LOVE LETTER TO MY ONLINE FRIENDS


I don’t often find myself contemplating the virtues of Cyberspace, but today I’d like to extoll one of its underreported virtues: LOVE.

Yes, Love. There IS Love to be found here❣️

Yesterday, all day, I felt emotionally fragile. I’ve learned, since beginning this blog last September, that the Internet can grant succor and relief through the Catharsis of “Writing-For-Sharing.”

Sometimes the public attention makes me crafty and prancy with my words, even making up new ones like “prancy.” Other times, I feel like I’m vomiting poison. Or losing what’s left of my beauty.

There are Certain Memories I hold close and parting is such sweet sorrow! But I believe Vulnerability is the Magic Ingredient for Good Writing of Any Kind [sorry much caps, all needed].

Last night I sobbed for hours while writing about my non-baby-but-still-child, Ethan (one of 3 unborn siblings, but the only one officially named).

I’m still crying.

The public-ness and Exposure feel threatening, and I can’t withstand threat right now.

What I need to feel – and needed to feel – is Love. And I did. When I saw this morning that four of my most Devoted Devoteds and Favorite Favorites had read and “liked” my Memorial to Ethan, I felt a rush of love.

Why? The Likes meant these people endured the discomfort and read all the way down to the Like button. And by Liking, they agreed to my request to hold Ethan’s memory for a moment, so I could regain my breath.

Breath is life, friends. As the unwounded soldier helps the wounded, so your kindly presence returned air to my lungs.

By letting me SPREAD MY PAIN, you saved me. You earned the 💜, and I’ll be the one pinning it on you at the ceremony.

Grace, Bogdan, DirtySciFiBuddhah, and Andrea:

Thank you. You’re Everything.

The Lies Are True!!

Let me be the FIRST to admit:

It is indeed the case

And known to be apparent

AS WELL AS self-evident

That:

All of the

horrible-awful-wretched-disgusting

Things

YOU heard

about ME

are indeed

In fact

100% true.

AND

100% false.

At a bare minimum!

And we couldn’t agree more!!

That I’m both fully guilty.

And wholly innocent.

As charged

On all counts!!

Your Honor.

But you see:

I’m what’s called a “work in progress,”

Which is a fancy way of saying “human.”

So we’re gonna keep on keeping on

horrible-awful-wretched-disgusting

Till the day is LONG

Over here on Patch Jennifer

Today.

Okay?

Is it Greener?

There was a green hydrant named Fred
Who found Himself lost in his bed.
He searched and he sought,
Reasons were bought,
But a thought always stuck in his head:
“If THIS is my life, I choose death.”

‘Twer me, I’d choose Fried Love instead.
Because…
Their grass isn’t greener;
Their houses aren’t cleaner.
What’s green is the Envy
Converting your Longing to Dread.

So stop feeling sorry,
Eject all this worry.
Freedom’s sole home is your Head.

(Thanks @lakegrass for the use of your photo)

Bullies & Heroes

The Intimidated Intimidate.
The Tormented Torment.
The Bullied Bully.
The Beaten Beat.
The Hurting Hurt.

The Constantly Criticized Criticize.

And though this isn’t popular: those who abuse have usually been abused.

Garbage In, Garbage Out, FIFO, LIFO, and the Pythagorean Theorem.

It’s called Learned Behavior.

Yet everyone knows a dog who’s been hideously hurt by human hands and chosen (somehow?) to trust again.

If these courageous canines can overcome our hate when their survival depends on it, surely we can treat each other (and them) a little better?

Why?

Why is that when I feel joyous,

I’m always reminded of how fleeting it is,

BUT

When I feel sadness,

I’m never reminded of how fleeting it is?

The Freedom of Divorce

My burning “like” [it was never love] for you has frozen over; misery my only companion in the awfulness that Life by Your Side has become.

How and why did we make this colossal mistake?
I don’t think I’ll ever know, and I’m not sure that I want to.

I ONLY know I’m ready to trade:
Your “love” and “partnership” for aloneness.
Certainty for uncertainty.
Shouting for silence.
Constant conflict for calm.
Walking on eggshells for mental relaxation.
Being a disappointment for being enough.
The prison this marriage has always been for the freedom a divorce might provide.

