tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89914185751771005972024-01-08T01:43:18.752-05:00My Daily Jenn-ismMy life is nuts and I love it just that way!
My writing is directly from the heart. If I feel it, if I think it, I write it....
The good, the bad and the ugly.
For the most part - Life is GOOD. Soak up every second!!
Live, Love, Laugh.... Spin around until you get dizzy and fall down - then get up an do it again!My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.comBlogger313125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-74156550585924028452020-06-09T13:35:00.002-04:002020-06-09T15:45:47.052-04:00I cannot remain silent<div data-mh="-1" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i style="background-color: transparent;">Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. </i><span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">~Martin Luther King Jr.</span></span></span></div>
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<br />
It's been a long time since I've posted... a REALLY LONG TIME.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I backed down and out of blogging for a while because people I knew in real life were getting weird about it and it was affecting my kids. I never want anything to affect my kids. If I can't legitimately make a difference by what I say, I won't blog. I need to post what matters in my heart.<br />
<br />
Why am I breaking my silence?<br />
<br />
THE WORLD WE LIVE IN!<br />
<br />
I can't sit by and keep my mouth shut. I can't do nothing.<br />
<br />
This will be a long post, so buckle up.<br />
<br />
I'm mostly watching the world through the big screen in my living room, thank you COVID-19, and I cannot wrap my head around what is going on in the world.<br />
<br />
The hate and violence need to stop.<br />
<br />
I first want to say that I fully support law enforcement. I don't believe that good, innocent people need to be murdered because they are cops. Not all cops are bad cops. Many of our friends are or were cops and I love and respect them. If this was their fight, I'd stand shoulder to shoulder beside them. They have been zapped HARD by those despicable individuals in Minnesota who stood by while George Floyd was being murdered by a bad cop. They don't all deserve the hate thrown at them - but this isn't about cops right now - good or bad.<br />
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Right now ALL people DO need to stand up and agree that BLACK LIVES MATTER!<br />
<br />
Yes.... All lives DO matter, but that is not the platform. Put it away.<br />
<br />
The best quote I saw on this was, "If you went into a Breast Cancer rally, you wouldn't stand up and say ALL CANCER MATTERS" - you'd support the breast cancer cause. <br />
<br />
Keep reading please....<br />
No matter what you think about the rallies, the protests or the rioting - you need to pay attention.<br />
<br />
This isn't about cops. This isn't about All Lives. It's about hate and racism, plain and simple.<br />
<br />
I'm an educated, middle class, hard working white mom and wife. It wasn't always this way. Well, yeah - I've always been white - but I didn't grow up in the lap of luxury. I worked my ass off for everything I have. I am a white woman who had no idea what white privilege was, or that I actually had it.<br />
<br />
Over the years I have asked many of my friends of color what white privilege meant, probably at the wrong time in the wrong setting (because I have no filter), with no answer. I get it, it's an uncomfortable topic. It could cause disagreements, but I wanted to know. I needed to know why I was told I had white privilege. I did not grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I had a shitty childhood. People referred to us as "white trash." My parents were mostly absent for one reason or another. Surely this didn't apply to me.<br />
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Ya know what I learned? White privilege has nothing to do with any of that. <br />
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Pre-Clifton days, I lived on the border of Totowa and Paterson. Totowa kids weren't always so nice to me and told me I lived in Paterson. Fine by me, I walked right across the street and hung out with my Paterson friends, who were mostly of color - friends who lovingly gave me the nickname "stupid little white girl." Don't be horrified. That was NOT meant to be mean or demeaning - it's genuinely who I was back then and they said it with love. My dad was all peace, love and tie dye. He very specifically taught me to never see color in people, only their hearts. With that, I never saw color. I went where I wanted, when I wanted, with whom I wanted. That often did not bode well for me. I often had to be "rescued" from situations that could have gone very bad for me. I was rescued by my friends of color.<br />
<br />
I know what you think you're seeing here.... Of course it would it be "bad" for a little white girl to be in a "black area". I didn't see that. I saw my friends. I saw their hearts. I saw people who genuinely loved me and looked out for me when others couldn't be bothered. They stood beside me. Their moms fed me. They made sure I got home OK in the dark when they knew getting back home for them might be a little tricky. I saw them. They saw me. Period.<br />
<br />
I want to share some of the things I personally lived throughout my childhood that I will never forget. There are contrasts of good and bad - but I hope you will see my point.<br />
<br />
First I'll start with a very basic, and true, illustration of racism from my childhood. I'm only in my 50's. By rights, this stuff should never have existed in my childhood, but please read on.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4rznu1ob3wF2nB1PhGV7qA38NEKxKOd9uUgNEOQSLT3s9b9Bu_LUgWmAdumKEAcT-Mtnevs03QWcl1GN-rh0SkDHuoZXTmpqTn_Bpw4R-v8Wl8J7SVc4VJEjFlg4A2G1d4c1BuqHTtzq/s1600/Colored+waiting+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="227" data-original-width="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4rznu1ob3wF2nB1PhGV7qA38NEKxKOd9uUgNEOQSLT3s9b9Bu_LUgWmAdumKEAcT-Mtnevs03QWcl1GN-rh0SkDHuoZXTmpqTn_Bpw4R-v8Wl8J7SVc4VJEjFlg4A2G1d4c1BuqHTtzq/s1600/Colored+waiting+room.jpg" /></a></div>
When I was younger, my mother sent my brothers and I to our grandparent's house down south every summer in lieu of day care or camp that she couldn't afford. It was mid to late 70's almost a decade after segregation should have ended. We were dropped off at the town pool every day that it didn't rain. Being who I was, I gravitated to the children of color and played with them in the pool. I never once noticed the "Black Area" signs that should have been removed decades prior. I'd never seen them before and paid no mind. I clearly remember walking over to sit and play with my new friends and their moms looking to me nervously. I didn't understand. I was from Jersey. I knew nothing of modern day segregation. Finally, one of the moms whispered to me, "Sweetie, you can't be here. We are going to get into trouble." I obeyed, of course, even though I didn't understand. When I addressed the situation with my grandparents, they told me that "the coloreds aren't regarded much" in that area. I was heart broken. I never forgot it.<br />
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Back home in Jersey, one spring day my younger brothers and I took our brand new bikes and rode to Kennedy High School to hang out by the very first submarine, which at that time proudly adorned the property. Two young boys of color asked if they could ride our bikes. Being the "stupid little white girl" that I was, we said sure.... Yup, they stole our bikes. Wait....DO NOT JUDGE.<br />
My brothers and I ran and chased them across the Great Falls bridge and down to CCP (Christopher Columbus Projects). We lost them. So here we were, 3 little white kids deep in the projects.<br />
We walked back without fear, crying because we'd lost our bikes. Several cars drove by us full of white faces we recognized. No one stopped to see why these 3 little (white) kids were walking along the road crying. Let me be a little bit more clear....we were 11, 8 and 5 year old LITTLE KIDS. Not one person stopped. We continued to walk toward home and an older black gentleman stopped us on the street as we walked past to see if we were OK. We were not. He was a worker at the dog pound. He kindly showed us in.... noticed a pile of dogs that were recently euthanized and quick covered them to not upset us further. He showed us kindness. He turned to me and asked for our home phone number to call our parents to pick us up. HE WAS THE ONE TO RESCUE US. Not the (white) family from our school who saw and drove right past us on the road, the black stranger.<br />
<br />
A stranger of color stepped up to help us. He could have lost his job for bringing 3 little white kids into the city dog pound. He put himself and his job on the line to help US. He didn't have to.<br />
I'll never forget him.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaE0kBGibP2562Cio1Nu-w4T3DLJgy0yI5XbkOvz8jduNGgF6lQnnyRPQMvxDYrQwGP7k3TWWHKos1xyR3edia6aQUunzBbb6dIeO4uu4CC1Fd0Ri5l1z3aZvSdeayFiZhUC-4eYfExcfr/s1600/1st+submarine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="895" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaE0kBGibP2562Cio1Nu-w4T3DLJgy0yI5XbkOvz8jduNGgF6lQnnyRPQMvxDYrQwGP7k3TWWHKos1xyR3edia6aQUunzBbb6dIeO4uu4CC1Fd0Ri5l1z3aZvSdeayFiZhUC-4eYfExcfr/s320/1st+submarine.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know it's hard to tell... this is NOT me and my brothers, but this is the submarine that used to be at Kennedy High School</td></tr>
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Another time, I was with my friends - not in the projects this time, but in an apartment complex. There was a knock out dare in progress that I was unaware of. I was the lucky recipient of the knock out punch by a young black boy. He hit and ran. I, of course, hit the ground while my group of white friends laughed. The woman who ran the kids off and came to care for me was a black woman I'll refer to as "Miss Shirley" for privacy. She made sure I was OK. She gave me water and sat with me until I was picked up. Not my white friends, the black woman who didn't know me helped me.<br />
I'll never forget her.<br />
<br />
I'm guessing the "stupid little white girl" picture is making more sense to you now.<br />
<br />
I love and respect the memory of these people.<br />
All they saw was someone needing help and they stepped up regardless of their personal circumstances, potential outcome or because we were white. They saw a human in need and stepped up.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDyhiyOYN-yuwph1GQWQUGZp_YuVZpXQa_T1c5tX2qfzYeN8vZH99DuO2j_TcCVf6rDDKGTAgPWw4mAX1D54R6qzzI4nvB0WKlULZJZiq6yrbsh1ubqH3igJPRXcJ8i0zXmXmXZX5NbEs/s1600/all-that-is-required-for-evil-to-triumph-is-for-8694551+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDyhiyOYN-yuwph1GQWQUGZp_YuVZpXQa_T1c5tX2qfzYeN8vZH99DuO2j_TcCVf6rDDKGTAgPWw4mAX1D54R6qzzI4nvB0WKlULZJZiq6yrbsh1ubqH3igJPRXcJ8i0zXmXmXZX5NbEs/s320/all-that-is-required-for-evil-to-triumph-is-for-8694551+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a>Isn't that what we should all be doing? Stepping up for our fellow humans?<br />
<br />
That's what we are, you know... humans!<br />
<br />
We need to stop doing nothing. Stop "minding your own business." Stand up for what is right.<br />
<br />
We need to stop seeing color and realize that <b>good and bad happen in every color</b>.<br />
<br />
Am I horrified by George Floyd? Yes, I am! Honestly, I'm more offended by the <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2020/05/07/killing-ahmaud-arbery-draws-condemnation-calls-prosecution/" target="_blank">Ahmaud Arbery</a> incident. (click on his name for background if you don't know about this incident)<br />
A black man can't take a JOG without being assumed to be "high tailing it out of there" and be shot dead by two white men??? Is this really what the human race is made of?<br />
<br />
He was <b>taking a jog, </b>not breaking laws. <b> </b>Are you outraged?<br />
<br />
Think about that, <b>taking a jog</b>. Now put yourself in that position. If you are white, would you EVER expect to be shot dead or suspected to be "high tailing it out of there" for taking a jog?<br />
NO, you would not. I wouldn't either.<br />
<br />
This is where white privilege comes into play. Growing up as I did, I didn't think that phrase even sort of applied to me. I had no privileges....<br />
<br />
Until I thought about this:<br />
<br />
When was the last time you had to tell a young child that they shouldn't (not couldn't) play with your children because you / they would get into trouble?<br />
When was the last time you were asked where you're going when you were leaving an upscale area?<br />
When was the last time you were shot at for taking a jog?<br />
When was the last time someone took a few steps back when you were standing next to them?<br />
When was the last time someone assumed that because you were there a crime may be in progress?<br />
<br />
This is where our white privilege lies - not by how much we make or what we do or don't have. It's the privilege of not being unfairly judged in advance based upon the color of your skin.<br />
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Is this really the world you want to live in?<br />
<br />
It's not the world I want to live in.<br />
<br />
Agree or disagree. That's your choice.<br />
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<br />
I don't want to live in a world of hatred.<br />
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I don't want my children learning hate.<br />
<br />
Black lives matter.<br />
<br />
Until Black Lives Matter, All Lives cannot matter.<br />
<br />
Stand up or shut up.<br />
<br />
Learn to love and stop the hate. Be a part of the solution.<br />
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This world will never find peace until we learn to love each other and accept each other's differences.<br />
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Thank you for reading my blog.<br />
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Peace,<br />
Jenn<br />
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<br />My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-75271695489421082722016-03-03T12:53:00.002-05:002016-03-03T21:39:00.252-05:00The long term effects of suicide on those left behind These are my actual, real life experiences.<br />
I am always appreciative when my posts are shared and I'm always hopeful that these posts will help another person. The one thing I ask, please, out of respect to me and my personal experiences - please do not take this blog piece and re-post it as your own. We are all in this together. Thank you ~Jenn<br />
<br />
This post has been in writing for more than a month. It is very difficult for me to get through because these are my truths.<br />
<br />
I ask for a pardon for any grammatical or punctuation errors - this is totally unedited due to the nature of the post & where I had to go within myself to put this out there.<br />
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As always, I hope this helps even one person struggling with depression and / or suicidal thoughts.<br />
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<br />
March 28, 1984 - The day my father left this planet at his own hand.<br />
<br />
That date is one I will never, ever, ever forget. Really, how could I?<br />
That is the date that most important man in my life, at the time, left me - without warning, without saying goodbye, without an explanation.<br />
<br />
I was 18.<br />
<br />
For YEARS I had the exact same re-occurring nightmares of my father's suicide. Not the actual suicide, per se. Luckily my dad did not die in our house, nor I did not find him or see him in that state. I, instead, dreamed of the article of his death written in the local newspaper.<br />
<br />
The article that laid it all right out for me and created a mental picture I didn't recover from for years.<br />
<br />
Hawthorne Man, 42, found dead. Self inflicted gun shot wound to the head. Victim found slumped over steering wheel of his 1982 AMC International Scout.<br />
<br />
That's not the article verbatim - but that was what formed the template of the nightmares that ensued for more than 20 years of my life.<br />
<br />
The same dream, every night, of walking up to my dad's truck and seeing him slumped over the steering wheel, lifeless, bleeding from the wound to his head. Feeling scared, helpless, distraught, out of control, traumatized.<br />
<br />
I don't have enough words to describe every single awful emotion I experienced. I always woke in a pool of sweat, crying, shaking, terrified.<br />
<br />
I had that nightmare almost every night for more than 20 years, until I had a procedure called <a href="http://www.emdrhap.org/content/what-is-emdr/" target="_blank">EMDR</a>
to make the nightmares stop. (If you are unaware of what EMDR is, you
may click on the link above to give you an explanation. Please note: This link is not
meant as an endorsement to any particular agency and is meant for informational purposes only.)<br />
<br />
That treatment DID stop that particular dream, but it did not stop all dreams related to my dad's suicide.<br />
<br />
More than 30 years later, I still miss my dad every single day.<br />
<br />
Yes, I know - people miss people who've passed all the time.<br />
I've lost others close to me in my life, either naturally or due to sickness or tragic accidents. Some were old, some were young. I think of them and I miss them. I'm not minimizing any loss.<br />
<br />
Loss by suicide is different.<br />
<br />
If I could express one thing - any thing to someone who is suffering from depression or suicidal thoughts and thinks that if they just die they will stop being a burden, you are so wrong.<br />
<br />
I've said so many times - if you are a person struggling and just want the pain to go away - please KNOW the pain is NOT going away. All it is doing is magnifying and moving on to those you love, who are left behind to try to make sense of it. Your family, your friends will carry this forever. They will never make sense of it.<br />
<br />
Trust me.<br />
There is NO CLOSING that gaping hole that is left behind by the suicide of someone you love. It is NOT the same as someone dying because they're sick, or because they've been in an awful accident, or it was just their time. It's awful. It's traumatic. It's life altering. It's a permanent hole that never quite heals.<br />
<br />
It's been a long time since I've had one of those nightmares that I did the EMDR treatment to stop - but I do still have those types of dreams. I think I always will.<br />
<br />
"It happens as usual, I'm
lying in my bed asleep, when I realize that my dad isn't home. I get up
out of my bed and I wander around my house looking for him. In my
confusion, I realize that nothing looks the same. I hear the television
in the other room, it's my husband watching television - but it's
almost like I look through him. I'm confused wondering where I am,
where my dad's room is. Why does everything look different. I go lay
back in bed thinking, wait - why am I sleeping in my dad's bed? I need
to go to my own bed. I continue to process the confusion - then I
realize, it's not my dad's bed. It's my bed. I'm in my house, not the
house I lived in when my dad died - and that my dad is gone. Then the
pain hits. He's gone. I cry myself back to sleep."<br />
<br />
It's been more than 30 years since my dad passed. I still dream of him, both happy and sad dreams. I still miss him. I still feel the pain and trauma of the loss. It never goes away.<br />
<br />
The feelings of confusion and fear have not completely left me.<br />
In my awake state, today, I can remember all I felt during my dream last night. I can remember wondering where my dad was. Why didn't he come home? Where is he? Where am I? Why did he leave me alone here? Fear.<br />
<br />
You see, the pain of this loss - it never leaves.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
...and it has a way of permeating a family.</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
My brother, Eric, took his own life - the same way as my dad - in 2007.<br />
<br />
Suicide hurts everyone.<br />
<br />
Neither my dad or brother said goodbye. <br />
-A good bye would not have been better.<br />
<br />
Neither my dad or my brother left a note. <br />
-An explanation would not have been better.<br />
<br />
Even if they did, it would not change the fact that someone I love left this place at his own hand, and I was powerless to stop it.<br />
<br />
Please, I ask you - I beg you, if you are someone who is struggling with the pain of depression and/or suicidal thoughts - PLEASE reach out to someone.<br />
<br />
Yes, I know you feel no one wants to hear it or is tired of hearing it.<br />
Talk to someone else.<br />
Yes, I know you feel no one will understand how you feel.<br />
Someone may not completely understand, but they will try. <br />
Yes, I know you feel that you would be burdening someone with your problems.<br />
Someone will gladly want to help. <br />
Yes, I know that sometimes you don't care about anything at all.<br />
Care anyway.<br />
