A Friday Moment

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A Friday ritual. A single photo — no words — capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

“This Moment” is a ritual found on Life inspired by the Wee Man adopted from SouleMama which was introduced to others by Sarah-Jane, of Almost There.

I was asked to participate in this by Anna Sides, of The Other Side of Anna and the other great blogging members of the Facebook group Blogplicity.

If you find yourself touched by a moment and would like to participate, post your picture on a Friday and leave your link in the comments section.

Copyrighted: InjensMind

#BlogTagYouAreIt ‘Sometimes I Wish…’

One of the blogging groups I am in is having a blog hop, we are calling it “Blog Tag…You’re It.” For those of you who don’t know what a blog hop is, let me explain. It is several different bloggers blogging on their own blog all about the same topic but done in their own unique ways. Phew! Say that 3 times fast. LOL This specific hop will feature 28 bloggers from around the globe. The essence of what World Wide Web stands for if you ask me. We each will have our own day to post about the topic ‘Sometimes I Wish…’ During this time, one blogger thanks the previous blogger for the introduction to their post and then writes a mini introduction for the blogger who follows them.

So here goes…

A very big thank you to Brenda, who writes at Passionate Pusuits. It’s been a pleasure getting to know you and sharing the  blogosphere world with you. Here’s to many more blog hops, posts, and getting to know a variety of bloggers inside and outside the group. You can click here to see her blog hop post on this subject.

Now for the introduction I am to give for our next blogger in line:

Say hello to Sili, who writes at My Mamihood. She writes about her life and the non-stop misadventures of her “Frog Princess”, which is the adorable nickname she uses for her young daughter.

Please take some time (after finishing my post of course) to visit both of these ladies.

Sometimes I Wish…

For somebody, aka me, to publicly acknowledge my wishes, I would first have to believe in them. But, I don’t believe in wishes or wishing for that matter. However, I did…once; a very long time ago when I was an impressionable youngster, back before I knew any better, back before the reality of what my life was hit me like a ton of bricks. It was during a time when wishes and dreams were what young children would thrive on, that is, until they realized either as teenagers or adults that wishes just don’t come true, no matter how much you wish on them or pray for them, beg, scream, plead, cry, or fuss about them, no matter how many times the people at Disney tell you they do… They just don’t come true!

I was approximately 5-years-old when I would lay in bed and stare at the night sky, wishing on the bright stars that illuminated my room. I was just as much a raging insomniac back then as I am now. (No doubt due to the volatile lifestyle I lived from a super-young age.) I even tossed several wishes to the man in the moon for good measure, then patiently awaited the entire night for somebody/anybody to magically swoop in and rescue me. I have yet to stop staring at the night sky (or learned how to fall asleep when the rest of the world does) but, I have stopped sending wishes out there, and I have most certainly stopped waiting for someone to ride in on their white horse and rescue me.