Yes, I will fail after you.
After “us.”
I will fall and fail until I die.

But…
Should I be blessed to have another 20 years,
I won’t be wasting them on you.

I Was Wrong (Once)!

I need to apologize to my father because I thought there were no photos of just the two of us. There are many, but my ex-husband had them for the last 13 years.

It turns out he has had, in his possession, the only set of our wedding photos (that I paid for at the time!) for the last 13 years.

Why didn’t I badger him about them? I was just trying to get by, brothers and sisters. Those were “one foot in front of the other” days. Surely you’ve experienced those?

Also, to be fair, I somehow forgot about them. Forgot about the complete and utter existence of these photos. Or possibly even thought I had forgotten them. It happens. A 9-year-marriage full of heartache followed by a 250-mile move, 13 years of silence between us, and a bunch of new heartache will leave gaps in a person’s memory (thank goodness).

Anyway, said ex-husband was decent enough to scan and copy a set of the photos for me. I could make lots of snarky little comments here, but honestly, I’m so grateful for the photos, my “higher self” is taking over.

It makes me tear up a little to see the images of my father and me, smiling and happy that day. They actually make me miss him and the way he almost used to be.

You can’t deny he was handsome. I can’t say “he was so nice,” “he loved me so much,” or “we shared such great times.” But I can definitively say “he was a nice-looking man!”

So, maybe that’s where I got it? Only partially, if I’m honest. The photos of my Mom prove it was definitely a team effort.

I think these images also demonstrate what a “normal”, outwardly-together, seemingly-privileged person I used to be.

I don’t know whether to celebrate or not, but those days have definitely passed.

My Dad & Me
DNA all over my face
My mother and father
Bride and siblings, stepmother
The bride and her Grandaddy

Actually, I’m thankful. Now is better than Then, even though it doesn’t always feel like it. Now has to be better than Then, or else how would we keep going?

Cresting Clouds

CRESTING CLOUDS

You kept me on a heavy, tight leash my entire life.

I bear the deep scars around my neck to prove it.

Of course they healed over after I gave up,

no longer bucking against your imprisonment.

By confining me early, you confined me for life;

or at least long after you broke me.

You didn’t break me, though, did you?

I learned to venture out and live again.

I still bear the scars, but I finally escaped when you turned away.

Now I’m bouncing back high, higher, highest…

weightless to the point of cresting Heaven itself.

Any second now; I’m so close,

I can almost feel it…

My Kinda Lover

The real reason I love Karaoke so much?

Most of the songs are from the early ‘80s, when I was a very young teenager.

I don’t know if my brain was in an “imprinting” cycle, but it amazes me when lyrics of songs from this period tumble out of me when I hear that song audibly.

This experience is especially profound when I hear a song I haven’t heard in decades.

The jolt back to the years when I felt most alive is why I’m so besotted with my beloved Karaoke.

Too Light?

I cried and felt so terrible inside for so long.

One day, I finally stopped the [inner] crying. Now, I know what my brief bouts of tears are about.

My heaviness isn’t as heavy, but life seems to have turned into a giant Cosmic Joke that nobody else is in on. In fact, I’m starting to feel so light, I worry I could become untethered, like an accidentally-released helium balloon.

I’m not sure if this is a joy explosion or incipient madness.

Sexual Molestation at Your Local Neighborhood K-Mart

“I frigging love this❣️ I don’t know why we insist on only using “lovely” and “lavish” language in poetry. Poetry should reflect life, an observation you and only you are equipped to make. So if I didn’t already say it: I love it!”

