Spinners and lights

I woke up and the nail was spinning, spinning, spinning against the broken plaster with the green poinsettia wallpaper. It was one of those days. The can't hold my head up, walk a straight line days. It would progress to violent puking and then the lights. I would like to explain that I could make the rooms brighter and the light bulbs bigger, but my mother would respond,fine then do it. It would save money, I guess she couldn't see it. I decided then I was special maybe a vessel of God and sainthood was to be mine. So I would watch Our Lady Of Fatima and the children upon seeing Mary knew they needed to suffer They wore rough corded belts around their waists that cut into their skin and bled. I tried that with a rope from a pickle sack.It itched mostly I broke out in hives that spread to my face and my mother asked, if I had been back the barn, because something back the barn usually provoked these hives. She told me to take a bath in baking soda. I did and also decided the belt was not painful just scratchy and I made a piss poor martyr.
I went on to another favorite saint movie Bernadette, well I would make a grotto like she saw Mary in Lourdes and the sun twirled. The sun was always shifting for me between light and bright and blasts of nova like extravaganzas, but still no Mary. My grotto did not get very far I tried recruiting my sister a much harder worker by telling her it would be like the house in Thomasina where the witch lady lived who helped all the animals. We would haul rocks from the field gather muck from the swamp to make a paste to stick the rocks together clearly our engineering skills were nonexistent. Of course this project did not last long. Melissa, the third girl, had to be taken care of. She was not going to make walls. Trouble, is what she'd be doing, heading toward the mucky swamp.
My religiosity continued. I would hold mock church amongst my dolls and stuffed animals flattening white Butternut bread into facsimile of hosts and offering up to Old Blue my teddy Bear and Mary Ellen the half bald doll, and Melissa if she promised to not put it in her pants . That was usually my job make sure she doesn't put dangerous things in her underpants like scissors or glass. She carried things in her panties like a purse.
I kept looking for Mary everywhere. She must be somewhere in those bright lights, but I didn't wear the rope more than eleven hours and that stone wall pretty pathetic, guess I was not as deserving as those children in Mexico or the girl in France who endured bone cancer with no mention of pain. So with regret in my heart, no more lunches spent praying at the foot of the statue of St. Theresa to make the roses bloom in winter, no more reading The Lives of the Saints from the library, no more dreaming of casting my body to the lions and saying I do believe.
I must go on to my next hypothesis... aliens