My Ideal Date: The Key to My Heart

Booking a private karaoke room so I can sing about 6 hours’ worth of songs in my shitty voice to ONE OTHER LIVING PERSON. And not freaking out if I cry in some of them. I’m talking about the kind of tears that come with some snot.

I know it will be hard to recover from the snot part, but should he find himself able:

It really bothers me that I can’t see the stars at night anymore. I used to see them every night when I parked my car in the driveway when I was a teenager in Atlanta, Georgia.

I just want to go see the stars in the sky again. That’s the key.

P.S. The Karaoke comes with lots of dancing. So there’s always that.

To My 19 Followers:

Thank you for listening to the conversations I’ve suppressed since Always (if not Before).

“Speaking” them here is the most lightening and emotionally levitating exercise I’ve ever experienced.

Each conversation I suppress has a funny way of refusing to be silenced. At least on the inside. However, when I convert these esoteric thought vapors into fully carved words brimming with consonants and vowels, something truly magical and miraculous happens to me.

It doesn’t even matter if anyone reads what I have to say. What’s important is that I’ve finally said it. And what’s so beautiful about it all is these whispers I never really heard but felt suddenly stop feeling so painful. And guttural. And harsh.

In fact, something dislodges a little bit as these words start being forced to enter my Prefrontal Cortex [GPS coordinates unknown; excuse my lapse in exactitude.]

I just needed to get this down. Once I’ve explored whatever it is I need to address – using different characters and scenarios along the way – the insights solidify and then Oilá! They blaze, clear, continue to percolate, morph and glom onto other insights, potentially resulting in complete shift in my worldview (at the moment, anyway). Sometimes it takes awhile to reach every cell in my body.

But once truth reaches every cell in my body, my body starts to heal itself. On the inside, outside, and in the invisible parts. This feels like all kinds of things, sometimes all at once. It can be a supreme peace in my spiritual core or a firework display of emotion. It can mine the detritus of my past and return to me with scaled and hidden gems that merely require a little rock tumbling in order to sparkle.

Wearing my new jewelry and exorcising those suppressed words feels like the emotional equivalent of wearing my softest pair of pajamas all day.

It’s a lightness I haven’t felt in so long, I almost don’t recognize it anymore. Bottom line: my headspace is turning into a much nicer neighborhood!

Of course, I knew all of the truth and some of the answers all along. I just didn’t know that I knew it, and I didn’t know what I didn’t know (a la “Jocari’s Window” for my philosophers).

So thank you from the deepest place in my bloody heart. Again and Again. Simply for being here. 🌹🍎🩸❤️

P.S. The photo is in merciless hi-def, but you guys deserve the “good stuff” from my Hidden Archives❣️

The “Me” in Meme

I’m going to try to do this like my younger friends on YouTube (is it called a meme?)…

PERSON: “helpful advice

ME: (inside head) DO YOU THINK I DON’T ALREADY KNOW THAT…AS WELL AS EACH AND EVERY ONE OF MY PERSONAL FLAWS?

ME: (outside head) manifested “sensitivity to criticism”

Saturday Night, for Real

You order a terrible combination of ingredients on a pizza in a moment of fleeting spontaneity.  The results are unsurprisingly disastrous.  Do you:
1. Eat the problem like adult: You bought it, they made it, just eat it.
2. Project your unfulfilled needs onto unsuspecting innocents:
like yelling at the poor people who made the pizza in the first place, or:
3. Never EVER, under either direct or implied duress, admit to being home alone on a Saturday night. And ordering a pizza, no less! Such a rookie mistake!

We Live With a Homicidal Maniac

We Live With a Homicidal Maniac who desperately wants to kill all of the Jennifers under My Care. I’m a total crap parent, but I know how to play dirty. You don’t think I could plumb the depths of survivor guilt and child murder with a free-loving Inner Critic, do you?

I have seen the faces of Evil, Violence, Hatred, and Unspeakable Acts. They look like Me, and Their Voice criticizes Me all day, every day. The Voice and I are well-acquainted; fellow Ancients, “Old Souls”.