This was the comment I made on the poem Your Design by Kait King. I’m linking it, not because I have any exposure to offer Kait [she’s a professional, and I’m not], but because I obviously like what she wrote. I can guarantee you that if you like anything I’ve written, you’ll feel the taut determination of justice in this piece. It’s also important for you to read it for us to move forward. So please, 30 seconds:

https://kaitkingthewriter.blog/2021/11/15/your-design/

Okay, you’ve read it. I want to link a poem I wrote about a murdered child after binge-watching true crime videos on YouTube. Please do me the honor of reading it. I believe it honors predated children by shining a light on their predators. And again, it’s necessary to proceed with this.

https://comewordplaywithme.com/2021/09/23/a-child-cries-unheard/

I know: it’s not a light read. I didn’t know it at the time, but I’m starting to realize that my more imaginative writings have a way of amplifying my inner voice. I don’t know if that requires elaboration (which is a bad sign at this point), but I’ll try:

The week I wrote that poem, my first-ever (of 2) based on lyrical patterns in songs I particularly like, I was thinking a lot about the time I was “sexually molested” (I don’t even know the term for it anymore) as a 6-year-old in a K-Mart in Atlanta, Georgia.

Those were different times and I don’t blame my mom that this happened. She didn’t even know about it until I told her years later. It was during the summer, and every time we went to the store, my mom had to “struggle” all five of us “summer siblings” into an impossibly-small car. Seriously, there were no Tahoes in the ‘70s! I don’t even know how we got to the store in the first place, I just…don’t. I only know that as soon as the car officially came to a stop, children and adults had dispersed and were on their ways to their own favorite dark corners of the store.

Of course, I was the child who made a bee-line for the Toy Section…because that’s where the Barbies were. And I adored Barbie, Skipper, PJ, Ken, and their “Malibu” cousins. All I wanted whenever I had a birthday was a Barbie. And if I didn’t have enough birthday money saved, I’d buy barbies clothes instead. I had a large vinyl box that held all of my barbies and all of their clothes and accessories. I had a mental inventory of every single item in that box.

So I didn’t see the old man near the toy section until I was next to him, separated by an aisle that was about 3 feet high (I’m not very good with height and depth perception). I just remember looking (up?) to see an old (because he’s bald, like my Grandaddy), nice (because again, he looks like my Grandaddy, and Grandaddy loves me) Man standing there.

Who looked DOWN at me and said Come Here, Little Girl.”

He must need my help, because Grandaddy only ever tells me to do something in that mean kind of way if it’s an emergency. So he must need my help. And you’re not supposed to not mind your parents or grandparents, especially when you and your mommy and sister used to live with your grandparents. Since your Daddy didn’t live with you anymore.

Now you only know that your new Daddy Mike says it’s very important to mind grownups, and you’re a good girl. Maybe your older sister Stephanie isn’t, but you are.

So you go to help, and the nice old man tells you he has an emergency (good thing you listened!). He describes his emergency as this:

“I have a “pin” stuck in my [this is one thing I don’t remember: the term he used for it] __________,” but it really didn’t matter because he was busy demonstrating with what he was holding in his hand.

He said he needed me to help get the pin out.

I remember I sucked in my breath very quickly, because immediately I knew I was seeing something that I shouldn’t see.

And there wasn’t a “pin” in it, either.

That man, positioned right in front of the toy section, proceeded to shake his grown man’s penis in front of my little girl’s face. Why? Because he got a thrill from trying to crush the Innocence out of a

Little.

Tiny.

Baby.

Girl.

Well, guess what, Cocksucker (because I’m sure if you’re not dead, you’re professionally sucking cock in prison right now):

You’re a sick pedo fuck and you and the rest of your kind with your disgusting shriveled cocks can rot in your own level of hell for ten eternities, alone and with no one to keep you company but each other.

P.S. You didn’t succeed. I refused to let you steal my Innocence.

P.P.S. I know you sick pervs get off on reading shit like this, but as does Kait’s character in Your Design, I want to expose you for the cowardly, crude, contaminated criminal you are.

Jennifer, The Multimedian

My Introductory Post on Instagram:

MY INTENTIONS HERE

I tend to censor myself on Facebook because, in my head, I’m certain “Everyone” thinks I’m having a nervous breakdown when I attempt to express myself creatively. Maybe it’s because my mother and I share 107 Facebook friends? Or because Family Members and many Friends Since 8th Grade are there?
It doesn’t really matter since the problem is my own.

To tackle it, about 3 months ago, I started expressing myself emotionally on a [Wordpress] blog and physically, through Karaoke, on my [YouTube] channel…of 20 wonderful followers❣️

Both have been anonymous enough for me to feel free to put words to (writing)- and then exorcise (publishing)- the vicious lies and hateful slurs I didn’t even realize I was telling myself. Since forever.

