The tears, the prayers

The tears?

The ones on my knees, when I was pleading with you to let the baby stay?

The prayers?

The relentless, always-in-pursuit-but-unable-to-escape guilt?

The kind I couldn’t exorcise, no matter how I tried?

The feeling like less than a slug for decades?

I think it was “dirty menstrual rags” you equated my beauty to?

The believing I had only to speak the words and have the faith of a child to make my dreams come to pass?

The dreams which never, EVER came to pass?

Even when I was a child (therefore having the “faith of a child”)?

If it was in your sovereign will for me?

Without ever telling me what your sovereign will for me was in the first place?

Well, it never did me an ounce of good.

So, thanks for that kindness, too.

If you’d been a plain old debased human, I would’ve cut you off years ago.

Then again, I happen to have a fondness for brokenness.

I don’t get all mad and wrathful trying to beat the sin out of the sinners you so brilliantly and beautifully designed.

So: your goodness and mercy never cease to let me down.

If you’re as omniscient as you claim, I’ll assume you picked up on the sarcasm in my last sentence.

If not: go ahead and insert dark, jaded, broken-down, angry, disappointed, soul-crushed sarcasm all throughout the fabric of my last 3 posts.

It’s intentional.

I think it’s obvious, but:

I’m pretty sure, if you even do exist, you stopped caring about what we humans had to say centuries ago.

We haven’t killed enough people in your name lately, so I guess you moved on to angrier people.

That was your mistake.

Because I’m probably the Angriest Bitch you’ll come across for a long time.

In fact, I’m so angry, if you had the guts to face me:

I’d probably kill you myself.

If you weren’t already dead.

[At least to me]

Teenagers‼️

Why does my heart bleed for teenagers when I never had any of my own? I try to give them (probably misguided) advice – see my reply to a young girl’s comment. I know: wisdom from the woman known as Karaoke Konnection on YouTube. It’s laughable.

Then, please tell me if it’s misguided. Because I really need to know. It’s profoundly, remarkably, achingly important to me that my words never damage these young people. I want them to excel and to thrive and to keep Humanity alive!

More than anything…

Please Watch if You Love a Teenager

I’m 54, and I feel like you’re telling my story. I know it feels like your father has betrayed all of you (because he did) and everything that once seemed so certain now seems terribly uncertain. And you don’t even get to be mad because you’re being such a little adult, keeping up your end of the deal, while the adults are abandoning their roles as if they never existed in the first place. I’m so sorry that the pressure has fallen on you during this time. My only advice for all of you teenagers who are hurting now is:
Please never bury the real and unique you that burns inside. You know your dreams and your passions and your heart in a way no other person does. Your circumstances will change frequently throughout your life, but your essence, your personhood, won’t. Please don’t EVER bury yourselves so much in your efforts to make others happy that you extinguish the beautiful flame that burns in each one of you❣️

P.S. Tell your parents a lady older than them said so‼️

The Recipe for Disaster

You start with a perfectly decent heart and a perfectly decent mind and a perfectly decent body

And then…

your perfectly decent heart

and your perfectly decent mind

and your perfectly decent body

all

‼️BREAK‼️

Over…

And Over…

And Over…

Again.

And you wonder why I don’t take things seriously anymore?

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

I Owe You an Apology, Jeff

So, I wrote you a few scathing letters last week, but I think I may be the “me” in this “mea culpa.”

See, I’ve been thinking you were The Head Honcho/The Big Cheese/The “Bill Gates” of Google, YouTube, G-mail, and all other Google apps (yes, that’s you Blogger, refusing to talk to WordPress or vice-versa; I don’t know which of you isn’t playing well with the other.)

Anyway, it just occurred to me today that I was SO WRONG! You’re not the G-note who is responsible for my Current Family-Discord: you’re the A-note!

You just sent me that wireless mouse; the one I purchased expressly because 1) it was wireless and 2) it came with its own doogle.