But We are both tiring of these millennia of dragon-slaying. I know I speak for both of Us when I say We’d really like to go on Vacation. Isn’t there ONE responsible Adult out there who’s willing to watch the Jennifers for a week or so? Hell, we’d be happy with a long weekend off at the Holiday Inn down the road!

Please check your calendars and get back to Us. If Nobody steps up, We’re going to send Our Inner Critic to terrorize Him. If Anybody offers, I promise You full immunity from Future Prosecution (it’ll look better on you than Botox, I swear!)

P.S. We know the above post was Juvenile, but we had an adrenalized day by noon-thirty, so we had to bleed. Our Inner Critic is momentarily appeased.

Jenniferine

Lupine (wolf-like)
Canine (dog-like)
Feline (cat-like)
Porcine (pig-like)
Ovine (sheep-like)
Taurine (bull-like)
Limacine (slug-like)
Piscine
Elephantine
Equine
Muscine, Murine (mouse-like)
Serpentine
Aquiline (of or like an eagle)
Bovine (cow-like)
Vulpine (foxlike)
Leporine (rabbit- or hare-like)
Cervine (deer-like; moose, elk)
Avine (birdlike, but rare; Avian)
Squalene (like a shark; big fish)
Tigrine (tiger)
Delphine (dolphin-like)
Cameline
Ursine (bear-like)

July 19, 2017; Bolding added 2021

When the Heart-Soul Breaks

When the soul breaks, it tells us we’ve lost our missing puzzle piece – it’s human manifestation represents a unique shape – the ONLY shape which can return us to wholeness. We will reject people who don’t conform to the missing negative-electron-pull of that void into our Adult lives. This wound-activated expulsion of others doesn’t result in the relief we seek because it does so by what our brains are able to understand at the times when our heart was broken; at the young age we made those decisions. Puzzle Pattern Recognition at young ages doesn’t allow us to consider alternate shapes, other options all together. Since we’re closed off to these other mental paths and self-protective limitations, we stay trapped and enprisoned, jerked around by the terrifying cries from our inner Little Child – and trust me: she lives in you whether you believe it or not!

After a lifetime of consciously or subconsciously forcing other individuals to conform or leave, we die, lonely and alone.

If you want to avoid this fate, MY fate, you have to go back to the original wound, even if it isn’t a single traumatic experience. Expecting children to remember the specific events behind the heartbreaking emotions is unnecessary in my opinion. You know what first broke your heart. First and foremost, let me tell you I’m so very, very sorry that you suffered that way as a child. It wasn’t your fault, and it was wrong. I wish I could’ve comforted you then, and I know there are many decent adults out there who wish they could’ve as well. I’m sure if they heard your story, they would want to rush in and scoop you up, dry your tears, and listen as you told why you were sad or afraid. Afterwards, we’d try our very best to keep you safe from harm. If you were failed before, let’s try to heal it here and now.

You are loved, you are treasured, you are infinitely beautiful and huge-hearted. You are whole and perfect just as you are. You have individual worth and value. You are precious. You are a pearl beyond all price.

Surely you can understand we are not feeding an entitlement mentality if any human adult has never heard these words from another living soul. So you will have to be your own Another Living Soul.

In this role, you will be the Adult who then must unapologetically love, nurture, and re-parent Your Little Child to achieve the emotional stability you desire, require, and truly need to grow into the kind of Adult you want to be.

It may sound circular or ‘fluffy’, but it’s what is working for me. As long as you are seeking external solutions to this now-very concerning internal source of distress, you’ll never be free from the haunting of Your Little Child. You can INVITE the Guide, the Helper, the Guru, or even the Consultant to help, but you will always be the General Contractor for the job. No: make that the Owner Footing the Bill.

So spend your money well, do your research, document it, celebrate it, and don’t let Anyone or Anything deter your commitment, other than basic self-care. Remember: place the oxygen mask on Your Adult Self before you place it on Your Little Child.