<br />
Don't drown. Ask for help. Reach for a life line. <br />
<br />
Please know;<br />
Someone DOES love you. <br />
Someone WILL miss you.<br />
Someone WILL suffer every single day of the rest of their life if you leave.<br />
<br />
Please stay.<br />
<br />
Please reach out.<br />
<br />
Someone WILL reach back.<br />
<br />
It does get better.<br />
<br />
You are loved.<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading my blog.<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
My Daily Jenn-ism ~ March 2016<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3 class="_f4c">
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1 (800) 273-8255</h3>
<br />
<i>In loving memory of the very first man I ever loved - my daddy and my younger brother, Eric. </i><br />
<i>Missing you both forever <3</i><br />
<br />
<b><i>Related Posts:</i></b><br />
<br />
How Suicide has Affected Me - My Real Life Story <br />
<a href="http://mydailyjenn-ism.blogspot.com/2012/11/how-suicide-has-affected-me-my-real.html">http://mydailyjenn-ism.blogspot.com/2012/11/how-suicide-has-affected-me-my-real.html</a><br />
<br />
Let's Talk Taboo<br />
<a href="http://mydailyjenn-ism.blogspot.com/2012/06/lets-talk-taboo.html">http://mydailyjenn-ism.blogspot.com/2012/06/lets-talk-taboo.html</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</a><br />
<br />
<br />My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-16866425332109587032016-02-18T11:41:00.000-05:002016-02-19T13:47:02.983-05:00Things I wish someone had said to me at 16 years old<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbshWd0Ujk3Vzu3H2-mlqNnx6tG9pJsWx5fQWqKH9wrN6nhb_5rV_o68ck6e6hQYzyxDQDBWL0BidTFXfA10AnxHcG6bL4PK9mmeOf3NcPb6EIadVECW6hRjsIwpWlKNSM2Ndv3kZIq0F_/s1600/sweet+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbshWd0Ujk3Vzu3H2-mlqNnx6tG9pJsWx5fQWqKH9wrN6nhb_5rV_o68ck6e6hQYzyxDQDBWL0BidTFXfA10AnxHcG6bL4PK9mmeOf3NcPb6EIadVECW6hRjsIwpWlKNSM2Ndv3kZIq0F_/s1600/sweet+16.jpg" /></a></div>
I'm not sure how much I've shared on here about me... ya know, besides everything.<br />
<br />
For the past 9 years until this past November, my husband and I were foster parents.<br />
<br />
<br />
We've had the opportunity to have many children of different ages and backgrounds pass through our home. Each one more heart breaking than the next. Some great outcomes, some unknown.<br />
<br />
It was in fostering & volunteering with teens that I got to take a really good look at the life of sixteen year old girl from another angle besides the one I lived. I can see so clearly now the things I wished that someone had told me.<br />
<br />
At sixteen, everything seems so desperate and serious. Love, life, everything. They need it all to happen RIGHT NOW.<br />
<br />
The one thing in common is that all they wanted was to feel loved, whatever that means.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaDr9uN0uZyddxa-PE_jsBRlRZ2fPNlOE8C7d6Ba1i_4iQwLNMH_kvaRxFw3pl-7PW9pvaZ8egUO0g5dL8qqH1mmHkdXygZ4JAVkB6iXdzuIHebVusr9pHkNHAkDSNRzKYCOns6hrUKGgr/s1600/love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaDr9uN0uZyddxa-PE_jsBRlRZ2fPNlOE8C7d6Ba1i_4iQwLNMH_kvaRxFw3pl-7PW9pvaZ8egUO0g5dL8qqH1mmHkdXygZ4JAVkB6iXdzuIHebVusr9pHkNHAkDSNRzKYCOns6hrUKGgr/s400/love.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
True, some sixteen year old girls are very well adjusted or more well adjusted than others. Many of the girls we've helped lived lives that were far worse than anything I could relate to at that age. I wanted to save them all - but I couldn't. I could only say the things that had been said to me, or that I wish had been said to me.<br />
<br />
If I could be the person speaking to myself, I'd speak the same words as
I've spoken to these girls and let them know that it really is,
and really will be OK. They are loved. They are deserving of love and
they WILL have the right, special someone to love them forever - ONE DAY. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMbtOwU2Rql6PYe0WbvVLRxQCnuuQCanoUkuO0HvUyM4_EW_gxE6P_KtZtdUOWIIWv2hPC5TiLLfHEmusOyoW7aGKl3qbcWtcVshqgDDxgjM_KfQsy3FUXHP_vefyqmNT57uQTyGpQW4Y/s1600/cover+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMbtOwU2Rql6PYe0WbvVLRxQCnuuQCanoUkuO0HvUyM4_EW_gxE6P_KtZtdUOWIIWv2hPC5TiLLfHEmusOyoW7aGKl3qbcWtcVshqgDDxgjM_KfQsy3FUXHP_vefyqmNT57uQTyGpQW4Y/s200/cover+up.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No bueno</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm not a prude at all - so keep that in consideration when I say that modesty is OK. You don't have to dress like a nun - but cover it up. You don't need to show it all off to get the attention of a boy you like. Dressing inappropriately will attract attention all right - all the wrong attention! If a boy likes you, you'll get his attention without all of that - don't you worry.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQH-gEFsPLaysv8hagxKNTa-aVPjpNlkNQ1tKjQycBRw62tw_hT4xkkUtizwijrXA9wUquP5793Dun4539Iaa0NPLgrF-CGP-HEddgKBa77CKAurX2EbzbVboXzcZAsXczSGfganIfo6o/s1600/tttteenhormones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQH-gEFsPLaysv8hagxKNTa-aVPjpNlkNQ1tKjQycBRw62tw_hT4xkkUtizwijrXA9wUquP5793Dun4539Iaa0NPLgrF-CGP-HEddgKBa77CKAurX2EbzbVboXzcZAsXczSGfganIfo6o/s320/tttteenhormones.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Hormones are flying all over the place - yours and theirs. It's like a hormonal airport & everyone wants to come in for a landing....<br />
<br />
Screeeeeeech..... slam on the breaks, girl. You've got plenty of time for all of that. Really.<br />
<br />
Not everyone is ready, at the tender age of sixteen, to jump on into a sexual relationship, and it is OK to say so.<br />
<br />
If a boy really likes you, he will respect that. Really. Yeah, he may be pissed - but he'll get over it.<br />
<br />
On that angle, it's important to know the things my daddy (and my step dad) drilled into my head constantly - "Boys will tell you whatever you want to hear to get into your pants." Honestly, hearing that over and over again really messed me up, but they were right. Remember those words.<br />
<br />
That doesn't mean that you're not lovable or deserving of love. EVERYONE is worthy of love. Not everyone is ready to love you the way you want to be loved. That's learned through maturity.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8-T8iqYhN2aDzmzW9l7aO24P9wMVTkLeYzOVG2s0tYJdM650dSGnLHecR9DkgJhytowc602aN5JFVQky1t5IZZQiPajL09uwTSdBlF_rnXlP6PGbC2Yp8jzx0WysdwUv0yxXiv4YREzn/s1600/talk.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8-T8iqYhN2aDzmzW9l7aO24P9wMVTkLeYzOVG2s0tYJdM650dSGnLHecR9DkgJhytowc602aN5JFVQky1t5IZZQiPajL09uwTSdBlF_rnXlP6PGbC2Yp8jzx0WysdwUv0yxXiv4YREzn/s200/talk.png" width="200" /></a>If you find yourself in a bad situation - FIND AN ADULT YOU CAN TRUST! Not every sixteen year old is close with or comfortable talking to their parent. There is always an adult you can talk to - not all of us "adult" people suck. We've all lived through what you're going through right now and as long as you're not a danger to yourself or others, we can pretty much keep our mouth shut if necessary. Do not try to handle things on your own.<br />
<br />
Back to the boy thing.... Know this.... if a boy forces himself on you or takes advantage of you without your consent - he does NOT care about you. If a boy truly likes / loves you, he will protect you. He will respect you. Even in this day and age of punk ass little teen age boys - this will always be a fact. No one gets to hurt you. No one gets to disrespect you. No one gets to take what you're not prepared to give. Know that - live it.<br />
<br />
You many not be a full fledged adult yet, but you are human and deserving of basic human kindness and respect. That you need to believe.<br />
<br />
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<br />
You are allowed, as your own person, to set boundaries on what you will and will not accept. Not everyone will like that. Too bad. Not everyone matters. People who genuinely care for you will respect your boundaries. You deserve respect!<br />
<br />
I know that it is absolutely, positively heart wrenching when the boy that you really like does not like you. Even worse, pretends to like you and then treats you badly. I promise you, there IS someone out there who will be absolutely, positively in love with every single breath you take.<br />
That person is out there and that person is worth waiting for.<br />
<br />
<br />
You deserve respect. You deserve love. You deserve compassion. You deserve kindness.<br />
<br />
All of this is temporary. YES, all of it! In 20 years, this will all be a mere blip in your memory bank. The good stuff will stand out and make you smile. The bad stuff will still hurt your heart, but you will NOT remember it all. It will all pass.<br />
<br />
In the mean time, <br />
Be happy! Be smart! Be sixteen!<br />
<br />
This time only rolls around once - live well without regrets.<br />
<br />
You deserve that!<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading my blog!!<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</a><br />
<br />
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<br />My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-10653378272259720012015-12-17T10:19:00.000-05:002015-12-17T10:19:47.054-05:00What is Self-Harm? Another Mom's Story<div class="yiv555239237MsoNormal" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362593062169_2081">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">As I continue through Mental Health March, I'd like to <span style="font-size: large;">once again thank the bloggers AND non-bloggers who'v<span style="font-size: large;">e stepped up and offere<span style="font-size: large;">d to share<span style="font-size: large;"> th<span style="font-size: large;">e<span style="font-size: large;">ir experiences.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am humbled and <span style="font-size: large;">grateful to these <span style="font-size: large;">w<span style="font-size: large;">onderful people for opening up and sharing themsel<span style="font-size: large;">ves on somet<span style="font-size: large;">hing so personal</span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">I've got some A<span style="font-size: large;">MAZING guest bloggers lined up.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today, <span style="font-size: large;">I <span style="font-size: large;">give you Jen from <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/IKnowWheretheVillageIdiotResides?fref=ts" target="_blank">I <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">K</span>now <span style="font-size: large;">W</span>here the Village Idiot Resides.</span></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here is Jen's experience with self harm.</span></span></span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am again, </span></span></span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">humbled.</span></span></span></span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank<span style="font-size: large;"> you, Jen.</span> </span></span></span></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></i></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span></b>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDB1n4YQ65HEcd2MMiHsBC1FiED5p5IV_RODqSeYsXeuAx-oZyD2UihmtzQknN9Qq8dJbG2BcC1rJ9uFhK0pj6BjP9SSZYSORsOoUhZnsuIjZPREHYK1pXyx6BTCzAq7BFli0EAT9Bzj8/s1600/Meg's+Arms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDB1n4YQ65HEcd2MMiHsBC1FiED5p5IV_RODqSeYsXeuAx-oZyD2UihmtzQknN9Qq8dJbG2BcC1rJ9uFhK0pj6BjP9SSZYSORsOoUhZnsuIjZPREHYK1pXyx6BTCzAq7BFli0EAT9Bzj8/s320/Meg's+Arms.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">What is Self-Harm?</span></span></i></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
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<i style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I can give you a generic answer that lists a myriad of
activities or I can give you the interpretation that comes from my soul; the
very core of my being. </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Yes, THAT deep.</b></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
This topic hits really close to home for me. I know people that have self-harmed;
I even tried it myself when I was a teen (I’m 38 now). </span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
In this post, I'll be talking about the day that the world as I knew it had changed forever...</span></span></i></span><br />
<i style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It was summer-time and my 14 year old daughter had just gotten home
from cheer practice. I looked over at her and noticed a mark on her upper arm. It struck me odd, but I knew the signs - so I asked her about it. </span></span></i><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Are you cutting?”</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“No mom.”</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I began to notice her wearing real
rubber bands around her wrist and thought to myself “that’s odd”. </span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span></i></span><br />
<div class="yiv555239237MsoNormal" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362593062169_2134">
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rubber bands are a coping method for cutters.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In theory,
when the urge hits they don’t cut. Instead they snap the rubber bands. Have
you ever felt it? It stings. The harder you snap them, the more it stings. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I
thought to myself, “but She said No”.<br /><br />
</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Later that day in the drive-thru at a local burger joint, she said, “Mom,
can I talk to you for a minute?” </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">That’s all I remember because what came next
rocked my world. </span></span></i></span></div>
<div class="yiv555239237MsoNormal" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362593062169_2135" style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal;">
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">She WAS cutting. The beautiful child
that I carried for 38 weeks inside my body was hurting herself and bleeding on
purpose.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">WHY??? </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">This happens to other people. Not parents like us. We are
awesome. We provided the right balance of attention and rewards (laptop, phone,
ipod, etc). How could this happen in our “normal” family? We don’t even yell in
our house unless it’s me yelling at a cat. It truly is our kids’ soft place to
fall.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Little did I know that behind that behind the evil bedroom door, bad
things were happening. I never once
heard her cry. </span></span></i></span></div>
<div class="yiv555239237MsoNormal" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362593062169_2136" style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal;">
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
My daughter and I talked about why and it’s all a big jumble but it all boils
down to her week-long visit that past summer with her bio dad, the feeling of r</span></span></i></span><i style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">ejection, weight issues and normal teenager stuff. </span></span></i><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I got her immediate
therapy and she was lucky. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately, it didn’t last. The medical facility that I used for her
therapy was changing owners and had let her therapist go. How do you tell the
kid that the person that she had grown to confide in was leaving? My daughter
took it in stride and we moved on to the next. Again, the therapist was let go. This time she had enough. She said “No more!” </span></span></i></span><i style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have to say that I c<span style="font-size: large;">ouldn</span>’t disagree with her. I would have probably been pissed
off too. </span></span></i><br />
<i style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fast forward to winter 2011. </span></span></i><br />
<i style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">She had been taking an anti-depressant
for a couple of years but had stopped it due to the side effects. </span></span></i><i style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">She was almost 16 and was having some issues that caused her
to start cutting again. </span></span></i></div>
<div class="yiv555239237MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">All of those scars were literally and physically re-opened. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It got so
bad that the child begged me to hospitalize her. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">You know it’s serious when
someone asks to be placed in a mental hospital. I took her immediately and she
was admitted. Her meds were changed and she received intensive therapy. </span></span></i></span><i style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">She was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, a blanket diagnosis given to kids under 18.</span></span></i><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I remember crying so hard - and often. My heart was broken. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>It's been a long road.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span></i></span><br />
<div class="yiv555239237MsoNormal">
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">My baby will be 17 <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1362593064_0">on Friday</span>. She has come such a long way
and I am so proud of her. The scars cover
both of her arms. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some day we will shop for a wedding dress and those scars may show. The scars that will still
be there, because they are a part of her forever. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span></i></span><br />
<div class="yiv555239237MsoNormal" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362593062169_2140">
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In this I learned that no matter how good of a parent you
are, you can be blindsided in a heartbeat.
(Clothes lined comes to mind). </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">My daughter said every time that she cut herself,
she felt like she was letting me down. The
only thing that saved my daughter was communication and sheer willpower. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">One
could even say my awareness to ask the question in the first place had
something to do with it.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">What I DO know is I love that kid with every fiber of
my being and will always fight for her. She has become a pretty cool teenager
and I am enjoying this different phase of parenting.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I still advocate for self-harm because it
feels like it’s the least I can do. My kid made it and I am so lucky. This I
know. I hope my experience helps you, or someone you know to see the signs and help someone you love.<br />
Thank You,</span></span></i></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></span></i></span><br />
<div class="yiv555239237MsoNormal" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362593062169_2139">
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jen</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you again, Jen, for sharing something so close to your heart.</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you or someone you know are harming yourself in some way, please don't suffer in silence reach out!</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Please call the Self Injury Hotline - </span></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">SAFE at:</span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">1-800-DONT CUT (1-800-366-8288) </span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">You may also visit the website: www.selfinjury.com</span></span></i></div>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you for reading my blog!</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">~Jenn</span></span></i><br />
<br /></div>
My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-60910436018176754262015-08-14T09:45:00.001-04:002015-08-14T10:17:57.868-04:00Ran't on Can'tYes, I did that 't on Rant on purpose. <br />
It gives it a little flair, don't you think??<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EgJt0ex-He3RrmMrZsjLsz-DTK_uyB8MHO5ZxkIUN_pmb1FDJeAfhb7JSHZkDWoUOctccpfbX1P5ffw611mGnLRVT6VTqf19O45pRoTBRxmEiljzvQaMplwJwIDpViKEoBt-t6vU-95r/s1600/can%2527t+d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EgJt0ex-He3RrmMrZsjLsz-DTK_uyB8MHO5ZxkIUN_pmb1FDJeAfhb7JSHZkDWoUOctccpfbX1P5ffw611mGnLRVT6VTqf19O45pRoTBRxmEiljzvQaMplwJwIDpViKEoBt-t6vU-95r/s320/can%2527t+d.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
OK - fine it's an attention getter for my fellow grammar / spelling Nazis out there.<br />
You're welcome.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I've become increasingly annoyed by the amount of people who throw around the "I can't" line lately.<br />