Only it doesn’t come with it’s own doogle, as both box and product listing proclaim. My now-problem with you, Jeff, is that I was so certain you would never betray me beyond your ability to “un-betray” me, I didn’t bother to open the mousebox for 32 days. Even though lately you’ve been charging me $35 for earbuds and mailing me $2.99 ball caps instead. “Accidentally.” You know, Jeff: I simply abhorr conspiracy theories, but a common thread you find in all of them is: “Look at the Money.” I’ll say “COVID-19” and leave it there. Which also makes me think: “BIG PHARMA.” DISNEY, NETFLIX, SONY.

I’M SORRY, I JUST COULDN’T STOP‼️, Besides, I 💯 % subscribe to the theory that Global Pandemics Deserve Global Providers❣️ So don’t get mad at me when I’m still mad at you, okay?

Global companies for a Global pandemic. But like I said: I don’t believe in conspiracy theories.

Especially since I’ve been dealing with excruciatingly painful dental problems all month. Sending my mouth into the hands of no less than 15 different men and women across the entire San Antonio Metropolitan Area. Including once last week as well as yesterday into the more expensive hands of an oral surgeon (ca-ching!); a former navy seal (ca-double-ching!) who volunteers for Dentists for Humanity (I don’t think I meet the requirements) working on Veterans’ Day (triple-caching!) while paying an assistant administer the “full-sedation package” (a non-negotiable).

So: do I have your attention now, Jeff? Am I speaking in dollars you can finally comprehend?

You see: my 30 Day Nightmare of Dental Torture finally ended yesterday morning, beginning a 10-Month Nightmare of Financial Torture; simply to restore me to simple dental health while simultaneously destroying both my mental and financial health.

Honestly: it’s a tradeoff worthy of serious contemplation. What finally convinced me to Go Large was The Vanity Involved. I can’t imagine living, loving, and being fully human without my trademark winning smile. No, Jeff, not even a man of your Means, Jeans, Teams, Queens, whose Living the Dream can steal that from me! (Kinda “rapt” towards the end there).

The ribbon-cutting procedure to This New Adventure, and hopefully the closing ceremony on The Worst of the Pain was a very expensive, highly unplanned, surgically oral extraction of tooth #19, along with the insertion of a “bone graft” at 10:00am yesterday morning. Thursday.

Veteran’s Day. RIP, #19. Until we get the fake one, it was a pleasure living with you for the first 52 years. I can’t say the same for the last 2.

I guess, Jeff, both my hopes and my fears were realized yesterday. My hopes because I felt “better-enough” to to do some blogging on my old blog, Blogger; which required me to grasp for the Chrome-cast I bought to satisfy Whoever Owns Google, so that I can maintain my YouTube channel with an iota of professionalism).

That Chromecast has a terrible keyboard, Jeff; a fact I never learned from poring over [YOUR] site reviews for tens of hours before I spent hundreds of dollars on the many electronic devices you sold me last month so that I could create content on the apps you gave me for free. Years and years of content ago. But again: I don’t believe in price-fixing or other conspiracy theories.

Sadly, I’ve been in too much dental pain to use these electronic devices very much. Which is why I didn’t get around to opening the wireless mouse until yesterday, after your return window had closed. I wasn’t worried: it’s not like you were Steve Jobs or Jeff Bezos or anything!!

Anyway, after trying to type on the Chromecast “touch-ignore” for 60 seconds, I reached for the mouse.

Only to find my mouse’s doogle had been removed.

If I had wanted a female mouse, Jeff, don’t you think I would have ordered one? If I had a mouse with a doogle, I wouldn’t have purchased the specific make, model, and package I researched with a ruthlessness I’m quite sure would have impressed you

My point here, Jeff, is this: I felt sorry for about 10 seconds since I [technically] “incorrectly” vented about you on my little blog of self-expression, confusing you with the Owner of the G-Men.

But then you went and pissed me off after an expensive, painful dental procedure, and that just wasn’t smart. Especially since I can get so obsessive about the goods and services I tend to stockpile from you. I have been known to seek greener pastures, and combined with my laziness in general, makes me very profitable to you. I suggest you you remember that.

With The Back of My Hand:

Or, “A Hannibal Kind of Lust”

—————————

I love you so much that

I’d like to Eat You Alive.

And then wipe your blood off of my mouth

with the back of my hand

that still has

chunks of your hair and scalp

threaded through my fingers.