• I wish my daddy and mommy didn’t fight so much.
• I wish my daddy loved me.
• I wish that “they” hadn’t touched me like that.
• I wish those touching’s would stop happening.
• I wish I could stay out of the principal’s office for fighting.
• I wish people would just leave me alone.
• I wish people would stop touching me. Why do they keep touching me?
• I wish my mommy would come and pick me up more often.
• I wish I could play outside with the other kids and not have to be in bed while the sun is still out.
• I wish I didn’t have to sit in the corner so long every day.
• I wish my step-mom loved me.
• I wish I wasn’t hated so much by my daddy and step-mom.
• I wish my mommy hadn’t moved so far away. Does she hate me now too?
• I wish I didn’t have to sit behind furniture when we visited with family and friends.
• I wish I could play with my cousins.
• I wish my grandma didn’t get drunk and push my grandfather into the bookcase.
• I wish my daddy didn’t get drunk and pass out in the truck.
• I wish I didn’t know about alcoholism and its effects.
• I wish my step-mom didn’t take out her insecurities about my mommy on me.
• I wish my daddy would stop talking bad about my mommy.
• I wish my step-mom didn’t talk badly about my mommy.
• I wish I wasn’t talked about badly to my face.
• I wish I could be loved like my little sister.
• I wish my daddy didn’t move us so far away when my mommy moved back to town.
• I wish I could see my baby brother every day.
• I wish I didn’t have to see a school counselor for “my problems.”
• I wish my step-mom didn’t take away things my mommy and grandma bought for me.
• I wish I didn’t cry so hard every time I came back home to my daddy’s house.
• I wish I didn’t get punished for vomiting after I cried so hard.
• I wish I didn’t know what soap tastes like.
• I wish my daddy and step-mom didn’t use a thick wooden paddle with holes drilled in it on me.
• I wish I could sit down.
• I wish I didn’t have to show the friend of the court my butt and all the still purple welts that hadn’t yet gone away after several weeks.
• I wish somebody would help me.
• I wish somebody would listen.
• I wish the counselor would stop asking other types of social workers, guidance people, therapists, and groups to talk to me. Every time they give me a card or tell me how my life should be I am punished more severely.
• I wish my school counselor didn’t call my step-mom and tell her everything I had confided in her.
• I wish I didn’t get punished so much.
• I wish I could go to friends’ houses and not always be grounded.
• I wish I had friends who I could talk to.
• I wish my “big sisters” in the sister program would do more with me.
• I wish my “big sister” didn’t move away.
• I wish I didn’t cry myself to sleep every night.
• I wish I could fall asleep.
• I wish I could stay asleep.
• I wish I didn’t hear and see things in the dark.
• I wish I wasn’t called crazy for seeing dead people.
• I wish my step-mom didn’t force me to stand in a red ant hill while she yelled at me.
• I wish the pain would go away.
• I wish my grandfather who protected me as best as he could didn’t die.
• I wish I died.
• I wish I didn’t know what pain is.
• I wish I didn’t bleed all over my clothes.
• I wish my belongings didn’t get take away.
• I wish someone would stand up for me.
• I wish someone would save me.
• I wish my sister would stop doing things that I get punished for.
• I wish I didn’t have to come home.
• I wish I didn’t go to school.
• I wish I didn’t live in a small town.
• I wish people would understand me.
• I wish they’d all stop making fun of me.
• I wish I could have long hair.
• I wish I could wear new girl’s clothes.
• I wish I wasn’t such a disappointment.
• I wish I knew what I did wrong.
• I wish I knew why I was born.
• I wish I were never born.
• I wish my mommy would come and pick us up on her weeks.
• I wish my daddy didn’t tell me he doesn’t think I am his.
• I wish he’d stop throwing things at my head.
• I wish he’d stop hitting me.
• I wish they’d stop touching me.
• I wish I could get out of here.
• I wish I had somewhere to go.
• I wish someone would see the truth.
• I wish they’d stop lying and calling me the liar.
• I wish I wasn’t “a good for nothing whore, like your mother.”
• I wish I knew what a whore was.
• I wish they’d stop humiliating me.
• I wish they’d stop degrading me.
• I wish they’d stop strip searching me.
• I WISH THEY’D STOP TOUCHING ME!
• I wish I had money.
• I wish my money from my job would be mine.
• I wish I didn’t have to drive such an ugly car.
• I wish I could drive when I wanted to.
• I wish I didn’t have to go to the vocational school they chose.
• I wish I didn’t have to be what they wanted.
• I wish I knew how to make it all stop.
• I wish my mind could rest.
• I wish I could concentrate.
• I wish I wasn’t scared.
• I wish there was an end in sight.
• I wish I had a better life.
• I wish I could run away and never come back.
• I wish they’d just finish me off and kill me once and for all already.
• I wish someone else would stand up for me besides just me alone.
• I wish they’d stop pretending that they are good and decent people.
• I wish I didn’t have to send mean letters to my mom on behalf of my daddy and step-mom’s feelings.
• I wish I didn’t have to have someone read my letters before I could read them.
• I wish I didn’t have to start another diary again and again and again because my step-mom reads it and can’t face the truth so she takes it away and rips them up.
• I wish I didn’t have gifts other people gave me taken away and given to my sister or thrown away.
• I wish I didn’t have to be responsible.
• I wish I didn’t have to be the oldest.
• I wish my daddy didn’t spank me so hard that I flew from the living room into the kitchen.
• I wish I could be a child.
• I wish I didn’t have to stand in the corner for hours on end with my arms straight in the air.
• I wish I knew how to get to my mommy’s house when daddy yelled and told me “if you want your mother walk to her house.”
• I wish I didn’t get left on the front porch in the trailer park at 5 years old all by myself while my daddy and step-mom and sister went to visit with friends, because I didn’t know the way to mommy’s house.
• I wish I could remember what my real name is. I haven’t heard it in so long.
• I wish my life wasn’t so dysfunctional.
• I wish there were no more secrets.
• I wish I knew what love is.
• I wish I knew what it feels like to be unconditionally loved.
• I wish I were someone else, anyone but me.
• I wish I could forget.
• I wish I wasn’t permanently scarred and disfigured.
• I wish I didn’t torture myself as much as they torture me.
• I wish they’d stop forcing me to kiss and hug them good night and stop forcing me to tell them I love them after everything they did that day.
• I wish I could stop hurting.
• I wish there was a God.
• I wish I didn’t live in Hell.
• I wish someone could see what is happening.
• I wish I could have chosen to give away my virginity.
• I wish an apology was enough.
• I wish I wasn’t “troubled.”
• I wish I could stop crying.
• I wish I could forgive.
• I wish I understood why they say they forgive but keep bringing old things up.
• I wish they’d get a different punching bag.
• I wish it would end.
• I wish I were intelligent.
• I wish those who weren’t there would stop acting like they know.
• I wish I could forget as easily as they all do.
• I wish they didn’t control me.
• I wish I could be me.
• I wish being myself was enough.
• I wish I were free.
• I wish… I wish… I wish… I wish… I wish… I wish…

• I wish I didn’t need to wish anymore…

14 years’ worth of child wishes and countless more things that had been wished and were never fulfilled, never answered, never my salvation. Star wishes, birthday wishes, prayers to God, pleas to anyone who had the power to do something… all fell on deaf ears and ignored by blind eyes.  A child who wished for death because it was the only way that she knew of, that would make it all end. A child who cut her wrists at 12-years-old because she didn’t know how she was going to go on after the death of her grandfather, her rock, her only love. The only one who could see the truth, her truth. A child who clearly grew up long before a child should ever have to.

