense to me to not impose my presence on those who show by their actions that they find my presence an annoyance.

By my reasoning, a person who is disrespectful of my feelings while expecting me to be respectful of theirs is either a child, or a bully, and I don't see that I should have to be around that person.

The trouble is that the past 7 years have exposed me to an overwhelming number of people who are children in adult clothing, and bullies, to boot.

I have not enjoyed, in this life, any 'Merry Christmas', but I have always enjoyed the season anyway.

I self-comforted by giving all that I could to others. This is a documented response to domestic violence that has puzzled the experts for years-what precisely makes the difference between survivors who lash out and those who use their experiences to alleviate the sufferings of others?

Personally I have always thought that it was a choice we could all make; I believed myself to be in a unique position to know anyone could make the choice between spreading their pain, or using it as a springboard toward helping others avoid the same horror.

My childhood was a nightmare of comfort and plenty when my father was around, and savage beatings, the psychological torture of my father's second wife turning my brothers and sisters against me (because, I later learned, I bear a striking resemblance to my biological mother), and hunger so profound that I begged for food from neighbours and rooted in restaurant garbage cans. Growing up I used to tell myself that if I could just hang on until I was 18 I would be able to take care of myself, and I would never be cold, hungry, or alone again. I promised myself that I would do everything I could to make sure this never happened to anyone else.

I believed that I would make it to that real world God promised me, the one where people loved and cared for each other, and home was a safe place, not a house of horrors.

When I was shut out of college by a lack of funds and the emotional support of a loving family (don't think the lack of the emotional strength of a loving home doesn't make the important difference!), I spent hours in the library learning everything I could to ensure that I would have the tools I needed to make a difference; when muddled thinking occurred due to mal-nutrition, I spent a little more on food and less on books until I could concentrate better, and then went back to spending more on books.

I found the strength I missed from having a supportive family through my faith in God and his promise that I would, in this lifetime, go home to a real family one day. I lived in total faith and hope inspite of the array of people I should have been able to count on that were instead my most terrible enemies, and I tried to counter their unspeakable cruelty by praying for thier return to peace while getting the hell out of their way-I am not a saint! OK, maybe in a couple of lives, but personally, I think at least one of those was less saint and more about an excess of salt in the tomb.

For fun I read what translations I could find of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Still try to, although the past 7 years especially, I have been rather busy just trying to stay alive.

I knew that the Days of Winnowing would come. I just didn't think I would go through those days alone.

I walk through this lifetime watching people defile themselves with utmost casual cruelty and utter disregard for anything but their false gods.

I am becoming phyiscally sickened by the growing number of souls perfectly willing to sell their souls for a red leather jacket or a Mercedes Benz, and are not satisfied with damning themselves but seem intent on taking as many others with them as possible, including their own flesh and blood, and maybe especially their own...

I am past frustrated with the pinheads who chulcke at my naive hope for mankind, and justify their wanton rush to hell by 'reminding' me that no-one said life would be fair.

SOPHISTRY! The road to hell is paved with sophistry. God said so, and trying to outlaw God-call him what ever you like, Yahweh, Allah...God is God-won't absolve you from the responsibilty to and for how you treat others. He said life can and should be fair.

So, I look around around at the so-called world these days, and I am crushed by the appalling inhumanity I see.

The Enemy is winning by attrition, and it is breaking my heart.

Not to agrandize myself, but the hypocrites are killing me, and His Holy Messenger said "As you do to the least of these..."

Killing the Messenger isn't going to get you out of your responsibilty.

Did you hear the one about the vineyard owner and the tenants who kept killing the rent collectors-including his only son?