And later,

after I burp up your digestive juices,

I’ll sleep more soundly

than I ever have before.

—————————

Photo credit: Catalin Pop. Thank you!

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!

Why I Don’t Feel Guilty for Watching True Crime stories

I used to feel guilty about watching true crime stories on TV or listening to true crime podcasts. I think it came down to the idea I was receiving recreational entertainment from the suffering of others.

Then I had an epiphany that upended my views on the topic, and it’s this:

In society we honor the bravery of our survivors, but we do very little to honor the suffering of those who perished.

By the time we read the salacious headlines or hear the horrific details of a mass shooting, child abduction, or [violent, sadistic, evil; all redundant terms] murder, someone has already endured an agonizing death. Alone and Afraid.

I know it sounds weird but I honestly think it honors the victims’ memories when other people listen to how they suffered and feel an infinitesimal amount of their pain.

It’s the closest thing we can do now to holding their hands as they died then. It’s not a religious thing, it’s a “compassion for the victims and their families” thing.

So I never feel guilty for watching true crime shows: it helps me do my humanitarian duty to the souls who were forced to depart early.

#RIP, Heaven’s Favorites.

Lucifer Rising

I’m starting to get worried.

Most people have a mid-life crisis when they realize they’re eventually going to die. For me, it’s realizing I might actually live that’s throwing me for a loop.

It’s like I finally decided: WTH, I’m here, I might as well have some fun! But the way it’s showing up is very confusing and unfamiliar to me. Let me link my advocate video below for you, my beloved subscribers. Just watch this nice and sweet lady talk.

You can’t help but like her, right? She’s very “relatable” as they say. I hate her. She’s a judgmental bitch, but y’all still don’t believe me.

The problem is that the more and more I expose her, the darker what’s left seems to be getting.

Like I said, I think it’s about having some fun for a change, but I’m not sure that’s it. Instead, it might be about my questioning [and subsequent jettisoning] of the Rules I Have Lived by My Entire Life.

With expulsion of said rules, I’m no longer troubled by those pesky “trials of conscience” and “ethical dilemmas.”

No, I’m just sitting here with my dirty mind and the same determination I’ve used to stay alive the last 54 years. Which has not been insubstantial, let me assure you! We are talking about a Determination the likes of which you might not have witnessed up close and personal before.

So how did I go from an Ingenue to a Succubus in such a short period of time? How did I go from being so nice and sweet to wanting to mercilessly use you for my own selfish purposes and then break your shriveled little heart into a million tiny pieces? While I sit back and laugh hysterically…

Because let’s not forget: you didn’t lose any sleep over the tears you caused me.

Yet somehow it’s not pretty on ME, is it?

Me, a public figure and a viral social media sensation. Should I curb my recent appetites to maintain my reputation so that I can continue to advocate for other breast cancer survivors without a sullied path of discarded lovers to minimize my message?

Hell no! I told you I was no longer troubled by ethical dilemmas! That includes how many tears you’ll shed this time.

P.S. It’s 4 days later, and I haven’t been able to sleep since posting this. Mostly because I know I threatened to break the Cardinal and ONLY rule on Jennifurrville, and that’s to NEVER deliberately break another person’s heart. That’s akin to murder in my opinion, and I’m many things, but I’m not a murderer. Will you forgive me?

My Newest Suitor, cont.

Oh the conversation continued alright. Not because of miracles (wait, except for that big one last week I completely forgot about until write now)…I was going to say “not because of miracles but because the guy refuses to quit stalking me…in my HEAD!”

Do you know the way an iPhone 12 will start to play from your APPLE MUSIC collection when you aren’t listening to Google for a nanosecond (or some other weird Apple shit like that)? Well, as soon as I publish that last post and go back to what I’m doing, Apple Music starts playing from the old limited playlists in my Pre-Spotify Period and he sandwiches “Better is One Day in Your Courts” next to Brothers Osborne’s “Let Me Love the Lonely Out of You.”

I say: that’s not very subtle, dude. And you KNOW that younger one is gay. You know how you ABHOR all that shit! I think it’s very hypocritical of you to choose it. Not that I’m gay of course, but I did just confess to empathizing with Lucifer, so I can imagine I’m not looking radiantly beautiful right now. Plus, how would you like to be hated just because of your internal feelings?