It would be another 16 years after her 14 year sentence in Hell, before that child/adult would figure out that making wishes, dreaming, praying, and asking for help were all an enormous waste of her  time. One thing she had learned all to well, was that nobody could undo what had been done and even if they could nobody would be willing to switch places with her and take on what she had.

Those 16 additional years they had stolen from her, enslaving her within her own mind. When she wasn’t trying to shield herself and her children from their newest ongoing attacks via telephone, she was visualizing moment after moment in her head, replaying them in her dreams, like a never-ending horror movie, secretly hoping for a different ending, a happy ending. Trying to fill in the cracks whilst new ones were continuously added. Attempting to raise her two children differently than she had been raised, giving them everything she never had. Protecting her children from the vicious spiteful words that the so-called family were trying to pass down to them as if it were the family Bible. Hoping that the man she married who held a strong character resemblance to her father, would not pick up where her father and step-mom left off and continue to violate her tortured and nearly broken spirit. Several times in her life, wishes could have been the way to go, but her mind was so infected by the past she didn’t even consider wishing for her children not to suffer along with their mother. (Or a million other things that the Universe relentlessly pummeled her and her children with.) It never even entered her mind, not because she didn’t believe in wishes anymore (which she didn’t) but, because she was fighting a life vs. death battle inside. Deep inside herself, where there was only going to be one survivor and one alone. Would she come out alive and capable of being a competent mother, wife, human being? Or would she remain trapped inside herself, waiting for that final blow that would finish her off for good?

Then surprisingly without any warning whatsoever, the inconceivable happened and she lost her younger sister to cancer. She was no stranger to death or to cancer for that matter but, losing her sister suddenly did something that no other death could do. It was at that precise moment when the prison door she had been locked behind for most of her life, swung wide open and she walked out of the solitary confinement where she had awaited her death sentence. A light as bright and warm as the sun encased her and she was finally free…free of them, their actions, their words, their evilness, their lies, their prejudices. But wait… she was the one who had allowed them to torture her for over 30 years, even though they had not been a part of her physical life in more than half that time. They only had power over her because she allowed them to have it and use it as they wished. She had allowed the past to be her focus, which held her stagnant in a place where she couldn’t move towards the future let alone appreciate the now. So, she took back the control and freed herself; she freed her past, she freed her mind, she freed her spirit, she freed her future, and she flew away freely with the knowledge and tools that would never allow her to be imprisoned by anyone ever again!

✓ “I wish it would end.”

✓ “I wish I was intelligent.”

✓ “I wish they didn’t control me.”

✓ “I wish I could be me.”

✓ “I wish being myself was enough.”

✓ “I wish I were free.”

✓ “I wish I didn’t need to wish anymore…”

So ok… maybe some times wishes do come true. However, simply wishing for something to happen isn’t going to make it happen. Time, actions, and choices make things happen not the “magical powers” of the wish itself. I don’t need to wish anymore because I’m living in the present. I don’t want to change my past, for if my wishes had come true at that precise moment that I had wished them I wouldn’t be who I am today. I don’t know about you but, I like the person I am today, and I know I will continue to like me even more as time goes by. Something that the young me couldn’t, wouldn’t, and didn’t do.  So thank you for rejecting my wishes so I could be a strong fighter and survivor, outspoken and an activist, a better person than I or anyone else could have dreamed of. Thank you for allowing me to find my path in my own time that ultimately broke the cycle of abuse, violence, alcoholism, blame, inability to grow or move forward, and neglect that plagued my entire family for generations upon generations. Thank you for teaching me lessons that can never be unlearned. All of which allowed me to be here right now telling  showing you… becoming the living proof that anyone can overcome their past and transform into something more than they could have imagined. Wishing is short-sighted, if your wishes came true you wouldn’t learn anything. You wouldn’t be able to keep the knowledge you were taught. You wouldn’t have lived fully. You wouldn’t be able to grow and you most certainly wouldn’t be free. So give your life the time, chance, and education that it needs to grow into something miraculous.

Countdown To The Breaking Point

As I laid in a zombified, neither asleep nor awake state, in my bed this morning, thoughts racing, I had a realization that I may have never come to had it not been for the events that have taken place  in the last year and a half. The universe’s sole responsibility is to continuously batter human beings with loads of things they can barely handle emotionally, mentally, and physically until they reach their breaking point. It’s kind of like that place called Hell that so many speak of.

Several times I have just nearly escaped being irreversibly imprisoned by my own looming breaking point. I have stood on the edge of it, teetering back n’ forth, just waiting for the universe to give me that final kick in my ass that throws me over. I have come to the conclusion that there are only a handful of people left in my life that matter to me to the point where I very well could end up losing my mind completely and forever. Not to say that I don’t love each and every person in my life with all my being, it just means that the last bit of strength that I possess is only enough for that final  handful of people. There are 7 people left before I reach my permanent breaking point and depending on the order in which I lose them, it could be a full 7 or it could be just 1.