My Devastation, 10/3/21

I don’t think I can adequately describe the devastation that results when an individual wakes up one morning to discover the Tightly-Held Beliefs She Has Clung To About Herself, Life, Humanity, and The Universe have departed. Packed up their party in hushed tones while she slept, in search of newer, fresher hearts upon which to prey.

In response and in desperation, she cuts and bleeds on the shards left behind, secretly praying for their return to her.

I don’t believe Humans are meant to survive this, though the Truly Unlucky often do.

I am sorry for bleeding on you. Writing is my own form of “cutting:”

I hurt, I bleed, I feel better.

The Biggest Loser

First and foremost, I’m not looking to marry you, so PLEASE get over yourself.  
All I want is one last torrid, passionate love affair before I die - or at least while I can still enjoy it.

Should we meet, I won’t be auditioning for a role; I will be interviewing you for one.

I don’t really care if you think I’m beautiful. I’ve fought in many wars and have the scars to prove it. I happen to find them beautiful and unique (p.s. why aren’t we talking about your body here?).

I don’t need your help. C’mon, Dude, I’m a two-time breast cancer survivor. Do You honestly think I need your help??

I don’t need your money, I’m fine in that department, thank you very much.

I don’t need a supervisor, but I would enjoy spending time with (one or more) fellow travelers and/or adventurers.

I don’t need your advice, though I know you love to give it. I’m actually far more resourceful than you apparently think.

I’m not looking for Someone To Take Care of Me, thank you very much. I’ve pretty much done that my entire life. Do you honestly think I abandoned my sensibilities when I met you?

I never asked you to tell me I’m “an amazing woman” while breaking up with me by text. I only asked you to tell me over the phone. Was that really such an unreasonable request?

I never asked you to fix me. I only asked you to accept me as I am.
(Oh, and I almost completely forgot about this part and had to add it later)…
We are both broken people: if we haven’t made some horrible choices by this age, then we haven’t lived at all.

I never asked you to love me. I only asked for a temporary oasis; an emotionally safe place where Little Jennifer could occasionally come out and play. Loving her is all that matters to me, because she’s been hurt enough.

Last and most importantly, I NEVER asked you to pity me! I refuse to allow another human being to turn me into a victim again. So you go right ahead and pretend like WE never happened. I’m fulfilled by being alive enough to have made such a bad impression in the first place!

Let’s Change Topics Now and Take a Little Inventory of What I DO Have to Offer:

•I’ve got my own car and my own money.
•I’ve got a bucket list of sexual fantasies I’ve yet to fulfill.
•I’ve got an entire wardrobe of fluffy, frilly, and sexy lingerie.
•I’ve got a scary high IQ
•I have no small children, adolescent children, adult children, or grandchildren.
•I’ve got a dirty mind and
•Too much time on my hands.

So in the End,
Who was the Biggest Loser?

Insomnia, You Ruthless Malcontent!

(Apparently Revised YET AGAIN on 07/06/17)


Insomnia, you ruthless malcontent!
Your designs on me leave me raw and spent.
Already the victor with the rising of the sun,
As I stand broken, 'fore the day has yet begun.
I brace myself & wobble from my tent
Approaching you with a victim's contempt
For I know you have the upper hand
as sleep is something I cannot demand

Instead I issue a plaintive cry
As I ask and beg and ask again "Why?"

"WHY are you withholding something rightfully mine?
The right to renew and kick-start my mind"

I receive no reply, no answer to my query;
No sleep, it seems, no nighttime fairy.

I see myself from far away, submitting to my fate,
When desperate thoughts embolden me to rouse one last debate.

With shattered mind, I genuflect, imploring for some peace,
Pleading for, with all my mind, an hour of sweet release.

My thoughts keep pace,
Can’t change this race
I'll never have relief.

My sorrows then,
With worries spin
Into a deep and scratchy-eyed grief.