I’m incredibly grateful to these social media platforms for helping me to rediscover my voice. By providing me with therapeutic outlets for energy and conversations too long suppressed, they’ve served as my freedom fighters, rescuers, and liberators.

So please, Friends, here on Instagram (where I’m a total newbie): if you know me personally, know my family, or have known me a long time, don’t judge me by the words I write. Sharing openly and honestly is a life-preserving activity for me. If I don’t do it, my body makes cancer. And I really don’t want to die! For the first time in a long time, I want to stick around. I’m having so much fun, and I feel like I have cried enough. I’m getting really tired of these tears, my Friends❣️

Please extend me the benefit of the doubt and don’t make any assumptions from my words. Some of my angriest ones could be directed at a disease or a traumatic experience.

I want and need to be my most authentic self for what’s left of This Journey. Having gotten a taste of it, I want to actually BE Jennifer instead of play her on TV. I just can’t play the “role you never knew I was playing” anymore❣️

#socialmedia #selfexpression #honesty #transparency #authentic #authenticity #facebook #conversation #creativewriting #writerscommunity #writersofinstagram #womensupportingwomen #women #mentalhealth #breastcancer #traumahealing #vulnerability

What I’d Tell My 7-Year-Old Self

You are beautiful and worthy and perfect just as you are. Follow your heart and don’t lose your passion.
ALWAYS choose feeling over numbing, no matter how terrifying.

Don’t let your tears frighten you, Little One. They are a gift from God Himself.

These efforts will require more bravery than you can imagine or even comprehend right now.

SO LET’S MAKE A PACT:

YOU promise ME you’ll never give up, and I can promise YOU we’re going to be okay.

I’ve seen and lived our future: we survive, but it doesn’t turn out the way we planned.
I’m sorry about that.
I tried very hard, but I just wasn’t strong enough.
It’s called Failure.
Failure” happens when, as a Big Girl, you realize all of those happy, hopeful movies you made in your mind are never going to happen.
In that moment of Despair, when you notice your Dreams are slipping away,
LET THEM GO!!
Unfulfilled Dreams don’t hurt as much once you’ve learned to forget them.

Lastly, and this is what the dictionary calls a “cliché,”:

Life is SO short, Little One.

Every moment feels forever when you’re young.
Somewhere along the line, the pace picks up and Life starts playing in fast-forward.
Time attempts to escape our grasp, and we never have enough of it.
People often behave strangely when they recognize this truth.
I know us well enough by now that I can assure you we don’t deliberately treat others badly.
Instead, we’re more haunted by the risks and chances we DIDN’T take than by the poor choices we DID.

So please, I beg you:
STOP worrying about all the things you should, shouldn’t, could, couldn’t, can, can’t, will, won’t, or might do and…
JUST DO
❣️


PS. You’ll be DOing us both a huge existential favor
(try to remember to “Google” ‘existential” one day; I know you’ll find the topic interesting)

REPOST

“This is My Story and I’m Sticking to It”

by Just Jennifer

I grew up a conflicted people-pleaser, swapped back and forth between parents. I learned that the only way to be “seen” was to be “good” – because my older sister had already taken the role of “bad” and got yelled at for it. I’ve always been highly adaptable like that. I learned that the best way to feel the kind of love that felt good I probably needed to get good grades or say something clever first.

I was treated like a princess with my mom during her rare inter-husband periods and dismissed as too-sensitive by my much-more-financially-comfortable father. There were multiple marriages on both sides with lots of joinings and new family members and disjoining of families and family members. At a very minimum, I’d describe my childhood with one word: Goodbye.

You understand that the earlier this happens, the greater the psychological impact, right? The process began to me when I was 18 months old.

In my life, I’ve been the Heroine, the Victim, the Golden Girl, the Failure, the Loser, the Tragic Figure, the Cautionary Tale, as well as both Goldilocks and Cinderella.

This once “one in a million” girl has finally dropped down to a “one in one” girl, because I’m happy to just be myself. For the very first time in my whole entire life.