After getting the phone call from my grandfather last night I knew how flimsily my sanity hung in the balance. Hell, I knew before we even concluded our conversation, and I’m pretty sure both of my grandparents had a damn good idea of it as well. Thanks to the sudden death of my sister, I will forever be tainted and paranoid by the words, “____ is in the hospital.” Name any of those 7 people and my heart is beating out of my chest, my thoughts begin racing more than usual, and paranoia becomes the desert of the day. Well, it just so happens one of those people were named in that very phone call late last night, my mom. You could pinpoint the precise moment when I lost it, it was the moment when my voice cracked and I began cursing like a sailor on the phone to my grandfather who has been known  to tell all of us women, “Don’t use those 4 letter words. Ladies don’t speak like that.” Well F@&* THAT, I am well aware that a lady I am not. I am also aware that I am probably the last person in my family who can curse in my soprano cracking emotionally charged voice and also be the voice of reason and motivation at the same time.  It’s a gift.

The good news is after speaking to my mom last night, I was more at ease and relatively optimistic. However,  I fell asleep and while I was tossing and turning per my usual nightly ritual, my subconscious revealed things to me that my conscious mind was unable to speak openly about. My dreams were pummeled time and time again with my sister and my twin nephews. All of the bullshit that has been going on since my sister’s death has built up inside of me to the point where I can no longer function on the same level I was functioning at just a few months after her death. When she died I had my writing and I buried myself in that. Then there were mountains of things piled on top of that, from the boyfriend who up and gave his parents custody of my nephews secretly, to the middle men who are keeping my mother and grandparents from fully bonding with the boys, who by the way just turned 2 years old in August.  All these things that I have been forbidden to speak about openly, so that the saintly (hmmph) boyfriend’s family don’t get pissed off and just up and deny visitation completely to my family. This, is the moment when I say… if I had money and a gun!!!

OK…Clearly, I am joking about the gun part. Killing someone for being a thorn in my side is NOT how I do things. And we all know how easily my words get twisted around by the exact same people who I’ve spent years protecting. That alone is some kind of nightmarish form of Hell in its own right. I digress…But, yea…I don’t have money and I am helpless at the moment to do anything about these things. I ache deep down inside of my soul for my nephews and let’s not even go into details about my nieces. Let’s not even bring up how pathetic I feel to have such a loud, strong, and proud voice and to have it be hushed for the sake of family. I am reaching critical mass. It is not long before I reach that breaking point. I just want to do what is right and like all people who fight for rights I am faced with what CAN be done and what SHOULD be done. Those two things are clearly not the same thing.

As for my mom, hopefully she will be released in the next day or two. Then I can start breathing again and go back to waiting. Waiting for the universe’s final blow to my backside while I am not looking… that unavoidable breaking point. And so begins… The Countdown!

The Busy Blogger’s Biggest Issue Resolved By The Broad With The Big Brain

Google Image e-card

The biggest issue in the blogging community is not necessarily what you would think it is. Although many bloggers do have difficulty at times with writer’s block, this is not usually their biggest problem.

The biggest issue among bloggers, is finding the spare time to read their fellow bloggers posts. If you are anything like me, you find yourself reading posts from the moment you log online until the moment you finally shut down to go to sleep. It’s a daily occurrence in your life and god forbid you miss a day or even a week. Then you find yourself so far behind that you become too overwhelmed to even care anymore, especially when many bloggers post every single day. How on Earth do you keep up with all that?

If only there was a way to visit all of those posts and more in a shorter period without being stuck on one blog until you were done reading every single word on the page. If only you could listen to the posts while doing other things? “Why didn’t the blogger make this a podcast?” you shout through the darkness of your quiet home. “I’m too tired to keep going, I will catch up tomorrow.” You say innocently enough, but alas tomorrow’s catching up never comes.

Well, hmm, what if I told you that there is a very simple way for you to visit those posts and not have to read one single word of it…. *GASP* You mean? Yes, dear reader, I have stumbled upon something that is going to help you break free from the repetitive, just going through the motions, someone save my eyesight from this constant reading way of life.

Can I get a drum roll please?
Meet SoundGecko:

“A text-to-audio transcribing service that lets you enjoy written content from around the web on the go without distraction. Be free from screens as you listen to articles by simply sending an email or pressing a button in your browser.”

SoundGecko homepage

And my dear readers, it is FREE. Yes, you read that correctly…free. You don’t have to sign up for anything if you don’t want to. You just go to the site and paste in the URL of the site you wish to listen to, type in your email and if a few minutes you will receive an email. In the email will be a link that you click to listen to the post. (See photo below) If you do decide to sign up for an account, there are more things you can do with the site.

Of course the voice that reads to you could very well put you to sleep; it’s not an operatic melody of flowing vernacular, mind you. It’s more of a mundane monotone version of a bad 1950’s robot movie. However, it is understandable and it’s fairly error free.

In my test of the product, (of course I tested it. I would never suggest anything to anyone without trying it first for myself.) I read along on my blog post as I was listening to it. The post I tested it on had the word url and of course, the voice reading didn’t recognize it so he said “youearl”. That made me chuckle! He also included the “Copyright InJensMind” that I put under my photos. And he read the ending where my share buttons are, “It’s not absurd to spread the word.” That was nice because it sort of reminded me I should share the post that I enjoyed so much. (Clearly I enjoyed it, I wrote it. LOL) Also he said “Like” and how many likes I received on said post. Not a big deal really, in my opinion.  Click here to hear the post I tested it out on.