Crayonz & Skyscrapers

We live in a world of Ladders, Construction, and Skyscrapers.   
As such, we value striving, upward progression, and the brick-by-brick determination to build Something from Nothing.
Without complaining.
Ever.
We design a social system and infrastructure that reflects our collective values.
This includes laws, penalties, procedures, forms, filing, timelines, deadlines, highway lines, and grocery store lines.
Society reveres its Builders, Climbers, Implementors, Maintainers, and Worker Bees.
Language reflects our values, so we use phrases like:
Reaching the top
Climbing the ladder
Hitting the glass ceiling
Working his way up


Will there ever be an alternative world for the few who live their lives in non-linear cycles?
Will there ever be a time when we don’t judge the souls flailing and thrashing about under the weight of so much structure?
Will we ever truly value the Quirky and the Strange among us?
Will we ever see the Beauty in the stories of our Exquisite Oddballs?

These are the people who add color and contrast to the world. I, for one, don’t want to swap out my 43-inch technicolor plasma screen for an old black and white set.

Upon Contemplating a Second Marriage, 5/2014

“Am I Really, Really, REALLY Going To Do This Again?”

So many newly engaged or married couples talk about the husband’s “crazy ex-wife”.  This not only defies logic (how’d these same women become sane so quickly in order to marry again?), but it takes the focus off the mistakes we made in the past and dooms us to make them again.  So I think it’s normal to consider a second marriage with equal parts expectancy and caution.  I like that in the impending union on my horizon, we don’t blame our prior spouses for our past failures.  We look to our own contributions to those failures, and how we now relate to each other in this new relationship.  Most of all, we ask our Holy Father for grace, grace, and more grace to create a relationship that is pleasing to Him.

All this doesn’t mean I don’t have concerns.  Looking at 2nd marriage statistics ALONE admonishes that I “get [me] to a nunnery”, and fast!  Then there’s the seemingly impossible task of joining one’s relatives, resources, IRAs, emotional baggage, health conditions, and place of residence in middle age.  Add taste, furniture, and ART WORK on top if it all, and simple “dating” starts to sound good again!!

But I’ve been blessed to stumble across someone who loves me from his deepest place, who is willing to compromise on many of those difficult issues, and – most of all – is willing to put up with ME! I know I’m friendly and intelligent still pretty hot at 47 (hey, I’m trying to be objective here!).

But what’s also true is that I am NOT the easiest person to be married to. I hate going to the grocery store; but he doesn’t. I despise cooking; he happens to be very good at it. I’m a two-time breast cancer survivor; he doesn’t care. If anything, he’s proud of me. So as I told family earlier this week, this love of mine has seen me in the muck, and his response has been to help me out. But he’s not just a “fixer”: when the time comes – and it’s coming – he’ll also be content to sit back and watch me soar. That’s love, I think. (2014)

DAMN, WAS I EVER WRONG…Again! Divorced in 2016.

Do I Know You?

Unlike other people on Facebook, I cannot share photos of my children and their children.

Because I could not have children.

I can only share my heart.

I write these words for the ONE PERSON who has felt my pain.

I want that ONE PERSON to know he or she is not alone.

I don’t care who I offend: my passion is for that ONE PERSON only.

That in the recognition of their pain in my expression of mine, our burdens are momentarily reduced. ❤️‍🔥

The Shape of Pain

No
Ow!
Stop
Hurts
Stop!!!
Please❣️
Why? ???
Please stop!
You’re hurting me.
YOU’RE HURTING ME‼️
WHY are you doing this?
What did I ever do to you?
I’ll do anything; please stop.
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST STOP!
Okay, I guess I must deserve it
I was never very good at all
I probably deserve this 🥲
Could you just kill me?
I’m already dead.
Please bury me.
Tell my Mom.
Tell God?
Corpse
Stop
Bye
No
0

Why Do Women?

