God Furiosa

Girl Interrupted, God Furiosa - mold refugee dispatch for June 1st, 2026

I had a dream last night
That I was back in my
Childhood home

Which is strange
So strange
Because I ran away from that place 
real young 
to save my soul

But for some reason
Today, barely awake
It felt safe.

I reassured myself 
in the vortex confusion of "Where am I waking up today?"
That I was home,
The original place.
The place I ran from
and tried to replicate for decades 
with a different outcome.

I don’t know how much more of this I can take
I rise dismayed, confused 
My soul is fucking tired,
And my faith in God is diminishing.
I don’t wanna feel sorry for myself 
but this is relentless and cruel
What the fuck am I supposed to do? 
Continue praying?

I need to do yoga and meditate.
I need to pick up on a Signal.
Because I am a human boomerang 
on its last fucking leg
and I need to hear the message
of what the hell I’m missing.

I never used to have to bargain with you, God. 
I never used to have to pronounce the right things 
or say them slowly enough 
or make you some sort of blood offering 
guessing at what I could possibly hack off from myself next 
that might appease you to step in and guide me 
in some form or fashion. 
It never used to be like this, 
and I’m beginning to think that the people of religion 
are full of shit 
and I’m beginning to question 
if the God that so many people worship 
is really a demon. 

It wasn't like this when I first got sober. 
I had no concept of a higher power, 
but I started praying. 

I started praying before I got out of jail
all I said to you was 
"If you’ll let me out, I promise I’ll never do it again"
It's been almost 17 years and guess what?
I’ve never done it again. 

I would pray to have the obsession and craving removed 
every morning, 
and I would thank you 
for a second chance at a new life, 
that was the extent of my prayers 
and they were still heard. 

But now, you are deaf. 

A girl interrupted, and a God Furiosa, 
lately it seems the punishment is intentional
or that you just don’t care at all
and have abandoned your post.
Maybe that’s all I can see because 
that’s how I’m used to the people closest to me behaving--
sadistic and inflicting of wrath, 
or neglectful and entirely absent.

If you have another way of explaining this, 
I’m not gonna tear myself into pieces trying to find out
but I'm listening. 
It is written
that if I take one step toward you, 
you take 1000 toward me--
so where are you??
Other than the mountains, 
the horizon is empty. 

A God who allows malefic forces 
to torture and break me down 
like I’m a pet, an experiment
or pawn in a chess game,
is worthy of neither worship or love. 

We are expected to love God, 
but how could you love something 
if you don’t even know what Love is?
and how could you love something 
so confusing and so inconsistent--
standing by and watching the poisonings,
the betrayals and deceptions,
over and over again?

I don’t understand what you want from me. 
I got sober and stayed that way for 17 years and counting
I went to school. I got a degree. I hold a job. 
I don’t lie to other people, 
I don’t harm them.
I do my best to be of service to others, 
although lately my energy has been 
pretty tied up with 
basic survival. 
I’ve used the gifts you’ve given me 
and made them manifest in the real world, 
despite battling years of illness.

I know others far more derelict, 
hypocritical, deceitful or sinful than I,
that have a much much easier go at life.

if this is about something I did in my past life
I think I’ve suffered enough in my 37 years here.
I think I have been a doula of enough death, 
have I not repented with the severance of attachment 
and the flowing of tears, 
serving a sentence in a purgatory of my own? 

I don’t know what the fuck you want from me.
How am I supposed to heal or think clearly 
if I can’t even find a home that doesn’t send me
running from the hills 
from acute poisoning?

For the love of God 
is it possible to just have a place to stay safe safely 
just for even six months?
is that too much to ask?
I think not. 

for the love of God, 
can I make a life anywhere, 
without continuing to throw out contaminated items, 
not even making it to the goalpoast 
where I can seek medical treatment 
and decontaminate my body 
because I haven't found a way to be removed 
from the source yet!? 
I miss the days where I could simply rent an apartment 
without having to worry about an anaphylactic reaction 
of what's hidden and growing 
in the drywall, HVAC and air vents. 
I can’t keep fucking doing this
I need this to end.


Mold Refugee Dispatch, June 1st, 2026
Tesstamona

**Please see author's note about why I crossed certain lines in this poem out, but didn't flat out delete them. 

Here’s a vinyl art piece I made many years ago. I might get back into making these once I find a home. This one sold pretty quickly.

Music update:

Soon the music video for ASHES will come out.

I’ll write up a separate piece for that because we haven’t even talked about ASHES yet, although it’s the 8th song on my 9 track album Ghost in the Machine.

I wrote it two days after the public execution of Charlie Kirk, and watching half the people I knew celebrate it like it was their superbowl. It was a time of great demoralization.

I wrote the song to process it all. I’m glad to share it, and grateful for Common Sense that they’ve made a video to share it on their channel.

To hear the full album, including Ashes, track 8, click here.

They made a lyric video to one of my songs, QUARANTINE BLUES, that I made in 2020.

If you’d like to see how they made that music video, you can view it below.

The “official music video” that has me in it (we filmed in secret during the lockdowns in my apt in LA because we were threatened that if we had people in our apartments who didn’t live there, the LA department of water and power would shut off our utilities. That video is on my Youtube channel.)

The Common Sense lyric video:

Side note, it’s kind of insane because in 2020 during the lockdowns, I wound up in jail for a brief minute, lost housing (roommate had psychotic break, meth was suspected but honestly it could have just been a legitimate mental health issue), and was living in a cockroach infested shithole that also had black mold in the vents.

Back then, I had no idea that it was a health issue other than coughing and being gross. I did not react the way I do today.