Copyright InJensMind This is what the email from SoundGecko looks like.

I look forward to more from this company. I was impressed at how easy and much faster it was than reading alone. Because I usually have 10 or more tabs open and any time one of them flashes with a message or makes a sound, my ADHD kicks in and my fingers have clicked on another tab before my brain can tell it to stop and finish reading the post. Now I can gallivant all over the net and still hear the post. Amazing, right? Imagine the things you could be doing while listening to a post instead of staring with weary eyes at the computer screen… the possibilities are endless.

I almost expected it to read my comments as well. It didn’t. I think that would be a nice addition though, that way you could join in the conversation if you like and already know what others have asked or said. Which would keep you from looking redundant or too busy to read comments on top of the 2000+ word article. And since most blog readers don’t comment anyway, not having the ability to comment directly without returning to the post isn’t a huge problem. At least it isn’t for me. I’d much rather get zero comments than to get a bunch of quick not thought out, “I don’t know what to say” or “This was a great post” or “ Click here for the latest Viagra tablets at 75% off” comments. Those type of comments almost make you wonder why you bother to spend so much time thinking, typing, and editing your post if they don’t have anything outstanding and meaningful to add to it. Then you remember you do this for you and not for them, which brings you right back to lack of comments not really being an issue.

SoundGecko gets my approval, will it get yours? Try it out now and let me know what you think.

Don’t forget to “like” them on Facebook and follow them on Twitter. Or me for that matter, add me on Facebook and follow me on Twitter, you can find my links in the tabs or sidebar.

Smells Like A Friday Moment

Google Image

A Friday ritual. A single photo — no words — capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

“This Moment” is a ritual found on Life inspired by the Wee Man adopted from SouleMama which was introduced to others by Sarah-Jane, of Almost There.

I was asked to participate in this by Anna Sides, of The Other Side of Anna and the other great blogging members of the Facebook group Blogplicity.

If you find yourself touched by a moment and would like to participate, post your picture on a Friday and leave your link in the comments section.

Copyright InJensMind 8/17/2012

After The Storm Passes

Google Image. Vinyl designs by CJ

My last post really had several people concerned. I appreciate the comments and the messages and those of you who basically got a slap in the face wake-up call with that post.

I assure you all though that I am fine, the kids are fine, and my dogs and husband are all fine. No pun intended. Seriously, unlike my last post states we really are fine.

 

This isn’t the first time that some of you have seen me fly off the handle like I did yesterday. In fact, many of you who have known me for some time now, know all too well how hot-tempered I can be. And although I was angry when I wrote the post I assure you, I have had time to calm down and work through those overwhelming feelings and emotions.

 

I also want to say that, unfortunately anger is an emotion that must be expressed on occasion or it will do more damage later on to others and ones own self. It is a very explosive and extremely volatile emotion and as you all know, it had built up like a pressure cooker inside of me. If I hadn’t closed the lid so tightly and let some of the steam escape occasionally, I may have been able to stay calmer and have kept a cooler more level head instead of blowing up like an atom bomb.

 

The post I wrote, wasn’t meant to upset those who really do care and check in on me frequently. It wasn’t aimed at any one person specifically. In a nutshell, it was directed at society as a whole. It was a “Wake the fuck up people you aren’t the only ones struggling!” type of message. Which I admit, I most certainly could have portrayed my feelings in a less demanding and ignorant manner.

 

We have become a society of immensely selfish people. We allow our lives to be entirely consumed with so much trivial bullshit that we cannot possibly think of anyone else and how their lives may be turning out for them. We quickly jump from one thing to the next without stopping and realizing that even though we have moved on from the sadness and empathy we had once felt for a friend, that maybe they were still not over the thing that they had went through. (Example: my sister’s death and my family’s health and financial situation.) We are so quick to forget about our grieving friends feelings and if they don’t constantly remind us about their situation, it slips to the back of our minds. The more time that passes the more we believe they are no longer hurting and it not only shocks us but often time annoys us that they haven’t “moved on” yet. But, that is not how some of us see it and those of us who are on the receiving end often times get angry because our friends have left us stuck in time when they swore they’d always be there. We feel abandoned and neglected. As time continues to pass, we often feel alone because the world just kept on spinning while we stood there dizzy in need of assistance. We don’t want to ask for help because we don’t want to be a bother to anyone and we get angry because no one ever needed to ask us for help we just did it. It becomes a vicious cycle that many don’t break until after they have lost many people from their lives. And even then it may still  continue.

 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as guilty as everyone else. As I was writing my last post I knew exactly what it was I was saying, feeling, and projecting. I also know it came off very childish in a whole temper-tantrum sort of way. I was screaming for attention and oh boy did I get it.

 

But not only in the ways you might imagine. Letting all of that anger and emotion out really helped me to see things in a different light. I realized after writing it that I am not the same person I was before as I thought I was in my post. I’m really not that depressed, weak-minded, angry person anymore. I know you are shaking your head at me, like wtf is she talking about…the post was full of depression, anger and weakness.