<br />
Really? Can't?<br />
Ever heard of Oscar Pistorius? Maybe he's a bad example being in prison and all, BUT stay with me a moment, will you? His pending murder conviction aside, this man is a DOUBLE AMPUTEE, former Olympic SPRINTER hopeful. The loss of 2 legs did not stop him from running. He didn't "can't" - at least not in this instance. (hard to be delicate when you use a poor example).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj8K1pdo3BWAoOKE8shxjRhRmepRrptmFgXuOLpU-9uy6oGiPl3_wJr5c-2cYy96VPDE-XE2fw8QDn6nwBR2GDY0c79ADlBTA4O5qpLgACltoXPoxHmDLbgE0Jp2s9omgh6vZn1jTNXr4O/s1600/oscar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj8K1pdo3BWAoOKE8shxjRhRmepRrptmFgXuOLpU-9uy6oGiPl3_wJr5c-2cYy96VPDE-XE2fw8QDn6nwBR2GDY0c79ADlBTA4O5qpLgACltoXPoxHmDLbgE0Jp2s9omgh6vZn1jTNXr4O/s1600/oscar.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Clearly my blog posts aren't all well thought out and mapped out - they go from brain to finger - so ride along with me further, won't you?<br />
<br />
The hubs and I are foster parents. In truth, which he will agree, I do all the parenting work. In any case - I get a lot of "I can't" from some of these kids about themselves, or their parents. The "they can't" nonsense. No - they/you CAN - you just choose not to. They CAN work. They CHOOSE not to. You CAN read a book. You CHOOSE not to.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPxgSvzp44_ZylZ8hso4NVN7l11HNDU6fHz9asJ-wC3dIb9nCyglPcEz2lfnvaNS53IE1ON8pmjCX45ShCiWCkSgfWHVZu3tZLYPuDqMa8zTXkSXly053Jq-cv1DAV4JgKK1X_dqJ87cC/s1600/can%2527t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPxgSvzp44_ZylZ8hso4NVN7l11HNDU6fHz9asJ-wC3dIb9nCyglPcEz2lfnvaNS53IE1ON8pmjCX45ShCiWCkSgfWHVZu3tZLYPuDqMa8zTXkSXly053Jq-cv1DAV4JgKK1X_dqJ87cC/s320/can%2527t.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Can't doesn't fly with me. It never really did. Mostly because I suffer from a long stream of "I wants" (working on that) and I am ultra persistent (read pain in the ass) and I don't generally stop until I get what I want, I take a break or I don't want it anymore. Can't has never really stepped in front of me because I kick it out of my way. Maybe that's just me.<br />
<br />
It's a choice - Crawl under a rock or claw your way up. <br />
<br />
Is anyone else out there feeling me on this?<br />
<br />
I don't accept "I can't" from my kids. I push the "CAN" and "WILL".<br />
<br />
Isn't that the way things should be?<br />
<br />
Shouldn't we be pushing our kids to dream big? To go get what they want & bring it home to mamma for a big GREAT JOB, and to ride that into their future?<br />
<br />
When did things get so lax?<br />
When did it become OK to sit back and wait for someone to give you what you need instead of getting off your arse and getting it yourself? When did "can't" become the norm and people responding to "can't" with rewards?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRx0XPLr-CumfsJ9hQvYj9dYNHlYUbyN-jGr_HX8F5RwThckD9uxI4gtyTxeRQrddmTVst1u-wueGAwybm1tFAzPiDyYXFySuinNiA3gG2tl8WgkPMCRMR5DEqPk0-ZksmK4ce-ugrfUHh/s1600/can%2527t+can.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRx0XPLr-CumfsJ9hQvYj9dYNHlYUbyN-jGr_HX8F5RwThckD9uxI4gtyTxeRQrddmTVst1u-wueGAwybm1tFAzPiDyYXFySuinNiA3gG2tl8WgkPMCRMR5DEqPk0-ZksmK4ce-ugrfUHh/s320/can%2527t+can.jpg" width="228" /></a>I don't get it.<br />
<br />
For me, it will always be can and will.<br />
I will teach my kids the same.<br />
<br />
Am I crazy?<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading my blog!<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</a>My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-69197178406038251992015-08-13T11:18:00.004-04:002015-08-14T10:17:46.494-04:00How'd your dad / brother die? Oh, they committed suicide....It never rolls off your tongue just like that...It doesn't.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYW5_Z6Xp-rZly-C5WM8qS-Ydr4RFbExD6Sw4C3jjHiHKUaVNtWrT_4-hb4GgbZueg0HCi8jfI0FmA8i3um96_WoWNLKF0Gbg5yXL0t-TXQavZlHHp-LuuXl9UO2W0_qaMU8BT1ubLGI6/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYW5_Z6Xp-rZly-C5WM8qS-Ydr4RFbExD6Sw4C3jjHiHKUaVNtWrT_4-hb4GgbZueg0HCi8jfI0FmA8i3um96_WoWNLKF0Gbg5yXL0t-TXQavZlHHp-LuuXl9UO2W0_qaMU8BT1ubLGI6/s1600/th.jpg" /></a>It's more awkward.<br />
No, it's not just awkward it's totally uncomfortable to wonder how to just spit those words out.<br />
<br />
What do you say? My dad & brother shot themselves. They took their lives. My dad & brother committed suicide. What do you say? It's been more than 30 years now. You'd think that 30 plus years would set things little at ease.<br />
<br />
They do - the 30 years, that my dad has been gone have gotten easier. The thoughts are always there. Just not right smack in the front of my mind like they used to be - but the reminders are everywhere.<br />
This past Saturday was my dad's birthday.<br />
The 27th is the date that Eric will be dead for 8 years.<br />
Yeah, I think about it. It's there. It's always there.<br />
<br />
I don't think anyone who's been through suicide ever forgets. You remember. Everything. Every.Last.Detail. Every.Last.Second of Every.Single.Thing that you did when you heard the news.<br />
When the phone rang. When the police showed up at the front door. Every song. Every smell. It stays with you, and you remember how it felt to not know how to say how they died.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
...and you worry.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Will it happen again?</div>
<br />
I haven't written in a while. Mostly because I didn't think I had anything to say. Then I opened my Facebook news feed and saw that someone else that I know is struggling, in the same way that I did, to not know how to say that their family member took their own life. Died by suicide.<br />
<br />
It was at that moment that I decided to write for her and others like her. Like you. Like someone else. Struggling for the words to say - they died by suicide.<br />
<br />
To say that they just couldn't take one more second of pain.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5rn5q3apoFekIXlkYWdSDhScGNOwoQdegDvahAAl-ZVBxHtoFe5Z_2q9SQBAa0SrVI1sMYPPejFrj3ai81bwkqEmHl9O5rXZYYy04j7pOUadotHn8yvUYCZT_-7nOC5vvQ8QIOU35q1J/s1600/suicide_reach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5rn5q3apoFekIXlkYWdSDhScGNOwoQdegDvahAAl-ZVBxHtoFe5Z_2q9SQBAa0SrVI1sMYPPejFrj3ai81bwkqEmHl9O5rXZYYy04j7pOUadotHn8yvUYCZT_-7nOC5vvQ8QIOU35q1J/s320/suicide_reach.jpg" width="320" /></a>As always, with these types of blog posts - I implore you - if you are suffering - PLEASE - do not suffer in silence. Someone will listen to you. Someone DOES care. Someone DOES love you. Someone WILL miss you. Someone WILL struggle with the words - they died by suicide.<br />
<br />
Please reach out.<br />
<br />
You are loved.<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading my blog.<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</a>My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-13468140484646304262015-04-10T10:44:00.001-04:002015-04-10T16:47:15.391-04:00Facebook... To Connect or Disconnect. That is the question.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I can remember hearing about Facebook for the first time.<br />
My husband and I had been new volunteers through our area chapter of Young Life.<br />
<br />
<br />
Our volunteer position was to pick up a high school girl and bring her to and from Young Life group meetings. We loved hearing her stories about school, and friends, and her college preparations. It was in this discussion that she mentioned Facebook to me as a site that helped college kids meet others, etc. I thought - wow, pretty cool and I never thought of it again.<br />
<br />
I never thought of it again UNTIL my young son became a teenager.<br />
<br />
When he first started out it was MySpace. Like any over protective mom of a teenaged boy who likes to step on the line, I also got an account. He accepted me on his friend's list and I kept an eye on him. All of the sudden, the page got really slow. He was "hiding" on me, but WHERE the HECK was he hiding...FACEBOOK!!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOqnVrK1HKcQIGYraX5m2O_ZQnYtL5XodJyDf1vKwxsPevAR7rHjCyICAW6WzwcAU-Vf1PQVIUpGOaA0CD1IcEfBDQxjWgWHrJRlgU6UogocHIiB7x8C8TjrzCm9xrADmy0pv4jUJNdgqv/s1600/facebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOqnVrK1HKcQIGYraX5m2O_ZQnYtL5XodJyDf1vKwxsPevAR7rHjCyICAW6WzwcAU-Vf1PQVIUpGOaA0CD1IcEfBDQxjWgWHrJRlgU6UogocHIiB7x8C8TjrzCm9xrADmy0pv4jUJNdgqv/s1600/facebook.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
So I joined Facebook and he became my friend on Facebook as well. His friends also became my friend on Facebook, ya know - since I was the cool mom (insert eye roll here.). It was still handy in keeping the kids out of trouble and communicating as I or they needed to. I didn't bother much with it until I learned that people I hadn't seen in years might also be on Facebook too!! I'd dabbled in Classmates.com and I tripped over myself on MySpace. I was totally weirded out with Facebook until I learned that there were long lost people EVERWHERE in there! I thought, wow, this could REALLY help me to connect with people I'd love to be in touch with again. Friends that live far away. Family I hadn't seen in years. I was hooked!! I LOVED IT!! It all seemed so WONDERFUL!!<br />
Until it wasn't.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4izTc5vVVEIeQBE_SE8JaPfVkw-bIcwsoDoiSx_VP-NPMilDtOiKuyPhd21d0sMTI5STfsjrE9Pq3MlLfxE7tWCoYDMfaTMwUj4ekudDOSdXdbnVve_2ABFXR5KQJPC-sbeWdDwCptWBg/s1600/awesome+on+fb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4izTc5vVVEIeQBE_SE8JaPfVkw-bIcwsoDoiSx_VP-NPMilDtOiKuyPhd21d0sMTI5STfsjrE9Pq3MlLfxE7tWCoYDMfaTMwUj4ekudDOSdXdbnVve_2ABFXR5KQJPC-sbeWdDwCptWBg/s1600/awesome+on+fb.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
I'd recently heard and read via other media sources that Facebook has been thought to cause depression because some people couldn't handle seeing other having better lives than them. Again, can I get an eye roll here....Sheesh.<br />
<br />
On that level, I think it's totally ridiculous.<br />
Who the hell cares what other people are doing? If you are so unhappy with your life that you can't stand to see others having a good life - you need to do something about that and maybe get the heck OFF Facebook.<br />
<br />
On another level...I can totally see it.<br />
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<br />
Have you noticed how absolutely MEAN Facebook is making people?<br />
<br />
It's as if people actually believe that they are entitled to "say" mean things to people just because they're typing the words and not actually speaking the words. <br />
<br />
The Facebook society seems to have created this "it's all about me" mentality.<br />
<br />
I sort of get it...Facebook IS a solo sport. I mean, really - it's you and the computer. If the computer screen isn't talking to you, than who the heck is it talking to?? And DAMN that person who posted that comment. HOW DARE THEY?<br />
<br />
I get it, but I don't.<br />
<br />
I recently put up a random post on my page. I didn't think it was a big deal. It was an opinion thing, run of the mill, nothing controversial. This post incited so much anger in one person, based on another person's opinion. This other person completely internalized the comment and flat out attacked this other <b>total stranger</b>.<br />
<br />
This isn't just my issue. I see more than a fair share of page administrators stating how they have to ban and block people constantly due to mean or even threatening comments based on a silly post.<br />
Yes, of COURSE we want feedback and reactions! Do we want people attacking other people or us? NO. For the love of all that's holy, IT'S FACEBOOK! Get a hold of yourselves!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgXTbK7s01Bdxaq1r3ogaNV6vEBZ5a3bOr0XyeXUKIFTtBysajg4MPHVOJdz2K3aFRxonaOgdaZ3fHQp-O-AFcKySBXh9oUGlEcnnlsbHG6dnAwObcCo_n-PWll4xS04OIEfBugZ60v4Yr/s1600/shit+talker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgXTbK7s01Bdxaq1r3ogaNV6vEBZ5a3bOr0XyeXUKIFTtBysajg4MPHVOJdz2K3aFRxonaOgdaZ3fHQp-O-AFcKySBXh9oUGlEcnnlsbHG6dnAwObcCo_n-PWll4xS04OIEfBugZ60v4Yr/s1600/shit+talker.jpg" /></a>I wonder, if this were a face to face conversation or a conversation overheard from one table to another in a diner - would this person EVER have the nerve to react in such anger toward another?<br />
<br />
The meanness on here is relentless.<br />
<br />
I had once been accused of being a keyboard coward, which I took with a grain of salt due to its source. Truth be told - if I have something to say, I don't hide behind my keyboard. I say what I have to say to the person.<br />
May it come out in my blog as well? Who knows...If the situation could help someone else - yes. I don't feel guilty because I've already addressed it. I try to NOT do that, but if I do and you think it's you...ASK. It's probably not. <br />
<br />
Anyway, I'm getting off topic.<br />
<br />
The point is - that if you heard LIVE AND IN PERSON one stranger saying something to another stranger that offended you or that you didn't agree with, would you ever have the nerve to flat out blast them? Most people would not. I would not.<br />
<br />
I don't know what gives the people the idea that it's totally OK to say the meanest things possible to someone else based on what they do and do not agree with, just because it's being typed instead of spoken.<br />
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<br />
I'm not claiming innocence. I've had my share of things that I've typed in words. In my defense, I do actually have conversations and speak the words if I'm upset or angry about something. Have I been guilty of a "poison pen" email? Um, yes I have. In some cases I've been absolutely remorseful about what I'd said, and apologized. Other times I'm so thankful that I finally had a chance to say what I had to say without interruption and be done with it.<br />
<br />
Does that make me better? No. As I said, I don't claim innocence.<br />
<br />
What I am saying is that I can totally understand why Facebook is making people feel bad.<br />
<br />
Someone will post something totally innocuous (and this is NOT just my experience, though this has been my experience in the past) and five people will decide the comment is about them and either flat out attack them on their page, attack them on their own page or attack them in real life by spouting off to others what they took the remark or shared post to mean.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPyXaTE2K_6awrFwS-w-BzITGc8p2mzueFhwIWaztAu3eZrrJBrlWhrqBa3NEzn1eMFR8rqraBfKl25yTyWWlOme-VD34eiBdXlLPBhdVHeriDWf7IxxXXdj7eLDHWfEP8Ds5WxnSxJJe/s1600/facebook+balls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPyXaTE2K_6awrFwS-w-BzITGc8p2mzueFhwIWaztAu3eZrrJBrlWhrqBa3NEzn1eMFR8rqraBfKl25yTyWWlOme-VD34eiBdXlLPBhdVHeriDWf7IxxXXdj7eLDHWfEP8Ds5WxnSxJJe/s1600/facebook+balls.jpg" /></a></div>
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I have been called negative. I have been called hypocritical. I have been called things I won't even say on here - when the fact is that sometimes I just see a post that I like for one reason or another and I share it. If it is an emotion I'm feeling at the moment - whatever. That doesn't mean it's open season on Jenn, or that I'm inciting some sort of secret battle with another. Sometimes it just is what it is - a random post.</div>
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Will I post something that can be construed as mean, or something I think is funny that others won't - yes. I probably will. Not everyone going to love everything I share or post, or even know my state of mind at the time of the post, and that's OK.</div>
<br />
I am putting this onto myself at the moment because I can relate - but also because it's a topic that I've seen people discuss over and over and over again - shutting down their Facebook accounts because it's just so mean and petty some times.<br />
<br />
I totally get it!<br />
<br />
I often think, "Is it even worth it to have a Facebook account?"<br />
<br />
Then I realize that I can't control what other people think or feel. If I don't want to see the negativity other people post, well - I <b>can</b> control that.<br />
<br />
I stay because I blog. I stay because I believe that some of the things that I have to share might actually help someone else going through the same stuff, and if the crap I've been through can help someone else - great. I also like to see the lives of my friends and family that live far away. I stay for some of the reasons I had when I first learned about Facebook. To connect with the people I love and care about.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to let the negativity of someone else take that away from me.<br />
<br />
...instead I choose to disconnect from the drama that others seem to thrive on. I choose to disconnect from the people or things that will hurt me or people I care about. I choose to disconnect from the meanness that I don't want in my life. I don't see it, so it doesn't exist.<br />
<br />
You can disconnect from all of that as well.<br />
<br />
I wish you peace.<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading my blog!<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</a><br />
<br />My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-1501930398570681772015-03-27T10:13:00.000-04:002019-05-17T14:16:12.496-04:00Please don't leave. If you don't think you'll be missed, think again...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Every year around this time I get all blah...<br />
<br />
Not only is seasonal depression still lingering, because Mother Nature can't figure out which season should be in play - I'm also rolling into the time of year that I lost my dad.<br />
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<br />
It's been 31 years. I still miss him every day.<br />
<br />
I'm not 100% sure this blog will be well put together or easily flowing. It is totally unedited and will be 100% my feelings, my thoughts, my ramblings as they come out of me today - 31 years (tomorrow) after my dad killed himself. <br />
<br />
For those of you reading for the first time - on March 28, 1984 my dad took his own life.<br />
It's a day that is etched so far into my mind I can still close my eyes and see/feel every single moment as if it's happening over again.<br />
<br />
Because of what I've been through, I take this time of year to tell my side of it as a way to help others who may be suffering from depression or suicidal thoughts to realize they do mean something to someone, no matter how you may feel - AND to help people like me to know that it's totally OK to still feel the pain and still not be able to make sense of any of it.<br />
<br />
If you want to read "My Story" click here: <a href="http://mydailyjenn-ism.blogspot.com/2012/11/how-suicide-has-affected-me-my-real.html" target="_blank">How Suicide Has Affected Me. My Real Life Story</a><br />
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I am LUCKY to have gotten to where I am without depression, without suicidal thoughts and without full on self-destructive behavior. (though I definitely walked the line.) I am thankful every day that I am not someone who suffers from depression. Thankful!<br />
<br />
I was 18 when my dad died.<br />
Even though it's been 31 years - that's 31 years of stuff that he missed. That I missed having him here for. Do you know how much happens in 31 years? How many things you're forced to figure out for yourself as a child of someone who committed suicide? Yes, he DID miss them. I don't want to hear that he "Didn't miss anything, he's been right there watching." Those are the nice things people like to say when someone is mourning. While it may be true - my dad wasn't HERE WITH ME because he CHOSE to leave - and that is what's different. That's where the anger, sadness, pain come in. Because he CHOSE to go.<br />
<br />
My family life wasn't all sunshine & flowers. I lived with my dad. So when he was gone, it was just me to figure it out. And it's the words of another that forced me to figure it out...<br />
<br />
The words I'll never forget that were spoken to me. Words that both tore me down and forced me to build myself. "Just because your father's dead, don't think you can move back in with me." <br />
At the time those words terrified me. I hated and resented those words. The felt vile and completely unloving. My dad was all I had and he was gone. What now?<br />
<br />
Whatever the sentiment behind those words at the time, I'm grateful for them now as they forced me to figure it out for myself. Those words created the survivor that I am. I figured it out for myself because I had no choice in the matter. I'm a better / stronger person today because of those words.<br />
<br />
Do you know what it's like to be 18 and alone with no guidance?? How about dropping some insurance money into the mix? That alone was a recipe for disaster.<br />
<br />
I was LUCKY.<br />
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I didn't have my dad, the perpetual voice of reason, guiding my steps. Steering me out of trouble in his own way.<br />
<br />
I was <b>only 18 years old </b>when my father committed suicide. I'm not
saying that I didn't know my dad. He was my dad, of course I knew him.