I’m actually happy to be:

Just Jennifer.

The Girlfriends’ Guide to Healing a Broken Heart

If you’re dealing with a broken heart, I suggest this mini-manual (monograph, really). It is broken into several sections.

I. SUGGESTIONS:

1. Cry a bunch of sloppy wet tears. Make sure to put Kleenex on your Amazon Subscribe & Save list. You’ll need them. And you might want to buy some extra mascara or false eyelashes; just in case your current supply gives out.

2. Listen to a bunch of Toni Braxton songs (loop “He Wasn’t Man Enough For Me”; it’ll make you feel better). At least it did me. I listened to it over and over again, along with lots of what my younger friends call “Emo” music, or something like that. No one’s ever been able to explain the actual time period that defines it, so I’m just going off my own personal understanding of “Emo Music” here. I think its Poster Child is Alanis Morisette. So that would be what, the ‘90s? Okay, enough about her.

3. Tell at least one person the whole ugly story, soup to nuts. You have to get that shame out of you, sister! It helps if you have a “help-you-bury-the-body-and-give you-an-alibi” friend like my friend Gina. Who I met on Bumble Friends of all places! Can you even believe that? I find these kinds of conversations often require a solid stomach with some greasy Mexican food and frozen margaritas coating it. That’s your stomach and the conversation: they’re both better with margaritas. Unless you have too many, and then you’ll have a hard time with tequila, and you definitely don’t need an adverse relationship with tequila if you’ve got a broken heart.

4. Try to go out with your oldest and dearest friends, but you might want to make some new ones, too. I’m just saying that “Sometimes new friends ask really good new questions.” And can provide a whole new outlook on you and your “situation.” They can also gently force you out of your comfort zone in brand new, buttery soft kid gloves. The kind that never ever go on sale at Macy’s. They just don’t, and neither does the crystal or china. I can understand why with the china because people are always getting married, but surely there’s an off season for gloves in San Antonio, Texas?!

5. Also, try to do something you haven’t done in a really long time. The activity should be something you used to do easily as a child or adolescent. This is to help you avoid too much over-thinking. And you know how easily we can do that when somebody dumps us! I personally have a tendency to sit around and obsess about what I did wrong, but I’m sure as shit getting sick of that song and dance (and you know how I love the combination of song and dance). Especially since I have been getting therapy every single week for the last two years, so I don’t think it’s all about me. But whatever. You can’t fix everybody. Okay, so we were trying to get you to stop overthinking by avoiding activities which require overthinking in the first place. It’s got to be something you can lose yourself in on a visceral level. Like riding a bike, going swimming, miming if that’s your thing and you’ve been doing it long enough that you can honestly say you’re on autopilot when you’re miming and NOT over-thinking it. In fact, shoot for an activity which requires no analytical thinking whatsoever. For me, this state is achieved through immersion in music; music I have loved forever as well as new [to me] music. And a teeny tiny little bit of marijuana in moderation, but I really do have PTSD, okay? So let’s go ahead and stay away from that topic: I’m most certainly not advocating lawlessness here! But Girlfriend, there isn’t a Heartbreak Alive without a soundtrack! And if yours doesn’t have one, you need to get one yesterday, so go ahead and sign up for Spotify now. Trust me: you’re going to need it. It’s only $10.81 per month and you can cancel at any time. You’ll also need a decent pair of earbuds if music is also going to be your “visceral thing” (a good soundtrack is a fluid concept, so you’ll need to be listening to it practically 24/7). Just remember to take the earbuds out before you shower or go to sleep, as I had two ENT appointments in as many months because those plastic ear cover thingies came off and got stuck deep down in my ear canal. Yikes! The same ear both times, because I always sleep on my left side. Isn’t that so gross? Not to mention it felt like the guy was poking an icepick into my ear both times to fish them back out. Not to mention, I even had to take antibiotics, I shit you not! But if YOU are willing to be responsible with your earbuds, you won’t need to spend more than $35.99 [in my humble opinion, okay, and this is just my opinion!] for a decent and relatively durable pair. Especially if you’re an Amazon Prime Member ($10.99/month). Plus, if you add an Audible membership ($16.99/month), the earbuds practically pay for themselves. Except for the fact the analogy doesn’t work because you’re getting nothing back, but Amazon ($0) always offers rebates and sales on earbuds, so that’s where I recommend you start. And REMEMBER: these are merely investments towards your recovery, so garbage-in/garbage-out❣️ Or is that FIFO vs. LIFO? I can never remember the difference.