So I figure out how to STOP APPLE MUSIC and switch back to Spotify. It immediately goes to this song I love called “She Fucking Hates Me” from 2002. But I can’t listen to it for some crazy reason. I know it’s sappy, but I actually switch to my Love Songs playlist. So I entered willingly. But there ARE some extreme songs in there! Why does the first one have to be “I Have Loved You For a Thousand Years”?

Yesterday I was thinking that I needed a caveman in my romantic life: one whose signals I can’t misinterpret. Is he trying to prove his omniscience here? Because let’s get one thing straight: I have NEVER DOUBTED YOUR OMNISCIENCE. What I have DOUBTED is your love and concern for me at all, despite all the crying and weeping other people report feeling when overcome by your “great big majestic love” or something similar. Let’s face it, you have dealt me some serious blows, man. I mean: let’s not bullshit each other, ok? Can we just go for the jugular here? Better yet: read my FUCKING BLOG‼️

You have a lot to explain to me before I will EVER trust you again.

P.S. Please stop the downloads of compassion for my father. I don’t think I can handle another one. It breaks me into a million tiny pieces and you’ll be stuck knowing it was all your fault.

P.P.S. I’m starting to realize why you ripped every baby out of my womb, sparing me no bloodshed. It’s because you knew the day I realized I’d done the same things to THEM that the father you gave me did to ME, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Am I supposed to be grateful?

Self-pity or The Green-Eyed Monster?

I don’t have time to write much today.  I just wanted to ‘fess up that, after my lofty musings of last Friday, I’m now back in the thick of all-too-human emotions.  I found out last night that a friend of mine, who totaled his new and fully loaded SUV while driving drunk, has just bought himself a brand new one.  Meanwhile, my car is sicker than I am.  And she looks more beat up than I do.  I haven’t exactly provided her with regular facials (I don’t wash her very often, and she sits under a sap tree), her sides have some wrinkles from a few years ago (when I opted to keep the insurance money rather than get her the Botox she rightly deserved), and lastly, her face is broken due to a little fender bender I got us into last week.  To add to her and my worries, she’s VERY old (1999; practically a “classic” in today’s world).  But she’s “Old Money” – an Infiniti gal – and her parts are extremely expensive relative to her Blue Blood (Blue Book value).  

But enough about HER. My question is this: Am I wallowing in self-pity or have I been bitten by the green-eyed monster? Am I actually jealous of someone’s new car just 36 hours before I have a scheduled double mastectomy? If so, I need the surgeons to perform an “Attitude Adjustment” while they cut, prod, and do what it is surgeons do. At a minimum, I need to write up a gratitude list of all I’m thankful for…a list which most definitely includes my trusty, dusty, and rusty car. Even if she IS thirsty all the time, and refuses to drink water!

Monday, September 10, 2012 at 12:21pm CST from my original blog

P.S. I have green eyes, so I’m pretty sure both Self-Pity AND the Green-Eyed Monster have regular rooms in my hotel (2021).

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.

A Child Cries, Unheard

If Grown-Up You met Little me,
Would you seize Opportunity
To Spend some Time Alone with me?
So you could have your way with me?
When Grown-Up You met Little me.

If Cunning You met First-Grade me,
And no adults were there to see,
You’d whisper that You dream of me,
Embarrassed, I would blush and freeze.
When Cunning You met First-Grade me.

If Evil You met Trusting me,
You’d kill the innocence in me.
You’d carve Your wounds of Pain on me,
And strip me of my dignity.
When Evil You met Trusting me.

Tell it, Sir, Please tell it true.
I pray there’s still some Good in You.

Please Mister, What’s Your Rationale;
What Made You Steal a Little Child?


You Swear that there’s a Voice to Blame,
A Voice Who Wears Your Face and Name.
This Voice Who Bound me to the Floor,
Is this the Voice You Can’t Ignore?

You think You’ve Gotten Rid of me,
But I’ll Haunt You Relentlessly
Expose the Hell Behind Your Eyes.
They’re all I saw before I died.

Revised 9/26/21

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