 

Yes, it surely was. I thought it was all that built up stuff coming out and once I could calm down enough to reflect I realized how much of the past 7 months were actually anything but anger, depression and weakness on my part. Regardless if I was truly feeling and dealing with the emotions or just flitting back and forth between them, I did have many more happy and content days than I did depressed and angry days.

 

I have gone through a lot in the last year and a half and my writing reflects that. I know I don’t need to tell any of you who have been by my side throughout it all. What I learned in this experience was that I can no longer hold things in and just wait hoping they go away. I also learned that I have a good handful of online people, be it family or friends, who support me more than I was aware of or wanted to admit. Also, that I am a writer and as such I have to write. It doesn’t matter if I am a paid writer or if I am nothing more than a blogger with a never realized dream… I HAVE TO WRITE! So, the best thing for me to do is give you all smaller doses of my mind more frequently, instead of bombarding the world with larger doses all at once like I did yesterday. Not only is it better for all of you it is better for me too.

 

So thank you all for bearing with me through my ups and downs. Thank you for reaching out to me and letting me know you care. And above all, thank you for always allowing me to be who I am, even when I am not on my bestest behavior.  Nothing in this world feels better than the love I have felt in the last couple of days from those of you who prefer me just the way I am. I can now move on with my head held higher just knowing that I do indeed have  several shoulders to lean on if I just reach out for them.

 

Oh and before I end this, I’d like to give a special shoutout to my new readers and followers. Thank you for joining me on what was a very difficult day in my life. I hope you stick around and continue to ride with me on this crazy ride that is my life.

What Is Really InJensMind?

What is really InJensMind? Absolutely freaking nothing! HA…

I can’t even begin to tell you all how overwhelmed I feel at times. My mind is always racing 100 m.p.h. except for the times when it is up to 200 m.p.h. which is usually when I am trying to sleep. I’ve come to notice something about myself recently and well I can’t help to wonder if it is just me or is there something else. Something… deeper, that is going on.

My brain is fried. You know like the egg in the skillet in the old 80’s anti-drug campaign commercials. You have no idea how much I despise eggs let alone a fried one inside my skull. But, it is true, my memory is kaput. I mean… Sure, I can remember certain things, i.e. my shitty childhood, birthdays, every single inch of every single building/house I have ever stepped foot in. Because who wouldn’t kill to own that delightful and mind-blowing skill!?! Can’t remember where I parked the car but, don’t fret I can envision with exceptional detail, every aisle in the grocery store without stepping foot in it. Humph! But, what I cannot remember is, have I ever told someone this story before? What did I eat for breakfast? Who is that person that keeps messaging me, have we spoken before? Where’d I put my cellphone? When was the last time I took a shower? Did I take my pills today?

I’m seriously surprised I can even finish a post. LOL It’s comical but, still it really isn’t. There are many things that I can’t seem to recall. Tiny inconsequential things but, many things.  An entire lifetime of things. I’m not sure if this is some kind of premature Alzheimer’s, my insulin resistance issue, a brain tumor, caffeine/sugar/carb overload, lack of refreshing sleep at night, being married for nearly 19 years, never leaving my house to socialize with anyone who doesn’t bark or was grown inside of my womb, a freakish Zombie brain eating accident, the lack of mind-blowing sex (oh wait, that wouldn’t be helpful whatsoever… or would it!?!) or just years of blocking out traumatic details to the point I don’t know anything other than my name. And even that is iffy at this moment. What’s my name? No really, what’s my mother****ing name? Sorry, I had a former rapper flashback.

All I know is, this is really beginning to bother me. Maybe, I should see someone about this. In the meantime… can someone give me Dr. Frankenstein’s number? I’m sure he has a few extra brains just lying around unused. Ooo EEEEgor, ver eeee’s meeee brain? Coming Master!!!

Jessica’s Sonnet

At long last… I finished my Sonnet homework last week and can now share it with you all. Hope you enjoy it, it took me 3 hours but, I am content with the outcome.

 

I must not grieve thee nor shed a lone tear
I must proceed as if I do not care
For weeping makes losing you worse my dear
Agonizing memories I cannot bear
Every dewy teardrop that escapes me
Burns my flesh like the fiery depths of hell
I must not succumb to sorrow of thee
For I shall be reminded of our farewell
But, weeping cleanses the grief-stricken soul
Easing each previous moment of pain
Allowing the broken to become whole
Sanctioning lovely memories again
Dire sorrow causes me not to cry
But, sans tears for your loss I’d surely die

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Freedom For Father’s Day

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Father’s Day brings mixed emotions for me. One, for my kids who rarely see their dad because he is a workaholic; I guess if he is going to be an aholic I prefer it be work over alcohol. It would be nice if their dad realized that there is more to being a dad then providing a roof over one’s head. I’m certain one day he will grasp that idea but, the kids will be grown by then.

The other is for my father who is still alive but, I don’t call him or send him a card anymore for various reasons.