I just didn't KNOW him as one adult knows another. I knew him as the
little girl I once was. <br />
<br />
Yes, I know... many kids lose their parents. Losing your parent to suicide is a whole new ball game. You don't know how to feel. You don't know what to say. You don't know if you should feel embarrassed or brave or protective or victimized. It's like being naked in the middle of a crowd. You're completely vulnerable.<br />
<br />
I both lost it completely AND totally held it together at the same time. Sometimes I think I still do.<br />
<br />
<br />
Right now, I am older than my dad was when he died. When I think about that alone, it saddens me how much he lost. So many things he missed.<br />
<br />
I think that's one of the things those who are suicidal don't get... the tomorrows that they will miss. I can't say for sure as I'm lucky enough to not suffer from suicidal thoughts or depression. Even though I've lived through the deaths of both my father and brother by suicide, I'm no expert on the subject. I can only speak of my thoughts, feelings and the things told to me in grief counseling.<br />
<br />
It was said that a sad person can still function. Still cares about the day to day activities, those who need to be tended to. A depressed person still cares, but does only what needs to be done. If the house is on fire - they'll burn with the house. That's a lot to take in.<br />
<br />
All these years since my dad died, I often think about the things he's missed. I think about the mistakes I'd made because I didn't have my dad to ask me what the hell I was thinking. He was good at that. He'd never tell me what or what not to do, but he'd steer me. He was the only one that could do that.<br />
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For those of you left behind - I get you. I feel how you feel. Lost for answers. Even if you got a "note" (I didn't) you still don't totally get it. All you feel is the pain, the loss, the anger and the confusion. I know. It's 31 years and typing this mish mosh of feelings - I still don't get it.<br />
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If you are someone struggling, some one who thinks they won't be missed - I have news for you - YOU WILL BE MISSED. In that split second between life & death where you make your decision - make it be the decision to live - to go on - to fight. There is another tomorrow to figure it out. Tomorrow may not be filled with all you've dreamed of - but if you keep dreaming, there's the next day and the next day. One second, one minute, one hour, one day - one breath at time.<br />
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It's OK to be sad. It's OK to feel like things just totally suck. It's NOT OK to quit on yourself and everyone who loves you. Just because you're not getting what you want at this second - doesn't mean the next second won't get better. Stick around to see it. Please.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7bAGG_w7iFxkexPV5GrpDxfsqQv_2bTgsFbrI90xgqMLLqCltrrD1cgVaHlCA-oHxQLOkut40s01teJBkBRg2V51tL6bFKHgCqtJpsN2Vo8FtyXtGGNoPCdqwuWyn4Es5xaNimU-OWEH/s1600/you+are+loved.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7bAGG_w7iFxkexPV5GrpDxfsqQv_2bTgsFbrI90xgqMLLqCltrrD1cgVaHlCA-oHxQLOkut40s01teJBkBRg2V51tL6bFKHgCqtJpsN2Vo8FtyXtGGNoPCdqwuWyn4Es5xaNimU-OWEH/s1600/you+are+loved.jpg" /></a></div>
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Don't leave someone you love left behind to wonder WHY? To be alone. To feel the pain. To feel the loss. To feel the anger over and over again of the decision you made to check out.<br />
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Please talk to someone - anyone. SOMEONE will listen.<br />
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Choose life. <br />
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Thank you for getting through this mess of feelings.<br />
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Peace & Love,<br />
<br />
Jenn<br />
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<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</a>My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-1508294864038819092015-01-30T14:20:00.000-05:002015-01-30T15:56:08.586-05:00When you're not coping with the loss of a loved one<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlGwiBwW7o3cDryFNuZyIpYDUWcnmw51W55MhGLk4RPcyYhm-fes2grzRw0SBDHS62MmDkFMequTM3NjPfrGxv8XRd7xOhDfLjLSMMDWieqtM6K1KgFeaxEmbN1HnHz_R9Y72V5c0LhNk/s1600/1_loss_of_a_loved_one_quotes_inspirational.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlGwiBwW7o3cDryFNuZyIpYDUWcnmw51W55MhGLk4RPcyYhm-fes2grzRw0SBDHS62MmDkFMequTM3NjPfrGxv8XRd7xOhDfLjLSMMDWieqtM6K1KgFeaxEmbN1HnHz_R9Y72V5c0LhNk/s1600/1_loss_of_a_loved_one_quotes_inspirational.jpg" height="197" width="320" /></a></div>
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I talked to a friend the other day who's been through some pretty tragic losses one right after the other.</div>
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Their life is almost on hold because of these losses, as if what was lost no longer validated what still is.</div>
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I was without words. I got it.</div>
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That was me not too long ago.</div>
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My brother has been gone 7 years 5 months and 2 days at this writing. Suicide. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I remember how I felt hearing that he was gone. I remember how I felt for days, weeks, months - and yes, years after he died.</div>
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I was changed forever.</div>
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I know I'm not the only person on this planet to suffer great loss. I know so many others have had so much more and sometimes worse. I never want to feel that pain. Never. I can only speak of my own. The hole in my heart that, as I said - changed me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbt7mdX6o0tGV0k4C6cfrf9ertJdezArZLSPcD60pYMcWho5TKZmWyLkuVVXMrRKeQwNIqHch9VotAc5ZJHc6vdGYh7SxeQCToCq_Wc_AK5olRGCcEZkhhtAcO9R3FW3_55-BD_He9bAh/s1600/never+explained.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbt7mdX6o0tGV0k4C6cfrf9ertJdezArZLSPcD60pYMcWho5TKZmWyLkuVVXMrRKeQwNIqHch9VotAc5ZJHc6vdGYh7SxeQCToCq_Wc_AK5olRGCcEZkhhtAcO9R3FW3_55-BD_He9bAh/s1600/never+explained.jpg" /></a></div>
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That pain turned me from someone who was secure in who I was - to being somehow needy.</div>
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I was always afraid of the "who's next?" I didn't form close attachments, because they'd leave anyway and I did my best to push (or scare) away anyone I felt close to so that I was doing the leaving.</div>
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I got caught up in behaviors that were bizarre, then I got sick. Stress was a major factor in the Lupus that was always underlying, but I never knew was there. Stress flared the Lupus - making me so sick. This brought on other problems and it snowballed. My normal was abnormal. My world was upside down in so many areas. I'm so thankful to my husband for not only sticking it out - but kicking my ass back into shape. I'm also thankful for this blog and those of you who read regularly.</div>
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THIS was the perfect way to process everything. (without therapy) The good, the bad, the ugly and the absolutely bizarre. Many posts I've taken down - because WHAT THE HECK?? At the time, though - I needed to say whatever it was I'd said.</div>
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Most people I surrounded myself with didn't know how badly I was struggling. I'm not even sure my husband knew the extent I was struggling. I talked to NO ONE about how I felt. I surrounded myself with people who didn't really care all that much. I mean I didn't, so why should they? I began to accept treatment toward me that I would have never previously accepted as OK. It wasn't OK. On the outside - I was fine. I could hold it together in group settings
(unless there was alcohol involved). No one saw the dark and twisty
that was inside of me. It took a while for me to realize where I was with ME, what I expected of my life and what I expected of those in my life. I finally began to see things as they were. To realize that real friendship shouldn't be such hard work. It should just be and to start fresh. Forgive what needed to be forgiven and file the rest. Not just with others, but with myself.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjrrWigvvx4AfODb-u2IKUbTG1_TWS6q8V6KZ1ozgPzJHX7tDHKZst8O-BUrxnT2SazZFspaaKUIcEFvGECilG4WF0DofcK1DNrDTlAliZfawNkeoAOPWVHQOQEJI2RXgPnLGwnZObNpM/s1600/loss-of-a-loved-one-quotes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjrrWigvvx4AfODb-u2IKUbTG1_TWS6q8V6KZ1ozgPzJHX7tDHKZst8O-BUrxnT2SazZFspaaKUIcEFvGECilG4WF0DofcK1DNrDTlAliZfawNkeoAOPWVHQOQEJI2RXgPnLGwnZObNpM/s1600/loss-of-a-loved-one-quotes.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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It was a long road.</div>
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Looking back now - and putting this out in print and reading it - I can't believe it was so long. I can't believe how little I cared for myself or how much damage I did to myself in so many ways when all I really had to do was ask for help.</div>
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Never once did I ask anyone to talk with me about what I was going through. I was ignoring it. Trying to push through the pain. Brave.</div>
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If you are here - don't be brave.</div>
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Don't let YEARS of your life go by in grieving. TALK TO SOMEONE. ANYONE.</div>
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Don't be like me.</div>
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I regret nothing in my life. I look at everything as a lesson or a page/chapter in the book of me, but honestly - reading back, I wish there were more entries of joy and happiness than sadness and pain.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheAeeTYKQMriO-33WFbPK3WytNY5zj2BpEib98EYjJ4CybOo2hyphenhyphenTyUayqRVF_WLdVuLm15TJCldhabFTJ1BieGCuUmbP8dDtb2YLqeeGlhJ7j-MK-EnMhQfEfDcA9_h-yPjf2AImNI1aSi/s1600/d7522b2de88970ecc0391ed336964570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheAeeTYKQMriO-33WFbPK3WytNY5zj2BpEib98EYjJ4CybOo2hyphenhyphenTyUayqRVF_WLdVuLm15TJCldhabFTJ1BieGCuUmbP8dDtb2YLqeeGlhJ7j-MK-EnMhQfEfDcA9_h-yPjf2AImNI1aSi/s1600/d7522b2de88970ecc0391ed336964570.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a>I want your pages to be filled with joy and happiness too.</div>
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Because what's gone is gone. Truly.</div>
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Love with all you have and you will never have any regrets.</div>
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And if you're sad - talk about it.</div>
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Thank you for reading my blog!!</div>
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~Jenn </div>
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<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</a></div>
<br />My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-78873141444856098872014-12-08T10:14:00.005-05:002019-05-17T14:19:30.546-04:0012... and bullied to suicide - for being a male cheerleader<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsF7xAql771AnOaRxTTGOnvyP_Gpmqr32EZTbQGpmUc21h0XMq5fUOozqL6jQGru8Ck919HNuuAT40HUlOpYdtUo99txuqc1HmUmFmPwJXCVZPNoE01nwzNKnxkL9WNqp13Yp8ZvY6B28/s1600/ronin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsF7xAql771AnOaRxTTGOnvyP_Gpmqr32EZTbQGpmUc21h0XMq5fUOozqL6jQGru8Ck919HNuuAT40HUlOpYdtUo99txuqc1HmUmFmPwJXCVZPNoE01nwzNKnxkL9WNqp13Yp8ZvY6B28/s1600/ronin.jpg" width="219" /></a>Yesterday morning my family and I were on our up at 4, out at 5 am trek to our daughter's first cheer competition of the season.<br />
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Per usual, my husband was driving. He likes to drive and that's fine by me because I'm content to hang out and talk to the girls.<br />
...or not since it was 5 am. I was not nearly as caffeinated as I prefer to be at 5 am, so I spent the time in quiet browsing my Facebook and daily news feeds.<br />
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I came across an article that saddened me on several levels<b>:</b><br />
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<a href="http://7online.com/society/12-year-old-boy-kills-himself-after-being-bullied-for-being-a-cheerleader/424020/" target="_blank"><b>12-year-old CA boy kills self after being relentlessly bullied by classmates for being a cheerleader.</b></a></div>
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(you can click on the headline to read article)<br />
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What?? 12?? Another 12-year-old?? Because of being bullied?? For being a cheerleader?? My mind first turned to my beautiful 12-year-old daughter (cheerleader) in the back seat. Then I recalled the bullying case in Florida about a year ago where a young girl threw herself off a water tower for being bullied. My mind began to swirl.<br />
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At twelve, my daughter is just beginning to learn who she is and who she wants to be. Not quite a little girl, not yet a woman. She is at the stage of her life where she's discovering herself. I'll bet this is where this young boy was in his life as well.</div>
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I can't even wrap my brain around how sad and tormented this poor child must have been to decide that dying was his only option.</div>
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And why the torment?? Just because he was a cheerleader?? Really??</div>
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I know there are opinions on male cheerleaders. Some dads cringe at the thought of their boys becoming cheerleaders, while others are fine with it. I'm not here to say what's right and what's wrong.</div>
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What IS wrong is that young CHILDREN decided that because this <b>12-YEAR-OLD BOY</b> was a cheerleader that he must, therefore, be gay - and they were so superior to him that they must torment him to the extent that they did.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDwV9eJuPOyl7O7vp4IQhSJbXGpYrHPdNFggjAWVBFdjmM-LEWAc_SiQXipBYH8lohheD0_YIJw0CvSz3kkswDIvMd5Sa4s0_B2kawqvQ8oRs6w9N8W96ffs84232pCc7VTrwvrUVdL085/s1600/stop+bullying.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDwV9eJuPOyl7O7vp4IQhSJbXGpYrHPdNFggjAWVBFdjmM-LEWAc_SiQXipBYH8lohheD0_YIJw0CvSz3kkswDIvMd5Sa4s0_B2kawqvQ8oRs6w9N8W96ffs84232pCc7VTrwvrUVdL085/s1600/stop+bullying.png" /></a></div>
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Sorry - here's where my strong opinions come in... As far as I'm concerned, people - that level of judgment is LEARNED behavior. 12-year-old children are mostly innocent when it comes to <b>judgment</b> for others being different. They are still on the cusp of innocence & learning that others differences "make a difference." This is where parenting comes into play. This is where parents need teach their children kindness and acceptance of others' differences.</div>
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Twelve is a tough year. It's the stage in a child's life where parents should maybe take tighter rein. Especially in a world of social media where you may completely miss things.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJXW01R1CXxkOmuOFJ1jDgNIOnUvOOcIVvqMRKsVCs6U2LC-7VOz7Ey9O6rFHljs2T2vpGvFIFNbBjR6pM1PO5YZnJ7MOkyuBn96M269nZABTl36f600NfgDfbuBFhQjoXbbkBbIYgtxy/s1600/424246_630x354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQJXW01R1CXxkOmuOFJ1jDgNIOnUvOOcIVvqMRKsVCs6U2LC-7VOz7Ey9O6rFHljs2T2vpGvFIFNbBjR6pM1PO5YZnJ7MOkyuBn96M269nZABTl36f600NfgDfbuBFhQjoXbbkBbIYgtxy/s1600/424246_630x354.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">6th Grader - Ronin Shimizu</td></tr>
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It's no secret, I monitor my child's social media. I monitored my older son's as well and I plan to monitor the short one's activity when her time comes. I don't completely invade their privacy - but I keep an eye out. I have the passwords and am very clear that I will go in whenever I want to look around to be sure all is OK. I feel that it's my job. I've learned from checking around that they are at the stage that the judgment and hate are beginning to surface. Not completely - but it's starting. For example, one of my child's friends sent her a text one day asking how she should color her poster to distinguish people of other races - black crayon for people of color and orange for Hispanics, yellow for Asians. I found that unacceptable and addressed it with my daughter in a way she would understand. My husband is Hispanic. I asked my daughter flat out... "Is daddy orange? Is your grandmother? How about your aunts & uncles?? I am Dutch/German blonde hair, green eyes. Why didn't I get a crayon color??" She was upset, because again, she's still innocent - she didn't understand that what her friend was saying was wrong.. (I'm also being kind with regard to the context of the text.) I felt it was my place to discuss this with her and tell her why it was wrong and how we shouldn't label anyone because of the way they look. She got the message. Acceptance.</div>
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This is exactly how I feel about the incident with this poor child. No one had the right to color that young boy with a "pink crayon." (not judgement, trying to make a point.)</div>
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Being a cheerleader certainly isn't a red flag to say "I'm Gay, I'm Gay."</div>
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Maybe he was gay OR maybe he liked one of the girls and wanted to be around them more. OR maybe THIS was just his sport. THIS was the thing he was good at. THIS is the place he shined.</div>
This young boy being a cheerleader doesn't make him any more gay than being a big burly auto mechanic (whatever) makes another straight. What you do / how you look doesn't define you.<br />
How you treat others is what defines you.<br />
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LEAD WITH KINDNESS AND ACCEPTANCE. PERIOD!</div>
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This little boy didn't have to die and I'm so incredibly sad for his family that he died in this way.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTOGqTLqf0FOlC5n-RfHL9NEChuNgH9XXxk8JHnnr5hIAEDHj0zWfpH2U8gIjoZQ5NbtILBu16SBipeE_Vu8cnpW7tlosi8qOcwfymougihPl6Ou_ujcN3tRjLUAfsgV-jnlJ0hCXpKYq/s1600/make+sure+you're+perfect.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTOGqTLqf0FOlC5n-RfHL9NEChuNgH9XXxk8JHnnr5hIAEDHj0zWfpH2U8gIjoZQ5NbtILBu16SBipeE_Vu8cnpW7tlosi8qOcwfymougihPl6Ou_ujcN3tRjLUAfsgV-jnlJ0hCXpKYq/s1600/make+sure+you're%2Bperfect.jpg" /></a>Keep in mind that until you are sparkly clean, have no sin and lead the absolute perfect life - you don't get to judge.</div>
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When you point a finger, you can expect to have 3 pointing back at you.</div>
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This should not have been.</div>
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My deepest heartfelt condolences to the family of Ronin Shimizu.</div>
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Thank you for reading my blog!</div>
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~Jenn</div>
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If you have or know a teen who is struggling with suicidal thoughts - please reach out.</div>
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There is help: <a href="http://www.sptsusa.org/parents/">http://www.sptsusa.org/parents/</a></div>
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My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-65027931487950379762014-09-09T05:48:00.003-04:002014-11-03T10:04:30.487-05:00A wish for my brother the day BEFORE World Suicide Prevention Day<div style="text-align: center;">
Today would have been my brother's 46th birthday.</div>
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I know this very specifically. Not just because he was my brother, but because he was 2 years, 11 months and 13 days younger than me :)<br />
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It was our joke - I wasn't 3 years older. No, no, nooooo....</div>
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2 years, 11 months and 13 days</div>
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Get it right! :)</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IZl_7OFLxotFrdsLZu73gkAJp-FNJe3SeEeSqvEmNRsxn9doHSacUgYJBDdXnpayl7db227z9qaeTf5rpRYlmEBySEELypln37iKvbqrsWS43uR4BJy1Gm-BelHgrkFk17pk7kECmSdT/s1600/me+&+my+bro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-IZl_7OFLxotFrdsLZu73gkAJp-FNJe3SeEeSqvEmNRsxn9doHSacUgYJBDdXnpayl7db227z9qaeTf5rpRYlmEBySEELypln37iKvbqrsWS43uR4BJy1Gm-BelHgrkFk17pk7kECmSdT/s1600/me+&+my+bro.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite picture of me & my bro - Back in the day :)<br />
Yeah, I know... he looks thrilled :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now he's immortally 38 years, 11 months & 13 day's old, and that matters. (I just picked up on that numeric irony.)<br />
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It matters, because I've kept on aging.<br />
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It matters, because I'm still here and he's not.<br />
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It matters, because his birthday - today, September 9th, is the day BEFORE World Suicide Prevention Day, September 10th.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5s-H3R1GjdhmtcAATYnLUnPemnWgbJU9sDYJhhDdi9uUqIN1uUC5oSWPwPXEBxYtxhb0Ub_NuLdNRwF4z2bY71ojEwB3co7mZOz_7_dNsKbwBBRno910wmu-Cn66Xy1Iv9HqdHtTd6CU/s1600/world+sucide+prevetion+day.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5s-H3R1GjdhmtcAATYnLUnPemnWgbJU9sDYJhhDdi9uUqIN1uUC5oSWPwPXEBxYtxhb0Ub_NuLdNRwF4z2bY71ojEwB3co7mZOz_7_dNsKbwBBRno910wmu-Cn66Xy1Iv9HqdHtTd6CU/s1600/world+sucide+prevetion+day.gif" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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It matters, because suicide is what took my brother from me.<br />
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It matters, because even though he and I weren't speaking at the time of his death - I will never, ever, ever have another opportunity to try to talk sense into his thick skull. I will never have another argument with him. We will never cave in and forgive each other - then laugh like idiots and hug it out.<br />
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It matters, because the relationship we once had is gone forever.<br />
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It matters, because my girls will never remember their Uncle Eric.<br />
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It matters because my son's Godfather didn't get to see him graduate boot camp or continue in the Navy, or whatever the next important mark in his life will be.<br />
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It matters.<br />
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It may not seem like it should matter to you, but it all matters. It should matter.<br />
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To me it matters most of all, because <b>HE DIDN'T HAVE TO GO!</b><br />
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It matters, because he suffered in silence.<br />
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It matters, because all of us are left behind to wonder why. Why now? We never knew what was going on in his head. He didn't show any signs (this time) that anyone picked up on. It's probably why he never took my calls. He knew I'd know. He knew that I'd see through his bull shit and call him out. He knew I'd step in, step up and find a way to help him, but he just couldn't handle it anymore.</div>
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It matters, because my brother - and every other person suffering from depression or suicidal thoughts - just wanted the pain to stop.<br />
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His pain stopped.<br />
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...And then it passed on to the rest of us left behind.</div>
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Some may say I didn't care, because I was tough on him. Yes, I was very tough on him. He needed me to be. Sometimes he thanked me for being so tough on him. It got him through our childhood, through the Navy and through some really difficult situations I won't discuss in this blog.</div>
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He was my brother. He was the person who I plotted with when we were younger, the one who beat me in tickle fights and made me laugh until chocolate milk came out my nose. He was smart and cute and funny. He had a heart of gold. He's the one, that although struggling with depression - made it through 3 previous attempts at taking his own life and continued on to become a functioning adult, until that day.</div>