Why do WOMEN:

- [ ] Spend a small fortune on cosmetics, camouflaging our natural beauty?
- [ ] Spend a large fortune on gyms, diets, and whatever undergarments are necessary so that we can tolerate looking at ourselves in the mirror?
- [ ] Get big brown caterpillars tattooed onto our eyebrows?
- [ ] Wear false eyelashes (including the magnetic type which literally burns our eyeballs?)
- [ ] Inject Botulinum Toxin into our faces to “blur” the wrinkles?
- [ ] Inject Dermal fillers to “plump back up” the natural baby fat we’ve lost in our cheeks and our lips?
- [ ] Pay for professional facials, microdermabrasion treatments, laser skin refinement, eyebrow lifts, breast implants, tummy tucks, and other forms of cosmetic enhancement?
- [ ] Spend up to $100 per month getting hair removed from the places deemed “un-hair-worthy” in 2021?
- [ ] Think we need, purchase books about, and then relentlessly execute vagina-tightening and/or vagina-loosening exercises, depending on the way we personally feel insufficient (and by aged 54, we only have two options: the droopy post-childbirth vagina and the dried-up, post-menopausal vagina: if I’ve failed to consider a third option, by all means please do let me know below).
- [ ] Suffer the indignity of the stirrups in middle age to get prescriptions for hormones we no longer produce, some of which can be very dangerous to us, in order to be “as feminine as possible”?
- [ ] Get therapy to process our issues because the last thing we ever want to do is to HURT SOMEONE ELSE?
- [ ] Immediately blame ourselves if anything goes wrong in one of our friendships or romantic relationships?
- [ ] NOT tell the whole world how smart we actually ARE? As in: all day long?
- [ ] Not say what we’re really thinking (example: “It actually scares me how much I’m dumbing myself down to be with you”)?
- [ ] Stick around in abusive, unfulfilling, unsatisfying, and/or unsupportive long-term relationships, all the while buying books like “How to Be Present for Your Partner’s Inner Child” and “How To Be Smoking Hot in The Bedroom”?
- [ ] Feel compelled to share our failures, catalogue our flaws, and admit to our shortcomings?

When MEN:

- [ ] Will gladly repeat that list of failures to us, lest we forget it,
- [ ] Won’t get therapy, and
- [ ] Won’t even consider getting a prescription for Viagra?

No wonder these new generations of women are going “Rogue Lesbian”: if you don’t have something to bring to the party, well… it’s a really boring party, okay? And I’m REALLY tired of pretending like it’s not and then blaming MYSELF for the fact that YOUR PARTY IS BORING!!

For the Decision-Makers:Why I Believe Marijuana Should Be Legal in the State of Texas (from a first-person perspective)

1. Smoking pot makes me want to turn each song on my Spotify favorites list into a Karaoke song I can actually visualize myself singing.
2. Smoking pot means I have Spotify in the first place. I didn’t listen to music for 20 years.
3. Smoking pot helps me to at least know what I’m crying about.
4. Smoking pot helps me to live in the moment, not in the thought bubbles analyzing what’s going on down below.
5. Smoking pot means that I laugh 25% as often as I cry (that’s an increase from 0%).
6. Smoking pot means I can feel pain in a tolerable way rather than numb it - and God knows we vilify “addicts” who need pain relief in this country. We treat them more like slugs than people.
7. Smoking pot brings the suppressed version of myself out to play and connect with other human beings again; before, I withdrew to shield myself from Life’s blows.
8. Smoking pot helps me to stop second-guessing myself every second of every day; it stops the onslaught of voices telling me to WATCH OUT!! To STAY SAFE or I’ll get hurt!! Again. Other people - even “loved ones” are dangerous. So is Fate, the Universe and God Himself. Smoking pot turns off that damned robot looping through my traumatized brain screaming DANGER, JENNIFER!! I don’t think most people have a clue how EXHAUSTING it is to live with PTSD.
9. And no, I don’t get a lot done, but it’s not by choice. Accumulated trauma and chronic pain had already leeched my vitality from me. At least now I see some meaning and purpose in what’s LEFT of my life. That’s good enough for me because I HAVE SUFFERED ENOUGH.
10. I don’t need your pity or pseudo-compassion, served up cold with an order of Judgment on the side. What I NEED is to not be arrested for engaging in acts of self-preservation.
11. I am willing to testify before the Texas legislature to put my story on official record, just like I did for the Medicaid for Breast and Cervical Cancer program and The Fertility Preservation Bill (which I really hope has become a law by now).

