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?

C’mon Y’all Let’s Exorcise!

C’mon Y’all, Let’s Exercise!
Let’s Exorcise that Voice that’s in our Minds
That Voice that Loops all through our Heads
That scolds our every move and says:
You’re not enough: You Should be Dead
Well, I say: You must go Instead
I’ve sold for cheap Your words of Dread
Now Get the Hell out of my Head!!


Don’t come back and bring your friends!
Your time with Me is at an End
I’m so sick of the Words You Say
The Words that never let me Play
I’ve told you you must pack your Bags
You’ve turned into a TOTAL DRAG
I want you out; I want to Sing
I want to be Authentic Me
All I’m Asking’s to be Free
To not Feel Shame or Misery
And Show the Truest Part of Me

C’mon Y’all, Let’s Exercise!
Let’s Exorcise that Voice that’s in our Minds
That Voice that Loops all through our Heads
That scolds our every move and says:
You’re not enough: You Should be Dead
Well, I say: You must go Instead
I’ve sold for cheap Your words of Dread

Now Get the Hell out of my Head!!

We’re really done; I swear it’s true
Those words so often said by you
No longer welcome Here are They
So find another place to Stay
I hate your voice and all it wants
Go find another soul to haunt!
I want you out; I want to Sing
I want to be Authentic Me
All I’m Asking’s to be Free

To not Feel Shame or Misery
And Show the Truest Part of Me

C’mon Y’all, Let’s Exercise!
Let’s Exorcise that Voice that’s in our Minds
That Voice that Loops all through our Heads
That scolds our every move and says:
You’re not enough: You Should be Dead
Well, I say: You must go Instead
I’ve sold for cheap Your words of Dread

Now Get the Hell out of my Head!!

Textpectations & Blocking

I’ve noticed there’s a certain type of divorced, middle-aged man who will block you as soon as you start asking bitchy and extreme questions like:

“Why are you breaking up with me by text?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Why aren’t you replying anymore?”

Are you okay?, and the ever-fatal

“Can you call me so we can discuss it?”

I’m proud to report I’ve been officially “blocked twice.”

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!!

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.

	

Divorce Poem (amalgamated)

It grieves me to think that alone I’ll always be, 
No partner by my side to share and to see,
The treasures life provides, for I’ve driven you away
Since love comes and goes, but never does it stay.
At the start, you were captured, besotted as was I,
But you left me in tatters when you fled in the night.
What was it that I did that made you lose all those feelings,
So warm and so true, I was sure my heart was healing?
I will concede I often needed time for myself
To reflect on my thoughts and keep strong my mental health.
We often blamed and blazed and said words to each other
That should’ve never been voiced; that should’ve never been uttered.
I feel that those words, the ones spoken just by me
Were born from a fear that you’d leave eventually.
As we lived our days together, I reeled from your abuse,
My motives always questioned, my intentions oft’ accused.
In the eye of my mind, I labeled you a bully,
My heart always hurt and my soul felt so sullied.
As bullies often do, you pushed and you pressed:
You wanted me to speak of the Wounds I had dressed,
So you ripped off the bandage and my Wound, unconfined,
Grew big/bigger/biggest, for it soon multiplied.
Like an insect just released from a taut, forced enclosure,
You subjected where I bled to the Light’s harsh exposure.
Soon the pain of the Burn and the Searing of the Light
Birthed in me both an urgent and compelling need for Flight.
At the time, I was bound, so I stilled and I froze
And dislodged inner terror which broke free and arose.
With our problems brightly lit, Trust failed its test.
As Anger swapped with Laughter, and insults replaced jest.
I felt only judgment in the planes of your face,
Signaling contempt as love was displaced.
This soon sparked to life an old familiar Shame,
And changed you to a stranger who just bore my lover’s name.
In hindsight I’m aware you weren’t the sole perpetrator;
My disgrace a group effort and you merely just one traitor
On the list, oh so long, of the many I’d entrusted
With an open, bleeding heart, returned to me encrusted
Riddled with disease of hopes dashed and vows broken
You condemned me to live where Love wasn’t spoken.
To conclude I’ll admit that YOU rejected ME,
But I don’t give a damn, because at last I’m finally free!

Little Souls

When I was a girl I wanted to play house.
I thought of the day I’d be mother and spouse.
I’d picked out the names of my children with care.
I had it all planned out and no detail was spared.
So I must admit it was a surprise
When I hit my 30s with no eligible guys.
Then I came across Jeff at aged thirty-three,
I was sure he was the one God had chosen for me.
He came as a package with three very young daughters
I loved them at once; I soon was besotted.
The reverse situation however was tough:
They liked me somewhat, they liked me enough
But their passion for their mom trumped any feeling
Towards me and always left my heart a’reeling.
The only situation that I could see
Was to add my own baby to this family.
So this became our Priority Number One,
And oh, how I wanted to give Jeff a son!
Learning each time that I was with child
Gave me great joy and an indelible smile.
But even though God said to multiply
Each baby in Me was unable to survive.
I lost my three babies before they developed.
The grief of their leaving completely enveloped
Me, so broken, so full of despair:
I carried a burden that Jeff didn’t share.
We moved to high-tech, it was fully insured.
Needles, injections, and hormones to endure.
And “beautiful embryos” all said that we made.
The problem, again, they weren’t able to stay.
My womb I was sure was completely defective,
We then found ourselves a conception detective.
Four surgeries I underwent to improve
Our chances of adding to the Wilson Brood.
At this point in time I thought of all options.
I seriously thought our hopes lay in adoption.
With sadness I learned Jeff rejected this way:
“It costs too much money,” is all he would say.
This final misfortune - it caused me to break;
Deep down inside me lived constant heartache.
Then cancer thrust nail through the motherhood coffin,
Forcing me to give up what I’d wished for so often.
The dream I had nurtured above any other:
The dream that one day I’d be somebody’s mother.

Where Were You?

Where were you when Death was standing over me, holding my life in His hands?
Where were you when I pulled the car I was driving over to vomit up the chemotherapy I had just been infused with through a device inserted under the skin into a vein leading directly to my heart?
All thirteen times?
Where were you when cold hands directed my torso into precise locations underneath terrifyingly large machines that emitted radioactive beams into my body?
All thirty-three times?
Where were you when I was so crippled by pain, I actually lost consciousness?
Where were you when I had all of my reproductive organs removed the week I turned 40, plunging me into overnight menopause?
Where were you when I had to measure the hourly output of three drains sewn into my body after an 8-hour surgery to remove both of my breasts because of a second occurrence of breast cancer when I was a 45 year-old divorcee?
Where were you when I miscarried a perfectly beautiful baby, not a piece of tissue, onto the tile of my bathroom floor; with no alternative but to flush it down the toilet?
Where were you when I spent 4 days in the cardiac ICU because my organs were shutting down; Death showing up again just to toy with me?
Where were you when I was betrayed; abandoned and alone; heartbroken; lost; torn to shreds by the ruthlessness and relentlessness of grief?

Were you by my side?
Did you SEE how I suffered?
I didn’t think so.
Yet somehow you feel qualified to judge how I survived.
The “How” is none of your business.
You should be happy “That” I survived at all.
Many far better than I did not.
You may see me as Damaged Goods.

But let me tell you something:

I’m a SURVIVOR and I will never be ashamed of my scars or my wounds or my choices.
They are
mine and no one else’s, and if you do not like them, please see yourself out.
Effective immediately.

For those of you who were present AND supportive for ANY of the above, thank you from the absolute core of my heart. I love you dearly. ❤️‍🩹