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He was my brother, and I loved him.</div>
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In my heart I always knew my brother loved & missed me. Sometimes it's hard to say - "I'm sorry. I was wrong." Even if the other person says it first.</div>
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Tomorrow, September 10th is World Suicide Prevention Day.</div>
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Don't be a statistic - Suicide Victim or Suicide Survivor.</div>
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<b>Educate yourself. Know the signs. Help save a life!</b></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention: <a href="http://www.afsp.org/preventing-suicide">http://www.afsp.org/preventing-suicide</a><br />
S.A.V.E. Suicide & Depression Voices of Education: <a href="http://www.save.org/">http://www.save.org</a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJcjW8uDnJLfpcVQgeQwsraYDzvXgsMPoZjpOVd1PLSD3K2mnvtpE2BLh5DiTMisCQbIgRPutlcFaz9qmDqil5lqULQS5de4OwUeCcUs0kzVz33LERe4jvrPcESu9qLsxLFdWhVGIxZak/s1600/suicide+prevention.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJcjW8uDnJLfpcVQgeQwsraYDzvXgsMPoZjpOVd1PLSD3K2mnvtpE2BLh5DiTMisCQbIgRPutlcFaz9qmDqil5lqULQS5de4OwUeCcUs0kzVz33LERe4jvrPcESu9qLsxLFdWhVGIxZak/s1600/suicide+prevention.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">If you are someone who is struggling - It's OK to have a bad day.</span></div>
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It's NOT OK to have several bad days that turn into weeks, months, years. Please reach out!</div>
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In my heart, I believe that as much pain as my brother had and as much as he wanted it to stop - I don't believe he thought he'd really pull it off.</div>
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...and now it's too late.</div>
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It <b>IS </b>OK to reach out for help. The taboos of the past are behind you.</div>
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Your friends, family - whom ever... Trust me, they would rather hear you say "HELP ME, PLEASE", than pick out your casket.</div>
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Of this, I'm sure.</div>
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Someone DOES love you. Someone WILL miss you. </div>
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Reach out...Someone WILL grab your hand.</div>
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...Even if it's a total stranger.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qcTeUhwCJQIsRU7lrqh7H_oAA_EuAMNM0ZRKLQf5J43WiW7fUQyMtWzZAsLEwRfejp-8yjPwkVSuAfOboxDTyEA-vhmBGkCCBGienQ4LBIdBUrHlBmRPzhUUIKT1B0gIYlBoLw0te-d4/s1600/t_SuicidePrevention.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qcTeUhwCJQIsRU7lrqh7H_oAA_EuAMNM0ZRKLQf5J43WiW7fUQyMtWzZAsLEwRfejp-8yjPwkVSuAfOboxDTyEA-vhmBGkCCBGienQ4LBIdBUrHlBmRPzhUUIKT1B0gIYlBoLw0te-d4/s1600/t_SuicidePrevention.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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Life is good. Every single second. No one said it would be easy, just that it would be worth it.</div>
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Love you all!</div>
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Peace,</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Jenn</div>
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In loving memory of my brother, Eric, on what would have been his 46th birthday.</div>
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I will always love you, Eric. Gone, but forever in my heart!<br />
<br />
** Often people ask, after reading if they may share my blog posts. If you think that anything written in my post could help another, by all means - please feel free to share the LINK to this page: <a href="http://mydailyjenn-ism.blogspot.com/">http://mydailyjenn-ism.blogspot.com/2014/09/a-wish-for-my-brother-day-before-world.html</a> or you may click the share to buttons located on this page. If you have any questions, please feel free to message me. **<br />
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<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" target="_blank"><span style="color: #0000ee; text-decoration: underline;">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</span></a>My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-75529352297346585492014-08-27T06:45:00.000-04:002014-08-27T06:55:56.980-04:00Love Your Sibs...Even if they're a pain in your BLEEP<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_W1lE7bX0_rLG-__4pnxc0I5ZF1s0ogdhUPAN7Rkv_CG96CJ5y_RT9p97K8oMqv-BP3gVWS7rPhvjj_GNVU-rIOaXuAgCu4PoVUzK2OOu9D6zF7WAmv7C4itTZOTlxKbzIMT7sA5Qp2-p/s1600/siblings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_W1lE7bX0_rLG-__4pnxc0I5ZF1s0ogdhUPAN7Rkv_CG96CJ5y_RT9p97K8oMqv-BP3gVWS7rPhvjj_GNVU-rIOaXuAgCu4PoVUzK2OOu9D6zF7WAmv7C4itTZOTlxKbzIMT7sA5Qp2-p/s200/siblings.jpg" height="200" width="197" /></a></div>
It's true to say that no one can push your buttons or get you riled up faster than a sibling.<br />
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After all, they're the ones you've lived most of your life with. In many instances, the first other kids you'd ever known. Your first friends. Your first partners in crime. The ones you hated at times, but would still die for.<br />
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They know all the buttons to push, when to push 'em & how hard.<br />
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Siblings are an important piece(s) to the puzzle that is your life.<br />
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Around this time of the year, I get really sad.<br />
On August 27th, 2007 I lost my younger brother.<br />
It was truly one of the worst days of my life, if not<b> the</b> worst.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to get all high and mighty and speak with piety - because the worst part of my brother leaving this planet without me getting to say good bye is that we weren't speaking, and I hate that! We hadn't spoken for several years. Even worse than all of that - our not speaking had NOTHING to do with each other.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BpCvbtcJPhiG9SmclpXB6Jp6VcQsC9UhHKftVV1nAG9iE8Gu9EDRsc9CD_a9bFwYdly2EO1WAL8M8_01dqt6ADwHwRrcdq5NlAbs2pPLISxPVlcFkNOVaBcLxV1izwBElon-GTTT0nCK/s1600/not-talking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BpCvbtcJPhiG9SmclpXB6Jp6VcQsC9UhHKftVV1nAG9iE8Gu9EDRsc9CD_a9bFwYdly2EO1WAL8M8_01dqt6ADwHwRrcdq5NlAbs2pPLISxPVlcFkNOVaBcLxV1izwBElon-GTTT0nCK/s320/not-talking.jpg" height="236" width="320" /></a></div>
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Outside circumstances - people - events are what came between us, what divided us.<br />
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Eric was my first sibling. Number 2 in the pecking order, with me being the big sister, the numero uno at the top of the heap. He and I fought - oh my gosh, how we fought. As an adult, I'm embarrassed to say that we actually fist fought and even drew blood. If my kids fought like we fought, I don't even know what I'd do. Looking back, it was really awful - but we loved still each other.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNkvmnZMo8Q1N1zETvWUgyspXUuTVTciX6LhYcqdIwLy-850hPQOAVlSeQoOIE0phPaxkVrsXyb5WH1y4-xF9cfdSP92b68UHIozL7j5bhgMRjtwhyZ-jQtaLxrou-n3k6B77E0Y0ZVSI/s1600/fighting+siblings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNkvmnZMo8Q1N1zETvWUgyspXUuTVTciX6LhYcqdIwLy-850hPQOAVlSeQoOIE0phPaxkVrsXyb5WH1y4-xF9cfdSP92b68UHIozL7j5bhgMRjtwhyZ-jQtaLxrou-n3k6B77E0Y0ZVSI/s200/fighting+siblings.jpg" height="200" width="199" /></a><br />
He always knew that as much of a pain in the butt as he was - and believe me, he was - I was always there for him. I was always the first person he'd call if he needed help, if he was really sad, or if he needed money. Whatever it was - he knew he had a no questions asked policy with me.<br />
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Even though I was his older sister, I was his main care taker growing up. He knew that, I knew that. So when he left this planet - I was completely out of sorts. I wasn't there to help him this time. I didn't know he was suffering. I didn't know he had pain. He didn't come to me, like he had in the past. He struggled with whatever it was - in silence, not talking to anyone. As a result, my dear brother took his own life.<br />
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I genuinely think of my brother every single day, feeling as if I'd failed him in some way.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6D50OkDRMnyH0USpKvBF__SEvVXwpw5uz6Qwhf_bb9lcMrO3pSpLrJTElxhlqYn4KkvVfIU86hVWE5TB5zMInXCOfmOLOXRALi86In9JuGTQJ0KiSkmhnUKwSC-_nB_dYHgeqTQnG-I4/s1600/i+love+my+brothers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6D50OkDRMnyH0USpKvBF__SEvVXwpw5uz6Qwhf_bb9lcMrO3pSpLrJTElxhlqYn4KkvVfIU86hVWE5TB5zMInXCOfmOLOXRALi86In9JuGTQJ0KiSkmhnUKwSC-_nB_dYHgeqTQnG-I4/s200/i+love+my+brothers.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a>A friend of mine's mom went through the same situation with her sister. Many years before I lost Eric she would tell me over and over, "Jenn, keep trying. Just keep trying. Call him, send him letters. Do whatever you can - because if something happens and you're not speaking, you'll never forgive yourself."<br />
She was right.<br />
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My point of this posting is not to draw sympathy to me - but attention to your own sibling relationships. I know a few people - right off the top of my head who aren't speaking to their siblings. Some issues are big, others small - others just flat out foolish pride. It's not worth it! Let it go!<br />
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Your siblings are the closest people to you - besides your spouse and children. Even closer than your parents on many levels. You grew together. You have the same memories. You've done all the stupid crap together & worked to get over on your parents together. You built dreams & maybe even made them come true.<br />
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There is NOTHING on this planet worth a division between siblings. NOTHING!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1N-rT-zfrxicaVX1gX8_hiClunSz1S-eyVi4BbmV1vcgrHbXEdVtYEbiM3Cze9EKDaNpyN-cJ9uu_bCobjfXuKzpQIutyBdb9qIIzwoETauKysksd-CKjdKZSFXW-KJiL8r-YUvi7Ix8/s1600/we+can+work+it+out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1N-rT-zfrxicaVX1gX8_hiClunSz1S-eyVi4BbmV1vcgrHbXEdVtYEbiM3Cze9EKDaNpyN-cJ9uu_bCobjfXuKzpQIutyBdb9qIIzwoETauKysksd-CKjdKZSFXW-KJiL8r-YUvi7Ix8/s200/we+can+work+it+out.jpg" height="200" width="151" /></a></div>
Not money, not your spouse, not a ridiculous family feud that has nothing to do with you. NOTHING!<br />
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Work it out! Somehow, some way.<br />
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Because in the end, when you look back on your life - the endless reel of memories that will play out in your mind WILL have your siblings in it.<br />
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How awesome is it to share that with them?<br />
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Thank you for reading my blog!<br />
<br />
Love you guys, really!<br />
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~Jenn</div>
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PS. Darren, I love you & I'm sending you hugs through here for now. xxoo</div>
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(To those of you who don't know...Darren is my "baby" brother) <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Rest sweetly on the wings of angels, Eric. Love you and miss you always. </div>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEewJN8W2I4SUpUtmQgoKCThqSCtGnAO21ljR7u-vvEKTuUbQbJya9nNQ1p0Y7jptJhRp87LHRHKbQ4VoL1yhg6x279XJc-Vei4PZa0AqhTrRm53g7Q6RcGuGTxTNkGarTHfYtQt9D0z0d/s1600/brothers+%2526+sisters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEewJN8W2I4SUpUtmQgoKCThqSCtGnAO21ljR7u-vvEKTuUbQbJya9nNQ1p0Y7jptJhRp87LHRHKbQ4VoL1yhg6x279XJc-Vei4PZa0AqhTrRm53g7Q6RcGuGTxTNkGarTHfYtQt9D0z0d/s640/brothers+%2526+sisters.jpg" height="236" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>re-post from August 23, 2012</i>My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-34433823619177226232014-08-12T07:18:00.000-04:002014-11-03T10:04:56.476-05:00When the funny fades...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvoDzGtalzYhPeGzA2qeWv8Np-6GmEL-IuAIJK9MeMYfSmKZ3YD2X-c9Hyu8BugTjF2pkCCerIMVhDNnhSiuGWmBsof-qvcfVWzTQRGKGqbiIHjFyIEmjf-xCyD-01OfU2904zTaiVY_U0/s1600/spark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvoDzGtalzYhPeGzA2qeWv8Np-6GmEL-IuAIJK9MeMYfSmKZ3YD2X-c9Hyu8BugTjF2pkCCerIMVhDNnhSiuGWmBsof-qvcfVWzTQRGKGqbiIHjFyIEmjf-xCyD-01OfU2904zTaiVY_U0/s1600/spark.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></div>
To tell you that I hate to dwell on this crap would be the understatement of the decade.<br />
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I try to say what I have to say, do what I have to do and then move on.<br />
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Done.<br />
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Not so much in these types of situations. When suicide enters your life - it's very difficult to just turn your back and walk away. Suicide settles inside of you. It crawls into those deep dark crevices and makes itself at home, like a rodent in the eaves of your home - chewing at the wires until it creates a really dangerous situation, or at least that feeling does. It's a feeling I can't describe, nor do I want to. It's a feeling that I hope you don't know, if you don't already.<br />
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I know that there are so many people who read my blog who don't get it. I know my husband is one of those "don't get it" people. That's OK. Not everyone does. I used to be one of those "don't get it" people until it happened to me. Twice.</div>
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I feel INCREDIBLY LUCKY to not suffer from depression. LUCKY. Fortunate! Depression runs rampant in my family - two suicides, alcoholism and drug abuse. RAMPANT. I've been sad. I've been really, really sad and maybe a tad depressed, but I've never wanted to die. Sadness is a feeling you can get beyond. Depression takes hold. That is the difference between sadness and depression.</div>
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I can remember back to when I was a little girl, sitting next to my dad on the couch watching Mork & Mindy. I can remember my dad's hearty laugh and his statements of Robin Williams being "off the wall."</div>
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Robin Williams was, without a doubt, hysterically funny. He is, well was, one of my favorite funny people. He was my dad's too. They were both funny guys, though my dad was no Robin Williams, he sure thought he was. They both left this place in the same way - by their own hand.</div>
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Tears of a clown is the best analogy I can come up with.</div>
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Depression is a bitch. Depression is one of those things that people have learned to try to hide. Try to self cure. Drugs. Alcohol. Dangerous living. Being funny. Pick a mask, any mask. As long as the depression doesn't show and make anyone else uncomfortable, it's all good.</div>
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No it's not.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEzKG-1n4FUJMi7Kp0TLjNCENd3Ilpa8WEIUFD0NDmNEJkwQS1DJ2glpHeBolDQaQNfPGd_pDO1C078iVQ3YgGHy49ihmrhJvvgvcKIL8beuhtndPESj0odG8Wa07fzRJSl6ED6aBzDESJ/s1600/depression.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEzKG-1n4FUJMi7Kp0TLjNCENd3Ilpa8WEIUFD0NDmNEJkwQS1DJ2glpHeBolDQaQNfPGd_pDO1C078iVQ3YgGHy49ihmrhJvvgvcKIL8beuhtndPESj0odG8Wa07fzRJSl6ED6aBzDESJ/s1600/depression.jpg" height="320" width="285" /></a></div>
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I try to express my feelings on this as often as possible, without turning away those of you who don't "get it" or don't want to hear about it. I understand. NO ONE wants to hear about it. NO ONE wants to talk about the "crazy" the "sick" the "it never happens to me" the "they need shock treatment" the depressing depression.</div>
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It needs to be talked about.</div>
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That taboo? That "elephant in the room" as someone so graciously input on my FB page - that elephant needs to be addressed. That elephant needs to be called out and dealt with.</div>
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Until that happens, people will continue to die at their own hand.</div>
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People do NOT have to die at their own hand.</div>
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There is SO MUCH life left to live. So much wonderful life. Yes, there will be pain. Yes, there will be hard times. Don't let the lies of depression tell you that it's hopeless. It's never hopeless.</div>
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You are never, ever alone.</div>
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If you are in depression's grasp, please let someone you love and trust know. If you don't feel like you love or trust anyone at the moment, tell someone else. It doesn't matter who you tell. <b>Tell someone</b>. Reach out your hand. Someone WILL grab it!</div>
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The mask can only last for so long until the pain takes over, until the funny fades.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QCoXGPhtW9GbIVebcxlJWaXKMKNrSxjIR4xSWMW3H9sI5Omu4GZUIUnDjXNSUDNknLoTQcAc3cZ3j-XqGSorTz-fo3o7ViIh9b38nqrc7hlYhc19gKfElZmkp1ruX6_cnLkOoZ2TKwZ0/s1600/MorkMindy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QCoXGPhtW9GbIVebcxlJWaXKMKNrSxjIR4xSWMW3H9sI5Omu4GZUIUnDjXNSUDNknLoTQcAc3cZ3j-XqGSorTz-fo3o7ViIh9b38nqrc7hlYhc19gKfElZmkp1ruX6_cnLkOoZ2TKwZ0/s1600/MorkMindy.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>Mr. Williams - thank you for the laughs and for a wonderful legacy of funny.<br />
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May you, and the others before you find the peace that you were unable to find in this place.<br />
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Nanu-Nanu<br />
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I wish you peace and love.<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
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** If you are struggling with Depression or Suicidal thoughts - Please DO NOT SUFFER IN SILENCE! PLEASE reach out. Let someone help you. Life is good. Really. **<br />
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(as shared from <a href="https://www.facebook.com/DBSAlliance">https://www.facebook.com/DBSAlliance</a> )<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; line-height: 20px;">National Suicide Prevention Helpline (U.S.)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; line-height: 20px;">1-800-273-8255 (1-800-273-TALK)</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; line-height: 20px;"><br /><br />International Directory of Suicide Hotlines<br /><a href="http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html</a><br />--<br />Need someone to listen & help without judging?<br /><br />Warmline "Listening Line" Directory (U.S.)<br /><a href="http://www.warmline.org/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.warmline.org/</a><br /><br />Befrienders (International)<br /><a href="http://www.befrienders.org/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.befrienders.org/</a><br />--<br />Concerned about someone online?<br /><a href="http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/gethelp/online.aspx" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/gethelp/online.aspx</a></span><br />
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<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" target="_blank"> <span style="color: #0000ee; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline;">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</span></a>My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-86338047000234927752014-08-10T19:02:00.000-04:002014-11-03T10:05:42.284-05:00If someone you love told you they wanted to die.... How would you handle it?What would you do if someone you love told you they tried to die?<br />
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How would you handle it?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC8m-A2OcRgVfKbcNLhVHhB9c3R77RgbDm6Mg4yB6eqHpER6UwiZ362uNX8Mj4X9IOGW_iIXcS21PS5kmmlHxTAJF-WXuQ9Le5CRbae7W5W0uPGvJo7axbuj3biBflDXfDC_xXOL6eOVoG/s1600/depression.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC8m-A2OcRgVfKbcNLhVHhB9c3R77RgbDm6Mg4yB6eqHpER6UwiZ362uNX8Mj4X9IOGW_iIXcS21PS5kmmlHxTAJF-WXuQ9Le5CRbae7W5W0uPGvJo7axbuj3biBflDXfDC_xXOL6eOVoG/s1600/depression.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Would you embrace them? Would you thank them for trusting you with something so personal? Would you tell them how happy you are that they are still here? Would you tell them how much you love them? How much God loves them?<br />
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These are all of the things I wish I'd done, now - looking back.<br />
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I wish I'd said and done all of those things.<br />
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I didn't though.<br />
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Instead, my heart filled with pain and I got sucked into the emotion of the suicides I've lived through, and in an almost scolding manner asked WHY they didn't call me? Why didn't they come to me, knowing I'd listen?<br />
Why didn't they call to me?<br />
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Looking back now, even though I didn't mean it that way - it sounds a little selfish.<br />
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In my deep fear and pain in the words I'd just heard, I'd forgotten how hard it is for someone in the midst of struggle to reach out and say, "Help me, I'm drowning."<br />
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I'd forgotten...<br />
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Depression is a bitch!<br />
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<b>NO - Depression IS Satan.</b></div>
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Depression will tell you that no one loves you.<br />
Depression will tell you that you don't matter.<br />
Depression will tell you that no one cares.<br />
Depression will tell you that everyone is better off with out you.<br />
Depression will tell you that it's hopeless.<br />
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<b>Depression LIES.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzULJ0qGyZkPe22TnJZmrc76v3G_3hxwI2DpxDWzNAON8DfqzshI7NshPnr8Ztfdmd4zBD0z9rsAWCayxYFT7av2T2FeX86NtFpPnu8r6bpSAfS34bzK0KEWkZoGj3OyOmP254ZKz8lKX-/s1600/what+is+depression+like.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzULJ0qGyZkPe22TnJZmrc76v3G_3hxwI2DpxDWzNAON8DfqzshI7NshPnr8Ztfdmd4zBD0z9rsAWCayxYFT7av2T2FeX86NtFpPnu8r6bpSAfS34bzK0KEWkZoGj3OyOmP254ZKz8lKX-/s1600/what+is+depression+like.jpg" height="148" width="320" /></a></div>
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I am here to tell you that you ARE loved.<br />
I am here to tell you that you DO matter.<br />
I am here to tell you that I, among many others, DO care.<br />
I am here to tell you that it is NOT hopeless.<br />
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<b>You are loved, you matter, you are worthy,</b></div>
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<b>It is NOT hopeless.</b></div>
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I am here to tell you that He is not done with you yet.<br />
I am here to tell you that life without you would create a giant hole for the rest of us left behind.<br />
I am here to tell you that your life is a great and shining beacon of joy and hope.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii6iLS4TrcS3fO-YQQFqyOdcyx2FqbLF1xUSIEv_QGoRqaAFIxUNrmqrsnZ5FCElNCbmiUmH1LWPTZ8eTSwW66kFNqSKIe9FHeGM1C-U1Bg4rSJfbQe2I4YzvToaWeMrXnG_pTOvSTJxLM/s1600/you+are+loved.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii6iLS4TrcS3fO-YQQFqyOdcyx2FqbLF1xUSIEv_QGoRqaAFIxUNrmqrsnZ5FCElNCbmiUmH1LWPTZ8eTSwW66kFNqSKIe9FHeGM1C-U1Bg4rSJfbQe2I4YzvToaWeMrXnG_pTOvSTJxLM/s1600/you+are+loved.jpg" /></a></div>
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To my friend, please allow me to start over.<br />
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I love you. You are special and important to me.<br />
Thank you for coming to me and sharing something so private with me.<br />
I am so thankful that you are still here.<br />
I know how difficult this is for you.<br />
I am and will always be here for you.<br />
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Depression is Satan, the master trickster. The master liar.</div>