One reason being, he has disowned  me too many times to remember. Secondly, I don’t receive cards or calls on my “special” days including my birthday and neither do my kids; his grandkids. And lastly, I am just tired of trying to keep a relationship alive when it’s apparent he doesn’t care. Therefore, I have taken up the position of “You don’t know me then I don’t know you.” After all these years of trying what more can I do…

Am I wrong for this? I don’t believe I am wrong, I did my best most of my life to be a part of his life and in my opinion the road goes both ways. Yet, here I am, the one putting in the effort all the time. It just isn’t worth it to me to keep trying when it’s obvious I am not wanted in his life. I did the “Christian” thing; I forgave, accepted apologies and gave apologies but, did I get unconditional love back? No, I did not get back a fraction of what I put into the supposed father/daughter relationship. What we have here people, is a failure to reciprocate.

I’ve moved on now, there is nothing left to do but, move on and as my husband says; “Just say I love you and leave it at that.” (He can be a wise man sometimes.) I have bent over backwards to be included in the lives of people who swear they love me and my kids but, don’t actually know us. My kids have grandparents and they are a mystery to them. There are no phone calls, cards, or letters… absolutely nothing except, the occasional; “You know we love your kids” statement that I have heard during a phone call. Yet, still no effort is made on their part to be a part of their grandchildren’s lives. I have a hard time with this because I was taught that family is everything; how strange… because only certain family was ever included in our lives when I was growing up the rest were “disowned.” Well, looks like I too am a part of the “do as I want or be gone” side of the family. Thank God I believe that the most important family is my husband and kids or I might just be torn up about being exiled…

I can no longer accept such half-assed attempts from anyone, no matter who they are. It is one thing to be upset at me for whatever you believe I have done wrong but, to alienate children just because they are my blood is not only ridiculous it’s asinine and childish. One day my kids will be grown and in my opinion better off for not knowing people who didn’t take time out of their busy little fantasy isle lives to acknowledge them and love them.

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So my gift this Father’s Day is the gift of… freedom. I am freeing myself of annoyances, games and intolerable trivial nonsense and I am giving my father the freedom to never have to deal with me or mine ever again; which is clearly the greatest gift for any father who constantly disowns people like they were material possessions.

What I will not give though is my silence; I have spent too many years not saying what needed to be said and watched while those around me were verbally assaulted. I know for a fact that neither of my grandparents raised any of their children to be bullies or to deny their grandchildren just because they were mad at their children for something their child did as a child. In fact my grandmother not only accepted all her grandchildren she also accepted step-grandchildren and would take all of us during the summer to stay with her at her house. So I know very well her children were raised better than to “disown” anyone.

It’s time to grow up; the child is almost 36 years old now and if I am being judged as an adult for something I did as a child, well I guess you just aren’t as smart as you think you are. Everyone makes mistakes and when you say “I’m sorry” or “I forgive you” than that is where it ends. You don’t hold on to something that transpired 17 years ago. I am not the same person I was 17 years ago and it’s a shame that some people haven’t changed at all in that time. So I end this with; I love you and I wish you well but, I cannot keep being a part of such constant hatred and childishness anymore. God loves all of his children no matter what; I know those are big shoes to fill but, you might want to give it a try.

To all the dads out there… Happy Father’s Day, love your children unconditionally and treat them well so that one day they will remember the good things about you and pass them down to their children.

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I Became A Boy So I Could Play Baseball

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I am the oldest girl in my family; my father had three daughters and always yearned for a son.

Naturally, it became my job to carry out his fantasy. Believe me when I say, I would have much rather been taught how to be a girl but, it just wasn’t in the cards for me.

From the time I could walk I had a baseball in my hand, pretty strange for a little girl but, dad for some twisted reason needed me to play the son role.

My sister who was two years younger than me, got to play girl, in some ways I envy that but, in other ways I don’t. Since I was daddy’s little boy, I learned how to play sports like a boy.

There was no girl who played baseball like I played baseball. I could throw hard and far, I could hit any kind of pitch thrown at me and I could switch hit. Those of you who know nothing about baseball; switch hitting is when you hit right-handed then switch to hitting left-handed or vice versa. Being, ambidextrous, I have always excelled with either hand.

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As I got older I started playing softball because that was what “girls” played and even though I was good at it, it was not baseball. I spent my days practicing; throwing, catching and batting. Dad had a wooden bat I practiced with; it was heavy but, if I could swing that and hit the ball, just imagine what I would do with a light-weight aluminum bat.

Every weekend during the summer when dad would come home from work, we would go up to the park for baseball practice. Dad would pitch and I would hit and then we would switch. I could strike dad out several times while playing; my sports abilities were the only thing I received praise for.

The thing I can say about dad teaching me to play baseball is I played like a man; both dad and I could hit damn near any kind of pitch, including ones you would never swing at if you were playing in the Major League. If the ball was within arm reach we would swing at it. It was all in fun and kept our talent at maximum peak.

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One day the family went up to the park and played our usual game of baseball. I was pitching, my step-mom was catching, my sisters were in the outfield and dad was batting. He managed to hit a few of my pitches then all of a sudden, I throw this one pitch that maybe dad shouldn’t have swung at. In fact, I know he should NEVER have swung at that. Dad managed to tip the ball with the bat and we all stood shocked as the ball circled high in the sky and CRASHED right into the windshield of his car that was parked on the other side of the fence. It took a few moments and finally dad laughed; “Look what you did.” he told me. “What?! I didn’t hit it.” I replied. Dad never parked that close to the fence ever again.