6. Okay, we’re upping the ante and hitting our crescendo now, so buckle in, girls. Do one thing – just one tiny little thing – that you’ve never ever done before. Just to say you did. And to see what happens. For me it was Actually Going To A Bar By Myself. I’m 54 years old (I know I don’t look it), and I literally had to talk myself into it 4 times [out loud, that’s why I said “literally”] in my car before I was able to Walk. Through. That. Front. Door. I had to psych myself up for it like the worst session of arachnophobia de-sensitization training ever! But what’s really important is that I did it❣️ And guess which bar I chose for This Little Experiment? I chose the karaoke bar down the street. I chose it because it was [like I said] down the street, next to the sushi place I always go to (literally always because I’ve been there 25 times in 2 months), and the parking was and is extensive and “up close” (think 7-11 vs. Kroger). Which is important if you’ve shellacked your hair and makeup in preparation for your Terrifying New Adventure and you live in San Antonio (aka “Little Hades”), Texas. The windows were blacked out so I googled it first to make sure it wasn’t a “gentleman’s club” for my first-ever “Looking for Mr. Goodbar” experience. Yes, some people and a throuple-in-waiting gave off a weird vibe, but the female bartender made sure nobody slipped roofies into my drink. And the miracle of the whole night is that I had such a wonderful time! I got up for my virgin karaoke performance on my virgin “night to a bar by myself” and belted out, in my terrible voice, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap by AC/DC. I found my muse in Karaoke and She is Me! A fellow female patron videotaped my performance, and I can tell you that empirically and undeniably, it is SOLID! Nothing like what I’m capable of now, but it was A Night of Two Firsts, so I couldn’t be prouder. Not to mention, I looked totally hot (or at least that’s what a grubby looking guy at the bar said).

<<put your finger to your tongue, get it slightly (just slightly!) wet, put it back up in the air, and make a sizzling sound; yes, that gesture>>.

7. Take solace in familiar comforts which have soothed your abrasions in the past (because those comfortable things are indeed comforting), but also:

8. Make the decision to spice up your heartbreak this go around. Be willing to switch things up a little bit. At the very least, be willing to just do one or two things differently. C’mon, let’s say it together: We can and will heal our hearts better/quicker/deeper this time❣️

II. PRESCRIPTION:

If I were your Official Love Doctor (that’s an OLD, so you know I’m highly qualified), I’d write you a prescription for “Karaoke On an Off-Night”. Which is the perfect time to practice for an “On-Night.” And look: what started out as a new Guilty Pleasure for me has now turned into my very own YouTube channel called Karaoke Konnection with 15 captivate-ated subscribers to prove it! I like to go to MY “local karaoke place” as often as I’m able (anywhere from 0 to 2 nights per week) to video-capture both talented and artistic local Karaoke performances. I don’t know what differentiates the two, only that no one would mistake my karaoke performances for either one. But the Big Picture here is that now I’m starting to envision myself as the Restaurant Critic of the Karaoke Industry: the one who’s known for spotting the hidden gems. Kind of like social media’s version of American Idol. With me hosting❣️ My mission will be: To travel the world in search of the Best Karaoke Performances. I’m fully aware there’s a decent chance I’ll get picked up by the networks, but I know it probably isn’t likely. As in 100% guaranteed. But at the very least, I have a good reason to go to ALL karaoke bars by myself now❣️ And I make sure someone videotapes me when I get up there to conduct my performances. Then, as the channel’s Founder and Visionary, I get to bury my videos among the videos of the truly talented and artistic. Don’t let anybody tell you the company you keep isn’t important! At the end of the day, my last heartbreak just might be responsible for revolutionizing Global Popular Music. It’s an indisputable win for humanity❣️ And that makes me feel personally fulfilled in a whole new way. I know it can happen to you as well. Dreams really can come true at any age. ❤️

III. Q & A:

Question: You don’t think you ever stand up and sing in front of a room full of strangers.
Answer: “Where better to find out?”