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Depression doesn't get to win.</div>
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God isn't done with you yet.<br />
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...And neither is anyone else.</div>
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Lots of love,<br />
Jenn<br />
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** If you are struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts, please do not suffer in silence.**</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0bu0QLnJKYHtDY5wEnbPfAT66xTrm5wdGaB1E-vfFVirgL600l92qFJkaCryrQHHS3B-T6ODZfhTf9euTPtxSHY6d2hLtLLhpQMrcQ9OCnzyaYh826gkNCa_54ZnTa7xYXqIuvKfxyblt/s1600/national+suicide.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0bu0QLnJKYHtDY5wEnbPfAT66xTrm5wdGaB1E-vfFVirgL600l92qFJkaCryrQHHS3B-T6ODZfhTf9euTPtxSHY6d2hLtLLhpQMrcQ9OCnzyaYh826gkNCa_54ZnTa7xYXqIuvKfxyblt/s1600/national+suicide.png" /></a></div>
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I know it's hard to reach out - but PLEASE REACH OUT!</div>
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Someone does love you. Someone will miss you.<br />
You DO make a difference.</div>
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Whatever pain you are suffering never goes away.</div>
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It simply passes on to those you leave behind.</div>
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<b>You are loved.</b></div>
<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" target="_blank"> <span style="color: #0000ee; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline;">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</span></a>My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-57399636978373740442014-06-21T08:26:00.002-04:002014-06-21T09:20:43.528-04:00What moments in your life (good or bad) have changed you forever?I posted this comment on my Facebook page to see what kind of response I'd get.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtS9TTw5uvFbLGD8K1iiv1YNJbAV2Yzcw4NeidK0F22bE6MEH6_ssKIJBN6ihb3l0RhlzcgPSmmYTO79O1tAOBABjTLnGDSJjx_0_LbqS6MU9x44ZlXiom0eWNnli4OrA51gEE-eiLcdm/s1600/life+changing+moments.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtS9TTw5uvFbLGD8K1iiv1YNJbAV2Yzcw4NeidK0F22bE6MEH6_ssKIJBN6ihb3l0RhlzcgPSmmYTO79O1tAOBABjTLnGDSJjx_0_LbqS6MU9x44ZlXiom0eWNnli4OrA51gEE-eiLcdm/s1600/life+changing+moments.jpg" /></a></div>
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Of course I already knew what I was going to write about, but before I start... I want to pay humble homage to those of you who commented on that Facebook post. Some of the comments I was not surprised about, but others I was in absolute awe of. They were all fabulous. You have amazing strength and heart. All of you. Thank you. Really. I'm honored that you shared yourselves with me.<br />
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For those of you who don't follow me on Facebook, have you really given thought to the moment(s) in your life that have changed you forever?<br />
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It's something I'm totally hung up on.<br />
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There's never just one moment, because the moments change.<br />
Life changes. I look back through my life, and I see the "me" that I was through different decades. I don't even know her anymore.<br />
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What defined me? What changed me?<br />
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I can immediately say for certain, that my husband helped to shape the woman I've become over the past almost 15 years.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4eTKMjo6IE4Z2PYfUbSrZKysMzJziANu85WV2Blwgc4mz-eqFPyMOQ-euMppdvyhCQ0lONzXEME299hxDo6cYBlS_w40rzI5aGEDs0sM9WFowIUGocdIaiQQofGgAPM7SUdmL_mBhFJdC/s1600/live+for+the+moments.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4eTKMjo6IE4Z2PYfUbSrZKysMzJziANu85WV2Blwgc4mz-eqFPyMOQ-euMppdvyhCQ0lONzXEME299hxDo6cYBlS_w40rzI5aGEDs0sM9WFowIUGocdIaiQQofGgAPM7SUdmL_mBhFJdC/s1600/live+for+the+moments.jpg" /></a></div>
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My childhood and early adulthood made me the very strong, independent woman that I am. I was someone who had endured more loss than anyone should have, and someone who wasn't very trusting as a result. I totally expected people to check out on me - one way or another, so I learned to do things for myself and didn't get too attached to anyone. That attitude isn't fabulous when you're trying to have a relationship. It has a way of blocking you from moving forward.<br />
<br />
Eventually I learned trust.<br />
More times than I can count, my husband has said to me,<br />
"Relax - why do you think you need to do everything?"<br />
It's a good reminder that it's OK. I CAN rely on him.<br />
Breaking down my wall and allowing him to take care of me was not an easy thing. It was something that I really had to work at to change.<br />
To grow.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlohEGfOZ0FILl0j9LkU29-a1xstU5MRSW-7RbNMH4dd2Il7OtrF7aGwzMdAF6iJuI-7ISxaIbbleLAYkeImWpGj1rqjapDyeFqQ6Q859AbSmWDum5KK5AzA3h2LBa8B1aEMvggN2QnKi/s1600/strong+marriage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlohEGfOZ0FILl0j9LkU29-a1xstU5MRSW-7RbNMH4dd2Il7OtrF7aGwzMdAF6iJuI-7ISxaIbbleLAYkeImWpGj1rqjapDyeFqQ6Q859AbSmWDum5KK5AzA3h2LBa8B1aEMvggN2QnKi/s1600/strong+marriage.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Just when I started to believe that people don't check out on you, my brother committed suicide.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
...another life changing moment.</div>
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That loss tore me down and completely changed me, robbing me of everything I finally began to trust. It's made me hard in ways that I can't explain. I'm not over it. I don't know if I'll ever be completely over it. Most people can't see it, because I hide behind a smile. Only the people really close to me can see it. Only the people really close to me have all of me.<br />
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I really needed my husband's strength and support to get through my brother's death.<br />
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<br />
His suicide brought my wall back up and made me more distant and on guard than I had ever been.<br />
<br />
I, once again, keep people at arms length. I no longer give people an opportunity to get close enough to hurt me. I'll make casual acquaintances, but that's it. I have a few close friends, whom I know I can trust. For certain - You hurt me, you screw me? I'm out. I'll forgive once, maybe twice - depending on the offense, but if given a big enough red flag - you can see the flames shooting out the back of my heels as I run away. Done, over. As if you'd never known me.<br />
<br />
It may not be the best way to handle things, but it's what works for me.<br />
I get to check out first.<br />
<br />
Changed.<br />
<br />
I know it's hard to imagine that part of me, here through the web-o-sphere. Here it's easy. I can love you all. I want to take care of you all and make sure you're all happy and lovely and safe. That part, I'm super good at. Just don't try to take care of me. I'm good. I've got this.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I was changed again when my friend Ed died.<br />
This time I felt mortality smack me in the face. I mean, I was the sick one. Yeah, I knew he already had one heart attack and yeah, I knew he wasn't the healthiest guy on the planet - but ya know... your friends? They aren't supposed to check out. Yes, I know - it wasn't his choice.<br />
It was almost as if mortality were saying to me... "Hey listen chick... just because you got over your little health issues doesn't mean you're going to live forever. Heads up! Oh, and appreciate what you've got."<br />
<br />
For a while, I went on the "life's too short" for whatever the situation happened to be going on at the time. I still feel that way in most situations, but you can't both have your wall up and forgive and forget all the hurts around you. I took stock of what was important and tried to make things better in some situations - when they weren't better at all. Then I began to think about what's worth fighting for. What's an illusion? What's real, and what's not? Is this situation really worth the effort, or should I just chalk it up to illusion?<br />
<br />
Living life to its fullest doesn't mean accepting toxic relationships just because you've had them for a long period of time. It's about being happy about the relationships that you are in. Realizing what works in your life and what doesn't.<br />
<br />
I've changed. Many times.<br />
<br />
For certain, those changes have opened my eyes to things I've chosen to not look at until I had no choice but to see.<br />
<div>
<br />
Sometimes you need to <b>see</b>. Like it or not. Sometimes you need the really awful things to change you, so that you can move toward the really great things ahead.<br />
<br />
At times I wish I didn't have to experience certain things that I have. Those moments - but I embrace them for what they are - my past.<br />
<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
A <b>past</b> defining moment that has set me on the path to my future.</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhML5hZlZ2qbeqZ4qLs-qVK1fC4b4x7vtordjOKldt5_lPvYQxsWvqQ7BaSha9UlzLjJgs29puQNWL-8YOuNFpIYG4NuAnCHALV8DGxcz4K3AQt_ExQfh0b468SFi5v56iBcK9HTaLCveJi/s1600/past.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhML5hZlZ2qbeqZ4qLs-qVK1fC4b4x7vtordjOKldt5_lPvYQxsWvqQ7BaSha9UlzLjJgs29puQNWL-8YOuNFpIYG4NuAnCHALV8DGxcz4K3AQt_ExQfh0b468SFi5v56iBcK9HTaLCveJi/s1600/past.jpg" /></a>So what moments in your life have changed you?<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading my blog!<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #0000ee; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline;">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</span></div>
My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-81401620528614556642014-06-13T07:16:00.001-04:002014-11-03T10:05:27.650-05:00For the "Other" Dad In My LifeOver they years that I've published Father's Day posts which I'd written about my dad, my step dad, single dads - other dads.<br />
<br />
While my dads are the ones who help to shape who I am, I don't feel I've given enough honor to another special dad in my life. The one who accepts this woman that my dads shaped...<br />
<br />
My husband.<br />
<br />
I was a single mom when I met my husband. I didn't want a "boyfriend" and I flat out told him so. I was completely content to be a single mom. Just me & my son. That's how it would be. If I was going to have a "relationship" it was going to be one I didn't have to give too much attention to. Maybe a far away one, or a see ya in a few weeks kinda thing. I didn't think I was cut out for this whole marriage thing. I'd given it a shot and it just didn't work out. I'd been on my own for too long, maybe. Too independent. Too unwilling to depend upon someone else, because someone else always lets me down. I've got this. No worries.<br />
<br />
Then, there was my husband. Totally "OK" with just being friends. Totally "OK" with my insistence that he doesn't get to meet my son, because I wasn't interested in having him do any potential "daddy interviews." I was hard. I was cold. I was very protective of my son. Until the day that he showed up at my front door, which my dad answered, toy in hand for my son. "I don't need to meet him, Jenn isn't ready for me to, but could you give this to him?"<br />
<br />
That's my husband.<br />
The guy who not only taught me that it's OK to depend upon someone, but the guy who chose us as a package deal, because he wanted to. The guy who cracked my tough exterior, when others probably would have given up. The guy who jokes... "well, she said she didn't want a boyfriend, so she got a husband instead."<br />
<br />
Without the love of my husband, I know life would be different.<br />
<br />
I know my son would have grown into the man he's become, but I wouldn't have my two beautiful girls - who he thinks the sun rises and sets over.<br />
<br />
Without the love of my husband, I wouldn't have been able to grow into the mom I've become. The mom I always wanted to be. I wouldn't have been able to open my home to other children who need love. I wouldn't have given birth to our daughter or adopted our littlest. ("the short one") I wouldn't have the life I'd always wanted, or the girls who brighten his world.<br />
<br />
Seeing his glow around our kids makes every day worth while.<br />
<br />
On this Father's Day, I want to honor my husband; an AMAZING father, husband, man.<br />
<br />
Thank you, honey.<br />
<br />
I love you!<br />
<br />
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO ALL YOU ROCKIN' DADS OUT THERE!!<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading my blog!<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</a>My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-41251894538933744402014-06-03T17:15:00.000-04:002014-06-03T17:15:21.932-04:00You are not less....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A friend of mine talked with me earlier this week about a discussion she'd had with someone in her life. She explained with upset how during this discussion, the person she was speaking with somehow made her feel as if she was not good enough.<br />
<br />
I know, I know - no one can <b>make you</b> anything - but it doesn't always feel that way, does it?<br />
<br />
I think this happens to all of us from time to time. Either we're beating ourselves up, or someone else is beating us up to make us feel as though we are less - not good enough.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it's hard to get beyond the expectations of others, isn't it? You want people to be proud of you, to see your shine.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sadly, those who want to feel superior will always find a way to try to make you feel less. Especially if your shine is a little brighter than theirs.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How can you find your own happy medium?</div>
<br />
I used to struggle with that, and sometimes I still do, even though I've come to know who I am, and what I will and will not accept.<br />
<br />
There was a time when I was younger and not in such a great situation. I was regularly beaten down, verbally, mentally, emotionally - whatever. I'm a pretty tough cookie - but I found myself in a situation where I was made to feel less.<br />
<br />
Eventually, I sought out mental help.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
**Know this**</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I sought out mental help because I was told that </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I was crazy, psychotic, in need of mental help.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
...and I believed it.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
That mental beat down and insistence that <b>I</b> needed mental help </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
was one of the best things that ever happened to me.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Those counselling sessions opened my eyes </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and made me see what I'd been missing all along.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>It wasn't ME that needed the mental help at all.</b></div>
It was the other person in the situation. The person who was mentally beating me down because of their own self esteem issues. They were working to bring me down so that they could feel better about them self.<br />
<br />
It finally made sense. So much sense that when it came at me again, I recognized it. I was able to feel in control of myself and address it calmly by saying, "just because you're feeling badly about yourself, don't try to drag me down with you." This comment was met with a snicker. He knew. It was the beginning of the end of that journey for me, and an opening to a new start.<br />
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<br />
I was able to pick myself back up and go on, knowing that I AM worthy. I AM good. I AM special and important. Sometimes we forget that. Sometimes we get caught up into a bad situation and we lose ourselves.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Don't ever lose yourself.</b></div>
<br />
It wasn't easy to get back to me. That situation is long behind me now. I often question myself as to how a reasonably intelligent, strong willed, strong minded woman got there to begin with.<br />
<br />
It's the reason why I will no longer accept another person in my life trying to push me lower to raise them self up. No thanks. Not playing, but you have fun with that. When I see it coming, I cut and run.<br />
<br />
If you're reading, and this all sounds all too familiar - remember who you are. Remember that you are good. You are worthy and you are most definitely NOT LESS!<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading my blog!<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-85565913354530149262014-05-02T10:11:00.000-04:002014-05-02T10:11:46.153-04:00Do you tell yourself it's OK to cry??<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Fact: I don't like to cry.<br />
Fact: If I'm crying, and you see it - there's a big reason for it.<br />
<br />
Both of these statements are 100% factual.<br />
<br />
Today's blog was inspired by a post I saw on Facebook by another blogger, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BipolarMom101?fref=nf" target="_blank">Bipolar Mom 101</a>, who asked on Facebook, "Do you tell yourself it's OK to cry or do you fight back the tears?"<br />
<br />
It's a good question. It's not just a female to female question - it's an across the board question, and one that gave me so much thought I needed to blog about it - IMMEDIATELY.<br />
<br />
Growing up, for the most part I had to be "tough." I had a lot of responsibility for a kid and well, whatever. Life wasn't all sunshine and roses. I didn't cry, because crying showed weakness. If I was upset, I didn't show it. I didn't cry. If I did cry, no one knew about it. I didn't want to be comforted or coddled. I cried in silence.<br />
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<br />
Over the past decade of my life, I think I can count on one hand the amount of times I've cried. Once over the death of my brother, which lasted for weeks. Once over the death of my dear friend, Ed, which of course lasted for days. Once when my son left for boot camp (but I was alone in my car - no one saw me. Does that count?) and once in a situation where so many past memories collided, my emotions went on overload and I couldn't handle the situation. (totally embarrassing)<br />
I can't think of another time.<br />
<br />
Granted, I've been in a good place. I'm lucky and I'm blessed. I also work and fight to be in this good place. It's a gift, not an entitlement.<br />
<br />
Have I been upset by things in the meantime? Of course. Would these upsetting moments bring others to tears? Probably. Does that make me callous or unfeeling? Or afraid? Or Jaded?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I don't know. </div>
<br />
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<br />
I do know that I'm not alone in this. I know others, like me, who've toughened to life. Tough on the outside, mush on the inside. Crying in silence, where no one knows. Where no one can see. So no one sees the cracks in the armor...or the vulnerabilities that others may take advantage of.<br />
<br />
Babies cry as their only means of communication, when they have a need to be met - hunger, pain, fear, comfort - whatever. They cry.<br />
<br />
My sister-in-law once told me that in her travels to third world countries, she'd visited orphanages - and the babies there don't cry. They don't cry because no matter how much they may cry - their needs can't always be met. It's almost as if they've learned in the first few months of their lives that their cries for help will never be met - so why bother.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
WOW</div>
<br />
Is this what life does to some of us? We don't cry because we don't believe our needs will be met, so why bother?<br />
<br />
I leave you in this with the original thought of this blog....<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
"Do you tell yourself it's OK to cry or do you fight back the tears?"</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Thank you for reading my blog.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
~Jenn </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
PS. All's well, this is just your typical "over thinking Jenn" post ;)</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-28847213420493133932014-04-25T06:23:00.000-04:002014-04-25T11:44:10.786-04:00My Dad and My Dad :)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I know that sometimes reading my blog it gets confusing when I say that my dad died by suicide when I was 18, and then in another post - I talk about how my dad lived with my husband and I.<br />
<br />
I...had 2 dads.<br />
<br />
Not in the modern way. No disrespect. I'm just saying that's not the family I had. I had my dad, who was my dad and my step-dad.<br />
<br />
Most of the close friends I have in my life I've almost always had. There may be some "holes" in time, but we've always kept a connection.<br />
<br />
Even to these friends, it's confusing. Confusing because growing up, I would NEVER have referred to my step dad as my "dad". He and I didn't get along swimmingly. I resented him and hated the way he treated me and my brothers. It was not a close father/daughter relationship.<br />
<br />
By stating the following, I am in no way disrespecting my dad - because I loved him dearly.<br />
<br />
My dad was an alcoholic. Not only was he an alcoholic, he was a nasty drunk. My step brother & sister never saw this part of him. They lived in another house. They got the good dad who loved and doted on them, on the weekends. They got the nice guy. Yes, fine he was actually THEIR father, but I lived in his home. We were often treated badly and had to figure our own ways around it.<br />
<br />
The days always started out nicely. On weekday mornings, I'd come down to the kitchen for my breakfast. He'd have already put my English muffin into the toaster for me. I'd eat my breakfast as he read the paper and we'd chat about the day before,or what the day lay ahead for us. Morning was always nice. I think it was because of the mornings that I was able to form a bond with my step dad, my dad, later in life.<br />
<br />
After school, I'd come home and do my chores, my homework and take care of my brothers. Sometimes I'd start dinner. It was this time of the day that everything changed. The scary time. The time that our step dad would come home - drunk and angry. We were always in trouble for something, or nothing. Eventually, I knew enough to just be gone at that time of day. I'd conveniently be at a friend's house or whatever. My little brother would hide in his room. It didn't really matter where we were, as long as we were out of the way. I'd come home when he was passed out asleep. It's what worked for me.<br />
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This is the dad that my friends remember. The mean, nasty, drunk son of a bitch that used to physically and verbally abuse us. They don't know the dad that I came to be close to. The dad that looked after me and my son while I was going through a miserable divorce. The dad that took care of me when I was a single mom and the dad that I took care of during his sickness.<br />
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You see, my dad did recover. The last 10 years of his life, he was a recovering alcoholic. He didn't go to AA, it wasn't his thing. He got sick. I know it's may be in poor taste to be thankful for a life threatening illness, but if he didn't get sick, he'd have drank until the day he died. It was the diabetes that made him quit drinking. The diabetes made him so sick he couldn't drink and when he didn't drink, I had back the dad that I had on weekday mornings that made my English muffin for me and sat to talk with me while reading his paper before the day began. This is the dad I longed for. Especially after my own dad died 9 years earlier.<br />
<br />
It was his sickness that gave him sobriety. It was his sobriety that formed the father / daughter relationship that I had with him. The grandfather / grandson bond that he formed with my son and the father in law / son in law bond he formed with my husband and even with my ex-husband to some degree.<br />
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So yes, I had two dads whom I loved, that loved me.<br />
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I miss them both, my dad and my dad.<br />
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...And I am so grateful to have had each of them.<br />
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No matter how it all started out.</div>
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Thank you for reading my blog!!</div>
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~Jenn</div>