But it’s a little eerie, that six years ago, I was fighting with similar things… just not on such an intense level.

The intensity of my emotions back then I think was much greater than they are now. Now I seem oddly calm in situations that most people I know (including this version of me six years ago) would have a colossal fucking meltdown in. And yet the circumstances are much more… dire?

Jesus man.

For context, you can see my prior mold refugee dispatch posts (past few days) but those are not publicly available, it’s patrons only until I make it through the other side of this and publish them in an organized manner.

I do not make exceptions unless you yourself are suffering from an environmentally acquired illness, or you have a loved one who is. If that’s the case, email me and I’ll comp you so you can see past the paywall.

Tesstamona at Gmail dot com

or just reply to this email

Author’s Note

Alright so I woke up furious as hell and I said some things that don’t sit well with me now that it’s the end of the day.

I didn’t delete them, I crossed them out instead, to show that I have redacted my stance… but to show that I still was in a place where I took it there.

I don’t doubt that I am the only one who has had these thoughts and feelings.

I think it’s important to show the dark places our minds can go, especially in the battle of having faith during your darkest hours, in navigating things that feel impossible and that are absolutely insane from the perspective of both yourself and any onlookers — not because I’m suggesting anyone go there, but because if you DO go there, you know you are not alone.

And perhaps the equally important part is in less than 24 hours, you can no longer be in that space.

Did my circumstances change? No.

My heart did though.

I don’t understand God. I don’t understand why people suffer.

My heart is changed because of the love I received from others. Some of you read this and some of you talked to me today.

Some of you told me literally the exact same thing about your struggle, because I know there are a few of you on here who have navigated this exact scenario, and are still dealing with the health issues from it.

A very dear friend/family/sister (all three titles fit, we’re not blood related but you get it) was sharing something with me. I won’t say what it was because it’s her story, but she was going through something incredibly painful and was angry at God, asking why God had done this. She told me she realized later that she was selfish for feeling that way, and explained why. Though it’s a natural human response to respond how she did, I can understand what she meant.

In one of her darkest moments, she got angry with God, and now in hindsight, she sees the situation as having been for the best, and that it was selfish of her to have asked for the opposite of what happened.

If she sees that in her situation, might that be true in mine?

Dude, I’m not a fan of suffering, I’d love for this shit to be over tomorrow — by “this shit” I mean the mold illness, the detox, the hotel living, the mold refugee shit, finding a place to live I can actually heal in, all that stuff. Would LOVE it if we could get this whole healing thing on the road, but it’s very hard to do when the thing that poisoned you is in almost every building.

Not impossible, just very hard.

HOWEVER…

This is just a theory. A possibility.

WHAT IF it’s selfish of me to ask for this to be over now, because there’s something I’m supposed to discover or uncover in this realm that would help others who suffer?

Because A LOT of people suffer in this way, I am not alone by any means, I think most people would be shocked and appalled if they knew how many people were going through this exact scenario right now. They just don’t all have a Substack to write about it on, and some are much worse than I am, they don’t have the ability to talk or form sentences in some cases.

What if I got better tomorrow and all was wrapped up and there was something I was supposed to find out but instead, I didn’t, and the suffering of the masses when it comes to being literally poisoned by negligence on behalf of politicians, developers, realtors, building companies, and the lies within both alternative “holistic” (I’ll throw up if I hear the word functional again) AND conventional medicine, and also the law? Big pharma too damn sure.

If the truth got out about this it would bankrupt the economy overnight — if people TRULY knew, holy FUCK.

Maybe something is supposed to happen before I can be a link in the chain of people finding out AND ALSO finding a solution. Because it’s one thing to tell people, if you don’t have an immediate solution they just shut down because it’s too overwhelming. The ones who cannot shut down are the ones that are in it.

Because in all honesty, if I wasn’t in this (meaning sick and totally thrown into some weird adjacent abyss) I wouldn’t want to hear about this shit either! Are you kidding me!? This is a headache! It’s so complicated what the hell do you even do?

However I’m forced to find out because my survival depends on it.

Maybe whatever I find out and can replicate in some form, or share certainly, then it can help others so it doesn’t feel like such an impossible thing — maybe then we don’t have to bury our heads in the sand because trust me, I understand not wanting to know anything about this, or not wanting any of this to be real.

If it helps people suffer less, if it helps prevent needless suffering, then it is worth it to go through this.

I may feel that way tonight… roughly 12 hours after I wrote this… and I’m sure I’ll have another bout of anger about this as well for the relentlessness of it alone, for the time lost, for the life lost.

But I am still going to have faith. I don’t understand God, but I know God is the one who gave me the gift of music and poetry. God is the reason I literally created a full length album while I was living in Florida in two moldy ass apartments, that’s where the album was recorded.

God gave me enough strength to get to the finish line of releasing it into the world — apparently the whole performing it piece is on pause but whatever.

I know that to be true, for reasons I will not fully detail right now but I’ve spoken about how that whole process was so obviously God guided before.

And the people in my life today — they helped me. They helped change my heart.

They helped with hope. I reached out to others and I found valuable intel for next steps and things that bring me further from the feared reality of living in a tent.

So…I know fear is here, I know it. But there is a strange calm and peace about me now. That’s all I know.

I don’t want to insult God and go so far as questioning if he’s a demon but I damn sure took it there today and it’s not the first time I’ve done it either.

I’m rambling now so it’s best that I pray aaand make some food and maybe tie up some loose ends with work since I’m taking a few hours in the morning off to go meet with two women here locally who are in the “mold illness recovery” community, as they’ve been navigating this far longer than I.