Question: You’re worried you’ll make an complete and utter ass out of yourself.
Answer: “Where better to find out?”

IV. PARTING WORDS:

No one will care [too much] if your voice is horrible when you go out and do this New-Old Thing. Mine certainly is! In fact, I have objective proof that one Karaoke Jockey [referred to as a “K.J.” by those of us in the Biz] in particular always turns off the mic when it’s my turn to sing. And I don’t blame him! He’s working for tips, after all. And for me: it’s all about the “dancing and prancing in front of a crowd” [gerund] for me, anyway.

But regarding YOUR Passion Process To Be: continuing with our Karaoke metaphor (you didn’t realize it had become a metaphor yet because it hadn’t before now), don’t forget that you’re PAYing to PLAY the rock star in this fantasy, so why not maximize your investment?

Oh, wait, I do have one final piece of advice for you before you all head out to your local Karaoke bars tonight, all alone and by yourself: Don’t try to sing any of The Dark Child’s songs yourself because then you just will be making a total ass out of myself. I’d suggest avoiding songs by Beyoncé as well. Let’s start with the low-hanging fruit, shall we?

For Debbie, My Therapist

August 2020

I get my head shrunk each week by woman named Debbie

She helps me to process my grief once I’m ready

Her empathy provides me with a safe place to land

I appreciate how she relates and always understands

Those thoughts that lead me down a path of despair

Always seem more powerful, out of reach in the air

We combat them with “mindfulness”, a tool I’ve just found

With it we lasso these fears to the ground

Once my pain’s in the room, we then can dissect

It from a distance that helps me reflect

On the hurts I have felt all through the years

And in the process I purge many tears

We use hip techniques like “E-M-D-R”

Other times she affirms me and treats me with warmth

I feel quite secure when I talk in her presence

She’s someone I trust with my thoughts most unpleasant

When we look back, we see choppy waters

The hurts from my past, both the grief and the bothers.

I know I have found the best-equipped guide

To help me to cope and bad thoughts exorcise

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Photo courtesy of Priscilla Du Preez. Thank you, Priscilla!

Things to Always Remember

Journal from July, 2021

• I’m gifted and can’t lose my gifts.

• I’m physically beautiful, period.

• I’m worthy because I’m human – full stop.

• When I’m being hard on myself, I need to cease and desist and start describing myself as a friend. I must be NICE to her!

• Leaves on a Stream for 5-10 minutes.

• Breathe in colors and textures and life and breathe out rapacious, enveloping darkness.

• Engage by: how my body feels, what I hear around me, what I see around me. Focusing on the here and now and what’s in front of me.

• Practice mindfully doing things: I must do things I don’t like in a mindful way, do things I DO like in a mindful way (focus without “psychological smog” hijacking my mind and leeching my life of color), and practice doing everyday tasks mindfully.

Please don’t think I’m vain, you guys! I’d hate to think anyone thought that. This is my therapy I give to myself. I thought perhaps my notes from – and individual additions to – a few tricks I learned from Audible’s “Confidence Gap” book might make you feel better, too❣️

How To Heal a Broken Heart or Soul (I think):

Exercises to Be Kind to Yourself, Even if You Sometimes Hate Yourself

1. Be Nice to Jennifer: think of yourself as your friend. Would you be so harsh to your friends?

2. Assume the Best Intentions: as you imagine the possible negative intentions of others towards you, force yourself to generate just as many positive or benign intentions, choose the one that provides you with the most peace and actively begin the work of believing it. Imagine it in practice: what things would look like if you believed this. Imagine the actions you would take if that best intention were true. Plus, why not give the benefit of the doubt to others’ intentonas? You certainly offer it to them?

3. Don’t Second-Guess Your Choices: remember that every single decision you’ve made (all the way down to turning right instead of left in 1998) has carried you through Survival As Of Today. All other outcomes of all other choices are uncertain. So though you might be The Walking Wounded, you’re still in The Game. And that’s not nothing❣️

4. More to come as I figure them out!