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My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-42246504222516005582014-04-18T10:44:00.000-04:002014-04-18T11:08:05.241-04:00Any 80's Hair Metal Heads Remember Queensryche??? My confession to Geoff....It's concert season - more specifically outdoor concert season. I am a huge lover of music. All music. OK, well - most music.<br />
<br />
It's time. Time to scour the internet in search of whatever other tickets I can come across.<br />
<br />
Now, I've got guilt.<br />
<br />
While searching livenation.com, there I saw it - QUEENSRYCHE!! Not just Queensryche, but the billing was listed as "Queensryche: 25th Anniversary Operation Mindcrime" I NEEDED to go!<br />
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As a rule, I'm a loyal human. If I love, I love forever. Unless, of course, I've been given a big reason not to love. I don't like change. I'm loyal to the original. When Van Halen went Van Hagar, I boycotted. When Steve Perry was replace by whoever the new lead singer is of Journey, I boycotted. I had absolutely NO desire to see Queensryche sans Geoff Tate.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhUimZ6X7cQoIr0CTZn2z9FmiWNNsWb1SOqEKsleoxjlDGiuJP_c4fS2C2Bbgr_pnOF4vYO0MNVYRumlf1JtefPqmm-IKAeQGMuIkDeOgiBW5GdTXdGmQBkWdi-He09GnTRMeAUUTncya/s1600/geoff+tate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhUimZ6X7cQoIr0CTZn2z9FmiWNNsWb1SOqEKsleoxjlDGiuJP_c4fS2C2Bbgr_pnOF4vYO0MNVYRumlf1JtefPqmm-IKAeQGMuIkDeOgiBW5GdTXdGmQBkWdi-He09GnTRMeAUUTncya/s1600/geoff+tate.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm so sorry, Geoff. I don't know what happened.</td></tr>
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And here it is...<br />
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Dear Geoff,<br />
I'm terribly sorry. I've inadvertently cheated on you. I'm sad to say - I think I liked it.<br />
Maybe not completely, because there will never be another YOU, but I enjoyed myself.<br />
I'm so sorry.<br />
Faithfully yours,<br />
Resurrected 80's High Hair Metal Chick<br />
<br />
Yes, it's like that.<br />
While I was combing through LiveNation.com I DID see Queensryche: 25th Anniversary Operation Mind Crime. If you're 80's and love that - How exciting is that??<br />
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One of the things I'm well aware of is the Queensryche split. There's Geoff, THE voice of Queensryche, who split from the band and has a new band. Then there's the band, with the founding member, Michael Wilton and new lead singer, Todd LaTorre. Both touring as Queensryche.<br />
Confusing, right?<br />
<br />
Before I purchased my tickets, I double, triple and quadruple checked. I wanted to be double damn sure I was buying GEOFF TATE Queensryche tickets. There was his face, plastered all over every website - promoting everywhere, once again "25th Anniversary Operation Mindcrime." I was confident I was making the right decision. There were also 2 dates available!! Once at Starland in March, which I couldn't make. Once in April at BergenPac, which I could make.<br />
I excitedly bought my tickets.<br />
<br />
Yes, it was a bit of a red flag that the shows were happening in the same state, but ya know - it IS concert season. I checked, double checked, triple checked and quadruple checked. I THOUGHT that I was confident that it was Geoff Tate Queensryche I was going to see.<br />
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As the date got closer, I noticed that my upcoming event - as listed on Facebook had changed. There was now a notation that "Ticketmaster has changed event name." Ut oh... Now instead of it saying: Queensryche: 25th Anniversary Operation Mindcrime - it simply said, Queensryche.<br />
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I was duped!</div>
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I knew something was up, so I went to livenation.com and checked the venues, the artists, the dates... there it was. The change. The change that pissed me off on several levels, because I WANTED Geoff Tate.<br />
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The billing, I felt, was intentionally confused. Did I mention I was pissed?<br />
<br />
The show I had been so looking forward to now became, meh - I like live shows anyway. I'll still have a good time. I'll just go anyway and suck it up like any other cover band. If I hate it, I'll leave.<br />
<br />
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I didn't leave. I enjoyed it.</div>
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Was the concert anywhere NEAR the expected 25th Anniversary of Operation Mindcrime?? NO. They only played a few songs from that album. On that level I was a little disappointed, but Todd sounded great. He has great energy. He has a great voice. He is a great stage performer. He is very expressive and lives the music. I really liked that. No, he's not Geoff - but I liked it. I was entertained. I enjoyed the show. I really enjoyed the show. Yes, I was shocked too!<br />
<br />
The warm up band was Gothic Knights. A band that hails from NYC and has been around since 1990. No, I never heard of them either. Here's why... Although the lead singer has a great voice, he has absolutely no stage presence. There's no excitement. No real movement or feeling of connection with the band. Stiff. I feel that I could close my eyes and enjoy the music, I just didn't need to watch because the watching part didn't entertain me. They are still very 80's feeling.<br />
<br />
Admittedly, I went in with a bad attitude and disappointment at the way Live Nation handled things. I would NOT have purchased the tickets if I'd known it wan't Geoff Tate I was going to see, but I'm glad that I gave it all a chance.<br />
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I probably wouldn't go see Queensryche again, out of loyalty to Geoff, without Geoff - but I also wouldn't turn anyone away. It was a good show. I liked it and I think that anyone else who enjoys this type of music, who likes Queensryche and can be open minded (like I'm not) would enjoy the show.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIhV1XpVY9Ch-egLk-ykfJLkf3DMADORgEBsCzyDj9BfManGc1nCxUjcZFWjl6AEERNQtrXGhbN85X6VqYgbJGERwDBvxlpWoGHeMnUuiQSLWYblmbCF7L4okBET-onQAWIh1JC1-TiFen/s1600/forgive+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIhV1XpVY9Ch-egLk-ykfJLkf3DMADORgEBsCzyDj9BfManGc1nCxUjcZFWjl6AEERNQtrXGhbN85X6VqYgbJGERwDBvxlpWoGHeMnUuiQSLWYblmbCF7L4okBET-onQAWIh1JC1-TiFen/s1600/forgive+me.jpg" /></a><br />
So Geoff, I hope I'm forgiven. No one rocks it like you. You will be my first and only voice of Queensryche. This time, I just strayed - but I'm back. :)<br />
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Thank you all for reading my blog!!<br />
<br />
~JennMy Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-73088307373504703602014-04-15T20:35:00.000-04:002014-04-16T06:30:36.262-04:00About Foster Parenting....Re-post from June 2012. <br />
After reading a post over at The <a href="http://lastmom.com/recommend-foster-care/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+lastmom%2FglNk+%28Last+Mom+WP%29" target="_blank">Last Mom</a> blog, I was inspired to dig up one of my old blog posts about our foster parenting experience. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-eM2n-qW21eZspkZxbyxoU1S15N2rNxNwVVh_t3kEKk2yKHKj1U6Dej-nqY-Ac44jIYp8sbPcPZoON95fC3sA8xbU3GrV4mT-juRHMUv98W3KIsWKh13oDFiuf5CsIAFiSDUcxS1Nm0I/s1600/FAFS+Logo.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-eM2n-qW21eZspkZxbyxoU1S15N2rNxNwVVh_t3kEKk2yKHKj1U6Dej-nqY-Ac44jIYp8sbPcPZoON95fC3sA8xbU3GrV4mT-juRHMUv98W3KIsWKh13oDFiuf5CsIAFiSDUcxS1Nm0I/s200/FAFS+Logo.gif" height="200" width="184" /></a>I often mention that my husband and I are foster parents. That said, I've been asked many questions...<br />
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It is my hope to give anyone interested as much of MY PERSPECTIVE as I can give you into the wonderful world of fostering. So with this sentence comes my disclaimer - read it, know it love it:<br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: center;">**All opinions expressed in this blog are MY personal experiences and MY opinion. Each person has their own experience and reason for pursuing foster parenting. Rules differ from state to state. Please consult your local child services for information in your state. Please check the status of your own heart prior to pursuing this avenue. It is NOT for everyone. This is NOT a job to support a family. It’s taking on another person’s child for the sole benefit of the CHILD. **</span><br />
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Off soap box & onto my blog. Sit down - grab coffee, wine - whatever does ya.... It's a long one.<br />
<br />
How did we get here?<br />
I've mentioned often that my body let me down when I was actually trying to be pregnant. Yes, I do have two of my very own biological children. Ten years apart. I wanted more kids, my husband wanted more kids and we both love kids.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzl5pxcSTCqvqYYSPKxe6s0-I4n-tzqJoz7HhScBcMVOvOoJzfLQulKh7-gYnIrYjbGAiJFqLP0rWT5dPh2pzgy14ZI2N41P927iF6ynmTrWF6WylLr2SzEpNuVqe91Vl5795uxQjmBXE_/s1600/international+adoption.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzl5pxcSTCqvqYYSPKxe6s0-I4n-tzqJoz7HhScBcMVOvOoJzfLQulKh7-gYnIrYjbGAiJFqLP0rWT5dPh2pzgy14ZI2N41P927iF6ynmTrWF6WylLr2SzEpNuVqe91Vl5795uxQjmBXE_/s1600/international+adoption.jpg" /></a></div>
We checked into international and national adoption. If you've gone that route, you know there are many unscrupulous jerks in the "adoption business" or, more specifically, crooks preying on people who desperately want a child. As a point of reference, you could spend about the amount it would cost you to buy a new Cadillac Escalade, to adopt a child. They run you through the ringer & then they can say NO. Truth!<br />
Oh, and no refunds if it doesn't pan out.<br />
<br />
This is not always the case - but something to be aware of.<br />
<br />
My husband and I are both the "want to save the world" type. I'm always up for a challenge. I like to try to "fix" and help as much as I can and I truly want to make a difference. If I can do that, I'm happy. It doesn't always go that way. We wanted to get involved in the system to help a child who's already here, who needs love. These kids REALLY need love.<br />
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It's not always butterflies and flowers, but neither is parenting your own kid. The difference is that some of these kids are hard, really hard. Many of these kids have seen or had unspeakable things done to them. Things you can't even conceive of. You need to have a heart to love them through. To teach them that what they've dealt with isn't how things should be. To love them through it.<br />
<br />
It's not always easy, but it is always worth it.<br />
<br />
I will answer a couple of the questions I've received most often, in my very "Jenn" little way with a lot of my truth peppered with joy and heart ache.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjor_7dRHa_hZJMjVuwDk-FvpYZKHXcfYo27cfothMP_LD1XFkM4bXKW3Okk9TDpg_aBNGrV4NL7zUoH8EJHkkdAuXg2P8sJVDcyfFT0GW_J2eLUXWIdeJcn429u4lDgJhYggI3_pmE_3Tv/s1600/what+do+i+do+now.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjor_7dRHa_hZJMjVuwDk-FvpYZKHXcfYo27cfothMP_LD1XFkM4bXKW3Okk9TDpg_aBNGrV4NL7zUoH8EJHkkdAuXg2P8sJVDcyfFT0GW_J2eLUXWIdeJcn429u4lDgJhYggI3_pmE_3Tv/s200/what+do+i+do+now.jpg" height="193" width="200" /></a></div>
<b>How do you get involved?</b><br />
It varies from state to state. My best answer is to go to: <a href="http://www.childwelfare.gov/nfcad/" target="_blank"> http://www.childwelfare.gov/nfcad/</a><br />
Read through the site & find the nearest Child Services office to your county.<br />
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<b>What do I need to do?</b><br />
It's a long process - which is a good thing!<br />
-An intake worker will come to your home and speak to you and your family. They will look at your home to see how many children your home can accommodate, along with your family.<br />
Yes, most of us are only looking for one child - but they will always consider you for sibling groups & you may change your mind. We've had a few sibling groups come through. Know your limit!<br />
-They will fill out paperwork & ask you for references from friends / family members.<br />
-They will do a background check.<br />
-You will need to be fingerprinted and you will need to take classes.<br />
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These are all very good things - if half the parents on the planet had to go through all of this to get a child, there wouldn't be so many children in need!<br />
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The process will be a long, annoying pain in the arse! Expect it. You're dealing with the government. <br />
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You CAN be very specific about the type of child you are willing to take. They will call you for any child they need to place but you CAN say no without it being held against you. I know that sounds like a really mean thing to say, but there are certain issues a child may have that you may know you cannot deal with; sexual abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, neglect, physical deformities, mental illness., etc. Set a criteria that will work for you and your family in your home. These kids are already being removed from the only family they know. If you can't deal with something it's best for the child concerned to know that in advance. You don't want to have to have a child placed over and over again.<br />
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Consider the ages of your kids and bedrooms. Think carefully - do you want a newborn? Really? Many (not all) of the newborns are born drug addicted. Drug addicted babies go through withdrawal and may cry for what seems like all the time. Be sure you can deal with that & be sure that you ask the question.<br />
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The "dumpster babies" and "Safe Haven Babies" don't seem to exist in the system. If they do, I've never been offered one.<br />
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<b>Talk to your family.</b><br />
Sit down with every single person in your immediate household, and those close to you. You'll need their support. Find out what every single person thinks about the idea and what they think their role will be. You all will need to work together, even your kids. Trust me!<br />
<br />
Our very first foster child had substantial mental health and emotional issues. She was a self abuser at 1 1/2 years old. She screamed and cried all the time. She had two speeds, cute & psychotic. You could see the switch flip. I'm getting into this because my son couldn't handle it. It was too much for him and he and decided to go stay with his father until we could get the child re-placed in a more suitable environment for her. This situation was a total shock to our entire family. The other thing we were not prepared for was how difficult it would be to let her go, because we did fall in love with this child. We just knew we were not able to give her what she needed. I cried for weeks.<br />
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<b>Ask questions!</b></div>
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Ask many, many, many questions. If you're not getting the answer you're looking for - ask someone else. Keep asking until you are completely satisfied that you understand the answer you are receiving. I do it all the time. Yes, there's confidentiality - BUT if there is information you need to benefit the child, you are entitled to the answer.<br />
<br />
You won't always know what questions to ask if you're new - they give you a list in training. Use it!<br />
<br />
As with everything else, with experience comes the knowledge of what questions to ask.<br />
<br />
<b>Your own children.</b><br />
I can't stress this enough - make sure your children are on board. They will ALWAYS need to come first and be your main priority. Make sure they understand that it's more than a playmate in the home. It can't be a selfish decision - what you want to do. They really, really need to be a part of it. I mentioned the incident with my son for a reason. As wonderful as this is - it can really interrupt a family.<br />
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Our daughter is great with the kids that come through our home. She is a born "little mommy." She is always jumping in to help the kids & plays with them. She's a great big sister. That was one of the things I wanted for her & am thankful worked out so well BUT (yes, always a but) when the kids leave, she is DESTROYED! This has become something I have had to work around.<br />
One little girl we had was very difficult. Our daughter could not wait until she left - but when she did, the second the little girl left our house, our daughter darted to her room in tears. This was not what we wanted for her. We talked to her about not taking in any more kids in the future & she was very clear to say that she wanted more kids, she just felt sad when they left.<br />
<br />
We had to come up with a plan so our daughter wouldn't get hurt. We talked about it and determined that as long as she doesn't see it, it doesn't happen. So after that child - when we knew a child was leaving we'd pack them up together & when the child was actually leaving, our daughter would go for a play date. She would say her good byes before & when she came home they were gone. No problems. This is what worked for us.<br />
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<b>Find other Foster Parents to network with.</b><br />
You don't need to be BFF's, but a network is wonderful. There will be a time you may want to get away with just your biological family - it's better to KNOW the people your foster child is going into vacation placement with. Otherwise they could end up anywhere.<br />
The kids have already gone through so much, consistency is important for them. Also, during the tough times - it's good to have someone to talk with that understands what you're dealing with. Understands the system.<br />
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<b>Stay informed & educated! </b><br />
There are online classes & groups. You are mandated to have a certain amount of instructional hours per year & per three year period for annual inspection. These courses are brilliant. I'm a mom - I've got 2 of my own & have had several come through. I have learned so much more from these classes. You'll be surprised at how much you didn't know!<br />
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<b>Document the good stuff (and the bad).</b><br />
Take notes, lots of them. Be in touch with your case worker, take lots of pictures & have fun. I try to keep a little diary of important things. Since the invention of the digital camera & Snapfish - it's made it much easier to upload pix & put a little caption of what happened in this picture. When a child leaves, they take it with them & have what may be the missing pieces to a part of their life they may need in the future.<br />
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<b>It's not about you!</b><br />
It's parenting. You're #2 (take that anyway you want it.)<br />
You ALWAYS need to remember - this will always be about the child. It's not a pay check. If you're relying on that money for a pay check - you shouldn't even be entering into this foray.<br />
The stipend is less than the child support you'd receive from your significant other in a divorce/custody situation.<br />
You WILL spend every single cent and then some on the child. At least I do.<br />
<br />
<b>You WILL get your heart broken from time to time.</b><br />
Part of taking in these children is loving and caring for them as if they were your own. You form a bond. Some of the children become adoptable. You may or may not want to go that route. Some of the kids go back. Sometimes they go back to a good place, sometimes you don't know. No matter what the situation - your heart will break a little each time.<br />
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If you're getting involved for the right reasons, you are giving this child a sense of self and family that they probably never had. The most important things to give kids are roots & wings.<br />
Think of the motto for the Peace Corp. It's the toughest job you'll ever love. It's difficult, it can be heat wrenching. The children can be incredibly needy or angry or impaired. You can and will fall deeply in love with this child, and they may leave.<br />
<br />
Even a few months of love & positive example will make a lifetime of difference in a child's life.<br />
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I'm no saint. I'm no angel. My husband and I are truly lucky to have the opportunity to share in the lives of these kids.<br />
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The good, the bad & the ugly.<br />
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I hope this information is helpful to you.<br />
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Thank you for reading my blog!<br />
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Smoochies!<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/5144449/my-daily-jenn-ism" target="_blank">Follow my blog with Bloglovin'</a>My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-71444804055224518512014-03-28T11:11:00.004-04:002014-03-28T11:11:47.993-04:00Have you ever felt like your life was hacked in some way?I feel a little like I'm being a little disrespectful by posting a new entry today. I have a lovely guest blog ready to run, which was supposed to run last week, but I was hacked. <br />
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This post may read out more like a journal entry than a blog post, but I'm me and I put it all out there.<br />
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Have you ever felt like your life was hacked in some way?<br />
<br />
I often feel that way on here - on the internet, that is.<br />
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I'm an open book. I always have been. If I think it, I speak it. I don't pretend and I don't put it here if I won't give it to you directly. It's not always popular, but at least people know (or should know) where I stand. Even if it's with my foot in my mouth.<br />
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My dad taught me to be me. All of me. The good, the bad and the ugly. Being fake is a mask that you can't wear for very long. The truth always has a way of surfacing. As long as you're YOU people will love you for who you ARE, not for who they think you might be or who you pretend to be. Be true to yourself. Be true to others. Be honest. Be loyal.<br />
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The hack to my blog page was a good chance for me to lay low for a few days. To sit back and think about the direction I was heading with all of this.<br />
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When I started doing Mental Health March last year (or the year before, I forget) in honor of my dad, I did so with the best intentions. To take the crap that I'd lived through and turn it around to help someone else. What I didn't take into consideration is that whenever I posted something, when ever I dug deep to pour my soul out into the blog - I was also reliving the things I'd healed from.<br />
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Healing from this crap is no easy feat - it's always there.<br />
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The road to hell is paved with good intentions...<br />
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It is always my intention to do good. To help. Some days I receive feedback that brings tears of joy to my eyes. Other days things I've posted have harpooned me in some way, or brought me to a place I don't want to be.<br />
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I am LUCKY to not be a depressed human. If I'm sad, I'm sad for a reason. If I'm anxious, I'm anxious for a reason. For that, I'm incredibly thankful every single day. It is in that I am able to realize that I need to pull back a little from Mental Health March. It's not because I no longer want to help others, but because I need to remain healthy in my own mind.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
I am older now than my dad was when he died 30 years ago today.</div>
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That day will live forever in the back of my mind.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You don't forget when one of the people who loved you most </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
leaves this planet.</div>
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It has always been my goal to help those who are depressed and / or suicidal but letting them know how the person left behind processes it all. I wish there were more I could say or do.<br />
<br />
For now, all I can tell you is that my dad left 30 years ago with no explanation. As one of the people left behind, I felt like my life was hacked.<br />
<br />