 

I can honestly say this is a happy memory from my childhood and I am ok with being treated like a boy so I could have the excellent baseball playing skills I posess. There are many things I might change from back then if I could but, this gift I wouldn’t change for anything.

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The Days on Gary Ct.

Gary Ct. Google Maps

Some days I sit and see the connection friends have amongst themselves and I long for the days when I was surrounded by good friends. It’s inevitable; people, move on and friendships fall apart, not because of choice but, because we all become so busy with other things that we no longer find time to visit or call. Some of us will try and find time to at least comment on a friend’s Facebook status before getting swept back up in the tediousness of our lives.

The Break-up Letter

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Dear B.,

Thinking back to when we first began, I never would have imagined that I would want to leave you.
But, the last month has been HELL. You had given me so much then suddenly you ripped it all away from me.

I hated you for that!!!

It was fall of last year when we met; an exotic and stunning creature you were. You weren’t my first online relationship but, you were my most intense. I was only looking for fun; never would I have dreamed that love was possible online but, then came you.

Life Is A Buffet

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I will never understand how life is a highway….don’t get me wrong I do love the song. I get the whole metaphor that life is the road or destination, we are the vehicle and we control or steer where we go……. yada yada yada.

But, what do we do on highways? We drive on them to destinations but, we speed. The whole purpose of a highway over that of a regular road is to cut down the amount of time we spend driving. It is not the scenic route it is the fast way. I can see how some people may prefer to speed through life but, nobody ever actually gets there any faster by speeding.

The Secret

There is a secret

I’m required to keep.

I hide it for them

I bury it deep.

A cancerous secret

destroying my brain;

killing all happiness

leaving just pain.

.I’m not ever allowed 

to utter a word;

no one must find out 

what evil occurred.

A monstrous secret

that is hidden away,

they lie just to keep it

to this very day.

Their terrible secret

fights me for control.

I’ve attempted to free it

but, it’s sewn into my soul.

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Keystylin Singer

Note: So I have been putting up a lot of poetry but, have posted none of my freestyles. So I give you one little rhyme from November 19, 2010 I usually wrote freestyles while keystylin in chat so some of them are very short. It’s not like I am writing songs here people lol.

You’re just

a RnB singer

nut clinger

Notre Dame

bell ringer

hit you with a stinger

chantin my name

like jerry springer

hit ya hard

champion bottle slinger

you a lightweight

weak ass

cranberry zinger

blasted your ass

done

put you through the wringer

while your’e standin there

hands on hip

wavin your finger

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It’s Called Dancing With The Stars Not Hating On The Stars

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I read an article today about Dancing With The Stars and some of the comments. People can be so hateful. I don’t always get a chance to watch TV and I am not usually one for shows like DWTS. As with any article I read I am always drawn to the comments, I guess it is because people never fail to show how truly miserable they really are. The hate is so common  in articles it is absolutely sickening.

First off you are using an alias to leave a comment about someone who has the guts to go on TV and make an ass out of themselves. You then have the audacity to criticize someone because they get enough votes to keep them on the program. Why are you mad? Because the “big” girl has more fans then the “jock” or the “skinny” girl? Really???? So we are still stuck on judging people by their appearance?

Who You Callin Old?

I am not old…

am I???

NO, I AM NOT OLD

I disapprove….

But, my knees disagree

and just argue with me

when I try to move.

At 2:30 A.M. I was trying to sleep

my leg began aching making me weep

I mumbled

and grumbled

and roared

then I stumbled

through the jumbled

mess on the floor

I had to find relief

to end my impending grief….

So I grabbed a bottle of pills

that only gave me the chills

so I put them back down.

I then grabbed the ben-gay

it reeked I must say

only making me frown.

I got up once more

but walking was a chore

I was going insane

from this crippling pain.

When I reached my room

in the back did loom

exactly what I required.

Right there in the drawer

closest to the floor

was the knee brace that I desired.

I then sat on the bed

but I just shook my head

because my hands felt fragile like glass….

So I tried it again

but,

let me tell you my friend

getting old is a PAIN IN THE ASS!!!

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Happy Mother’s Day

Writer’s Orgasm

Like all writer’s I eventually come to a point where I don’t have anything to say. Wait a minute did I just type that… I am a rambler, a babbler, a nonstop hyper word spitter.

There is no way that I could be speechless, it’s just not possible. But, here I sit watching my cursor wink and my word program beckon me like a lover’s whisper. “Come to me my love… sit, and talk to me. Ignite my senses like only your exceptional mind can do”

Yes, my word program seduces me with its virginal white page that is begging for me to relieve its frustration with the touch of my fingers. My cursor lightly caresses the page and my sexy font takes over and all of a sudden…. Yes YES YESSSS, writer’s orgasm!!!

Words spew all over my page followed by sentences and then paragraphs. OH MY GOD, it just keeps coming there is no end in sight. I have found keyboard Viagra and let me tell you baby it’s not going down.

Wouldn’t it be nice though if this was actual commentary happening and not just a bunch of nastiness on the part of my metaphorically genius mind??? Haha, no I suppose this will be just as stimulating as anything serious could be.
Can someone hand me a tissue….. I seem to have leaked all over my page.

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