P.S. A special note for my fellow Christians: I love you and I am not “lost” or “deceived.” I haven’t lost my faith, but I did lose my hope and my self-compassion. So I’m still a “Christian,” just not a ‘Good Christian.”

Saving One’s Own Life

Pulling oneself up and out of the downward trajectory of death requires Enjoyment, Endurance, and Effort, all of which demand copious amounts of fuel.  Sometimes this fuel is mined from deeply-buried Anger or Rebellion.  Sometimes it’s sourced from unshed tears, forsaken dreams, and hopes  long-abandoned. Sometimes it looks irrational or immature.  Sometimes it involves rash decisions later cried over.  

A person actively involved in saving her own life might engage in “risky” behaviors like falling too quickly and deeply for the most inappropriate person, only to have him reject her exactly as she always knew he would, then she goes out and dances into the wee hours, starting the whole cycle all over again the following week. Her family might begin to pray for her in earnest or worry she’s having a mental breakdown. But she knows how important the Enjoyment component of the equation is, so she must persevere (Endurance) and FORCE herself to have fun. Does she remember what it feels like to laugh? From the belly? I’m sorry to inform her, but she’s going to have to invoke her Muscle Memory Rights and practice laughing and dancing again. If she has to have someone along for the ride, she could ask family or friends, but if she can’t, she needs to make some fucking new ones! Those negative influences are partially responsible for the reason her soul is now dying! She can’t afford to be too picky - she just needs someone along for the next adventure. She doesn’t have to get into a relationship with the person and should try to keep thing as lite as possible. Oh, she didn’t? Well, so what!? It’s HER life and HER choice. I just hope she’s kind to herself when she makes these “mistakes”. For the first time in decades, little shoots of green are sprouting up on the ancient and bent branches of her very old tree, and it’s a spectacular anomaly to behold; like the once-in-300-years neon flight of a Comet set into motion during Light Years Past.


The only forces powerful enough to bring back the downward trajectory at this point are of the everyday but lethal variety. They’re the murder weapons from a nearby toolbox: overthinking, over analyzing, shame, self-loathing, embarrassment, self-second-guessing, and unhealthy regret. Notice the emphasis on “over” and “self”: she must literally get OVER herself!! As in CLIMBING over herself to get away from the words Herself is telling Her.


Here is the advice I would share with Her:

“Never forget the beautiful, trusting, innocent 7-year-old child who still lives inside you. Would you say the same corrosive, damaging, and soul-crushing things to HER that you say to yourself? Would you deliberately clip her little-girl wings, binding/blinding/ confining/ paring down/and condemning her to a Life Lived In Miniature?
Of course you wouldn’t! Instead, you’d whisper into her ear over and over and over again that she is worthy, deserving, and capable of Love, Loving, and All Things Beautiful.

	

Thoughts on “True Crime” and “Mental Illness”

We’ve got to come up with some new terminology that separates our quirky recluses who’d never hurt a fly from the narcissistic psychopaths who embezzle from their friends and murder innocents.  “Mentally illl” has become an umbrella term that incorrectly groups sadistic individuals with housebound PTSD sufferers, agoraphobics, young girls with teenaged eating disorders, and people who cut themselves to relieve SELF-imposed shame.  Those that hurt nobody at all- and even those that hurt only themselves - at least deserve their own term.  I don’t know what it is, but it’s an important distinction society needs to make.  Because people who enjoy violence but feel no remorse ARE dangerous and DO need to be called something.  If we don’t have an accurate term for them, how will we warn and protect our children with information?

As someone who has experienced depression in response to an onslaught of devastating and traumatic events I did not choose, I’m sick to death of everyone acting like “mental illness” is a dirty little secret. Maybe it wouldn’t be if the term didn’t also include said violent psychopaths? Just a thought for the mental health experts.