Though time has healed most of the pain, it will always be there in some way. I will always be a little extra emotional when I hear of a suicide. I will always be a little sadder when a little girl loses her daddy, a sister loses a brother, a young person leaves because they didn't feel (or were made to feel) like they were enough, or even when a rich, beautiful woman dating one of the most famous rockers in the world can't go on another day - <b>because it doesn't need to happen.</b><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Suicide knows no gender, no race, no religion, no financial status.</div>
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I am GRATEFUL and THANKFUL to be lucky enough that God gave me the strength to deal with what I have in my life. I know that not everyone feels strong. Let someone be strong for you. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdlieG6VoH0LLTt3R4oGtoLMVgdkjpGVPtZFS5-hIEZCIkggeBBT4GLEZp-21Q9QZRFZ6UNYqILE6M4Xn5o2CJsu3l62VUnpX_iasgVEt98UOCk3yMEJZL46y-nalh1kz6GRrWfcEVx1Qa/s1600/National+Suicide.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdlieG6VoH0LLTt3R4oGtoLMVgdkjpGVPtZFS5-hIEZCIkggeBBT4GLEZp-21Q9QZRFZ6UNYqILE6M4Xn5o2CJsu3l62VUnpX_iasgVEt98UOCk3yMEJZL46y-nalh1kz6GRrWfcEVx1Qa/s1600/National+Suicide.png" /></a>If you are someone confused or suffering in some way, please know that you are loved, whether you believe it or not - someone, somewhere loves you. ALL OF YOU. You have a purpose. You have worth. You make a difference and you will be missed. Don't suffer in silence. Reach out.<br />
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I was only 18 when my dad died (yes, go ahead add it up, I never said I was a young chippie.) I may not have been someone who could have helped him if he reached out to me at 18 years of age. I may not have understood, but if he even once looked at me and said, "Please help me."<br />
I would have done everything in my power to find someone to help him.<br />
<br />
My dad was well loved by many. He didn't have to leave.<br />
Neither does anyone else.<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255</h3>
If you are in pain, PLEASE do NOT suffer in silence! PLEASE reach out.<br />
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Thank you for reading my blog!<br />
<br />
Much love to you all!<br />
<br />
~Jenn <br />
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<br />My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-26380978473155587462014-03-19T06:45:00.000-04:002014-03-19T11:27:56.142-04:00When you don't see suicide coming....or do you?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It was me, several times, that took my brother to the hospital bleeding from his wrists, or pulling a gun out of his mouth when he was younger.<br />
<br />
Most people didn't know. Others push it back to the dark recesses of their memory. Some, like my "baby brother", wouldn't remember the specifics, the why's of my brother being in the hospital. He may not remember at all. Then, it was taboo. We hid it. It was a secret.<br />
<br />
Many people didn't see it coming, my brother's suicide. I saw it coming. I believe that was the biggest reasons my brother pushed me out of his life. He knew I'd stop him - again.<br />
<br />
My brother and I weren't speaking when he left this planet. It's one of the things that haunt me most about his death. Yes, it's that and not that he's gone, though I will always miss him. In my heart, I always knew he'd succeed some day. I believe he kept me away because I - even above my mother - was the one he answered to, the one who kicked his ass (physically and metaphorically) for putting me through finding him on a floor with wrists cut in my house. I was the one pulling a gun out of his mouth. I was the one telling the hospital, "PLEASE, don't listen to him. Our dad died by suicide. This is not his first attempt. PLEASE keep him here. PLEASE help him."<br />
<br />
Eventually everyone listened to him. I was the crazy one. I was the one trying to "hurt" him by having him locked up in a hospital. I was the one he pushed away.<br />
<br />
The others who knew, ignored it or were just fooled by his "I won't do it again. I promise."<br />
<br />
A week or so before my brother eventually pulled the trigger for the last time, he threw a huge party. A Luau, I'm told. I wasn't invited. He knew I'd know something was up.<br />
<br />
I could never believe that no one knew, besides me. I couldn't believe all of the people who gave the gun back to him - after I'd taken it away. I couldn't believe that the people closest to him didn't know.<br />
<br />
I wish he were honest with what he felt. <br />
<br />
I clearly remember, at dinner in between wake sessions, having a conversation with my brother's heartbroken <span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">fiancée</span></span> - she had NO CLUE. None. I don't blame her. I'm sure he hid it well. He was a strong, handsome guy who seemed very put together. He had a good job, a nice house and was raising a beautiful son. The picture seemed wonderful. I spoke with her, to try to ease her heart, telling of his previous attempts, telling her that she'd done nothing wrong. It wasn't her. His heart had been full of clouds for years. He was broken his entire life. His best friend, as if a light bulb went off, suddenly realized what I was saying. He didn't know either. It finally made sense. He'd fooled them all.<br />
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Just because someone looks / is depressed doesn't mean they're suicidal. Just because they don't doesn't mean they're not. My brother held to his facade for those who didn't know his back story. He didn't display a depressed human. He played the part of the strong, successful man engaged to the woman of his dreams...all happy and care free. NOT!<br />
<br />
His party was a good bye party.<br />
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...And no one knew it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The pain of my brother's loss runs even deeper than the loss of my dad by suicide. Siblings are supposed to run the distance of life with you, not just check out.</div>
<br />
Depression / Suicide are hard topics to discuss. It's not a topic anyone wants to hear about. I don't blame them. It sucks! This post, written from my heart, was hard for me to write. It may be hard for you to read. I know that someone somewhere needs to see it. There may be a brother, sister, best friend, parent, <span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">fiancée</span></span> somewhere who is looking into the hollow eyes of someone with a beautiful facade. Knowing something is wrong, but can't quite put it all together.<br />
Look for the signs.<br />
<br />
None of this is about me. It's not about fortune or fame. I'd probably make a fabulous Greta Garbo running toward, yet hiding from the spotlight. This...all of it, is about them or maybe you. The person struggling. If using my pain saves a life, I've accomplished something I've set out to do.<br />
<br />
I truly believe God gives us everything, the good and the bad, in order to help another.<br />
<br />
Thank you for supporting me in this quest by being faithful to my blog.<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
<br />
Warning signs of suicide (as taken from <a href="http://www.save.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=home.viewPage&page_ID=705F4071-99A7-F3F5-E2A64A5A8BEAADD8" target="_blank">SAVE</a>)<br />
<br />
These signs may mean someone is at
risk for suicide. Risk is greater if a behavior is new or has increased
and if it seems related to a painful event, loss or change.<br />
<ul>
<li>Talking about wanting to die or to kill oneself.</li>
<li>Looking for a way to kill oneself, such as searching online or buying a gun.</li>
<li>Talking about feeling hopeless or having no reason to live.</li>
<li>Talking about feeling trapped or in unbearable pain.</li>
<li>Talking about being a burden to others.</li>
<li>Increasing the use of alcohol or drugs.</li>
<li>Acting anxious or agitated; behaving recklessly.</li>
<li>Sleeping too little or too much.</li>
<li>Withdrawn or feeling isolated.</li>
<li>Showing rage or talking about seeking revenge.</li>
<li>Displaying extreme mood swings.</li>
</ul>
<h3>
Additional Warning Signs of Suicide</h3>
<ul>
<li>Preoccupation with death.</li>
<li>Suddenly happier, calmer.</li>
<li>Loss of interest in things one cares about.</li>
<li>Visiting or calling people to say goodbye.</li>
<li>Making arrangements; setting one's affairs in order.</li>
<li>Giving things away, such as prized possessions.</li>
</ul>
<b>A suicidal person urgently needs to see a doctor or mental health professional.</b><br />
<h3>
In an emergency, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255).</h3>
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<br /></div>
<h3>
<i><span style="font-weight: normal;">If you are a survivor of suicide, meaning someone you love died by suicide, there are places where YOU can vent also. I am thrilled to have found a page on Facebook called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/SolosSurvivorsOfLovedOnesToSuicide?fref=ts" target="_blank">Solos ~ Survivors of Loved Ones to Suicide </a> This page also has separate groups, (loss of parent, loss of sibling, loss of spouse, loss of friend, etc) since Suicide is not a "one size fits all" topic. It's good to know you're not alone in this.</span></i></h3>
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<i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></i></div>
<h3>
<i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Big hugs to you all!!</span></i></h3>
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<i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></i></div>
<h3>
<i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Thank you for your constant support of me and my blog. I love you all <3</span></i></h3>
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<i><span style="font-weight: normal;">~Jenn <3</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></i></div>
<span style="color: #0000ee; text-decoration: underline;">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</span>My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-9902912580027160182014-03-18T06:45:00.002-04:002014-03-18T06:45:42.443-04:00An Acceptable Human - Part 2 Guest blog from Lizzi R of Considerings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today, I give you Part 2 from Lizzi's original post <a href="http://mydailyjenn-ism.blogspot.com/2014/03/flashbacks-to-another-me-guest-post-by.html" target="_blank">Flashbacks to another Me</a>.</span></i></span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am, once again, in complete awe of Lizzi. She has been through and over come so much. Her emotion so raw you can feel it while you read. She apologized for her post being "so long." I never noticed. I was caught up in her, as I know you will be.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">This post affirms, for me, why I write - to turn my crap around for even one chance at helping a person who may be going through the same, or similar. I am again grateful to Lizzi for this post and for gracing me with her words.</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>I now give you...</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>An Acceptable Human</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>by Lizzi of </i></span></span><a href="http://summat2thinkon.blogspot.co.uk/"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Considerings</i></span></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I remember the feeling so clearly: “I’m
better!”</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I couldn’t tell you where I was, or whom
I was with, or what I was wearing or whether it was a sunny day or not, but one
day, about ten years ago, this sudden </span>realization <span style="line-height: 115%;">took hold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It was freedom to know it. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Having been in the thrall of Depression
for 12 years - having undergone intense trauma at the hands of someone else’s,
only to be left with my own - this feeling was a golden, shimmering wonder
which unfurled in my heart and mind, quite without expectation of it ever
happening. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’d been taking my meds and going to
counselling and Getting On With Life. I was gradually checking the boxes on my
way to turning into an Acceptable Human, without ever really being certain that
it could happen. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But one day, BOOM! There it was. I was
better: a sense of security grew as I gained confidence in my job; mended
relationships; the new parameters of my world; and (to an extent) myself. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But Depression did return to me. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While we were dating, before he’d even
proposed, Husby got sick with an autoimmune disorder. Once we were married, his
dwindling mood dropped into full-blown clinical depression, and the cloud of
darkness once more settled on my life. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We were battling for a diagnosis (one
eventually being found, damning him to a life with a banjaxed hypothalamus and
a global endocrine disorder) and the Depression took deeper root, robbing him
not only of his job and his sense of self-worth, but of his quality of life;
leaving him scrambling rationally through piles of twisted logic, concluding
that he didn’t want to be alive at the end of the day. Or at the end of most
days.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Three times Depression tried to make a
widow of me – the first two times undisclosed until I sat in the doctor’s
office with him, having forced him to attend to seek further help. The doctor
was stunned on hearing him calmly and dispassionately relate what he’d done.
She looked at me and asked whether I’d known, and I remember laughing hollowly
and telling her that I was hearing it for the first time – same as she was. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And the Anger returned as well. This
time not directed at me, but at him (and cruelly so, for I knew that it was the Depression I hated. It was the Depression
which was sabotaging our marriage; his life; my world (again) – not him). He was so tangled up, he couldn’t
dissociate, and my kick-backs at the Depression landed each time on him, and
each brought him lower, which made him worse to live with. I tried so hard to
separate him from it; to build him up and support him and
make him feel better.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But nothing I did worked. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And I got weary of always being the
enemy. Of not being wanted. Or desired. Of being cared for in snippets. Of
always struggling. Of needing to take charge. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Of not being a good enough wife for him
to want to be alive to be married to.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And yet you see how my own shadows –
those distant ghosts from childhood - didn’t allow me to dissociate, either.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was so used to inhabiting my
worthlessness that it had become part of me, and even though the Depression was
his, I took on the responsibility and somehow made it my fault – if blame could
be taken, I alternately took it and fought it.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In spite of this, we were going through
the motions of being married, and trying to keep up with the timescale of our expectations,
which at this point included children. So we tried.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And failed, losing two babies in the
earliest stages of pregnancy.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Abyss opened up under my feet and
tried to swallow me again. Because this, also, I took responsibility for. It
wasn’t his illness. It wasn’t happenstance. It wasn’t damn bad luck. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It was because I didn’t deserve to be a
mother.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Because ultimately, I didn’t deserve anything.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’m bad and worthless and need to
somehow be better before I earn the right to have something as wonderful as
children. Nicer. Kinder. Prettier. Thinner. Cleverer. Usefuller. More capable.
More confident. More worthwhile. But never valuable, because valuable is
unattainable, and so I shall never have children.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And a diagnosis of primary infertility
for Husby, because of his illness, rapidly cemented those thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But this time I got help. I recognised
the patterns and I knew I couldn’t face a resurgence alone. So more counselling
ensued, and the Wise Woman helped me massively as I tried to untangle my feelings,
fears, desires and sorrows. Eventually the thing which made the most difference
was the day she told me that I was allowed to (and should) develop a positive
opinion of myself.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’d never thought my opinion to be
worthwhile, much less understand that I could even hold one about myself. This
news was mind-blowing. So in the midst of my hurt, I tried, and I struggled up
that steep learning curve and began to allow the positives to drip in and begin
filling me up. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I grieved and I drank, and I resisted
any efforts to get me to go and get medicated, and I reached out to others, and
I WROTE. I decided that this was the most awful thing, and that in my
floundering, where I’d reached out and discovered other people’s stories of
loss in the Blogosphere, and been so comforted by them, that I, too, would
write, and hope that some day, to someone, my agony would be rendered useful,
and thereby redeemed.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And as I wrote, wonderful people –
friends, family, bloggers – responded; gave me feedback and validation and love
and attention and care, and let me know that I <b>mattered</b> to them. This was shattering and healing and confusing and
wonderful all at once.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Gradually, the world got lighter again.
I found a new job, and not long afterwards, Husby grew well enough to find a
new job and began to turn back into the man I fell in love with. I still clung
to people, but this time with the knowledge that I would make it back through to the other side.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have mostly emerged. I still stumble,
sometimes, and need to suddenly reach out and grab the waiting hand of one of
my friends, but even as I do this, I can do it in a safer manner; secure in the
knowledge that they are there. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I’m almost out. I’m almost on the other
side, and this time much closer to being that Acceptable Human I always wanted
to be. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Healing happens in stages. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today I watched a video of the
much-lauded speech by Lupita Nyong’o, and my soul suddenly plummeted with awful
recognition as she spoke of “the seduction of inadequacy”.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is my next challenge, and my next
stage of healing.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And with my people around me, I’ll get
there.</span></i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">~Lizzi</span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thank you SO MUCH, Lizzi, for sharing your words. I am in absolute awe of your strength and know that even one person reading can be helped by recognizing themselves in your words. Thank you!</span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you are someone struggling with depression, please know that you are not alone. You are never alone. Reach out - someone will take your hand.</span></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>Please be sure to stop in to see Lizzi. You won't be disappointed.</i></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Lizzi is a Deep Thinker, Truth Teller and
Seeker of Good. She works a normal job and has a secret life as the writer at <a href="http://summat2thinkon.blogspot.co.uk/">Considerings</a>. Wife to Husby
and Mother to two Neverborns, now dealing with the challenge of primary
infertility, she is a frequent instigator of silliness and loves to entertain
with words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Considerings">https://www.facebook.com/Considerings</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Thank you all for your support of this page!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>~Jenn</i></span></div>
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My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991418575177100597.post-28811857849436672842014-03-17T10:01:00.000-04:002014-03-17T10:08:30.366-04:00The dream that wrecks your day... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Have you ever woken to dream that somehow wrecked your whole day?<br />
<br />
This is my day, so far today. Wrecked & full of anxiety and pain from a dream of something that isn't even real, but brought on by something very real.<br />
<br />
My dad's suicide.<br />
<br />
My dad will be gone 30 years this month. The pain of his suicide is something that I've carried with me my whole life. I've long gotten over the "embarrassment" of saying my dad died by suicide - especially since my brother also died that way. The stigma attached is now lost on me. I no longer feel like the victim of a choice made by someone else. I'm just someone left behind. Someone just guessing at the why, but never really knowing.<br />
<br />
This morning I awoke with a jolt. Someone from my past, someone I dated briefly contacted me out of the blue to tell me he was going to commit suicide. I don't know why he chose me. It's been many, many years since I'd even thought of him. It wasn't a whirl wind romance. It was just a few dinners and a realization that there was no spark. We've never crossed paths. We've never kept in contact. Yet here he was on the other end of my phone - telling me he was going to end his life. I remember pleading with him to rethink his decision. I reminded him that even though he and I didn't click - there were people who loved him. He again told me his detailed plan. Asked me to visit his parents & family at the first news of his death. To visit the wake briefly and then to see his sisters for something they'd have for me. I didn't understand. Why me? Why would he choose me? Someone he barely knew. Someone basically insignificant in his life. My talking did no good. The line went dead and as foretold, I received my call of his passing. I could feel all the familiar pain, the loss, the confusion. I held family members I'd never met and tried to put pieces together for a puzzle I'd never known. They asked me why. I didn't know. As I looked around and deferred to my husband for comfort, I was handed a journal that listed my name several times. I didn't understand.<br />
<br />
Then I jolted awake with the familiar emotion that being a suicide survivor has dropped on me....<br />
<br />
Guilt for something I had no control over.<br />
<br />
I have decided to share this dream, my raw feelings and jumbled emotions with you all today because one person reading may be feeling the same guilt. One person reading may have decided that today is their last day on this planet.<br />
<br />
No matter what side of suicide you are on, it hurts. There is guilt, there is pain.<br />
<br />
My brain is a swirl of emotion and questioning what's real, what's not today - even so much as wondering if this random person from my past is OK. Yes, it's just a dream. Unfortunately, these are the dreams of those left behind - still looking for the why.<br />
<br />
There are resources for all of you. Take 'em. Really! I don't write
these blogs for the "poor Jenn's" or the "you go girl's" - I write them
to let you know that YOU ARE NOT ALONE! I am one little blogger here in
the wonderful world of Jersey who wants to help.<br />
<br />
Before you've made a final decision to leave this place at your own hand - know that all you're doing is taking your pain - and handing it over to someone you love who will carry it forever - along with the guilt of not knowing and the pain of loss.<br />
<br />
REACH OUT TODAY!<br />
<br />
Thank you for reading my blog!<br />
<br />
~Jenn<br />
<br />
If you are struggling with life:<br />
<br />
<b>National Suicide Prevention Lifeline</b>: <a href="http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/">http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/</a><br />
<br />
<br />
For Survivors, I've found a great page on Facebook that has separate groups for each individual loss:<br />
<br />
<b>Solos~Survivors of Loved ones to Suicide </b><br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/SolosSurvivorsOfLovedOnesToSuicide">https://www.facebook.com/SolosSurvivorsOfLovedOnesToSuicide</a><br />
<br />
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<br />My Daily Jenn-ismhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08658536705061751531noreply@blogger.com3