Rock that freak flag, baby... You only go 'round once!

I'm socially awkward....

Pfft, there - I've said it.

I am, really.  I'll see something and have a thought about it and before I can fully think about the words coming out of my mouth, they're spilling all over the place.

Sometimes it's .. meh, whatever - let's see what happens and other times I'm back pedaling and tripping over my tongue repeatedly to fix it.

And ya know, I can't always do that.  I've actually given up on some situations recently -- OK - I've given up on one situation where one person ever, in the history of Jenn couldn't lighten up.  Boo!

I tell people this awkwardness of mine and they somehow seem shocked.  Of course it's people who DON'T know me well or just met me, because - ya know I can tuck my crazy in good and tight around new people.

You can only contain the beast for so long before she comes on out and raises her freak flag high, bouncing around like a squirrel on crack.  Yep, that's me.

Mostly, it's fine. As long as you know me it's fine.

I will also talk to most anyone.  If a fly were to land long enough, I'd become good buddies with it because I have that goofy way about me.

Again, people who don't know me miss that.

I have a point to all of this, I swear :)

It cracks me up when people who don't know me... at all... see me as "unapproachable" or stuck up..  Ha!  Clearly you have no idea of the inner turmoil going on inside me.  The contained freak that wants to run over and be your very best friend in the whole wide world.  I want to hug you and squeeze you and take you home and feed you cake.  See, I told you... freak.

Oh stop... I've never once uttered the words 'It puts the lotion on the skin."  lol  (look it up if you don't get it, sheesh)

Meh, again whatever.  I am who I am and I'm a pretty old me - so chances are I'm not changing.

The point is....

We all have an inner freak.  I don't care what you say.

My husband.  Big tough looking biker dude.

Freak.

Yep, he's a freak.  He doesn't want you to know it, but he's a total goof ball.  When he thinks no one's looking - he's being quite the fool and I just LOVE IT!  He is enjoying his life.  Even the crappy parts!

Listen, we're all on this planet for a very short time.  Sometimes life is just going to SUCK.  No way around it.  You have to take that crappy part and look for the good in it, because it's there.  No one said you need to be all pinched up while you're here.  No sense in being angry or soooo serious.  Lighten the heck up.  Relax...

Dance like no one's watching, sing like no one can hear and....

WAVE THAT FREAK FLAG HIGH, BABY!!

Have fun.

These are the things I learned from my daddy.

Be funny, be silly and have fun.

Life is too short to waste it on bad feelings.

Happy Father's Day to all you awesome dads out there AND to the moms pulling double duty.
Especially to my wonderful husband for being a great dad and to my daddy & poppie in heaven.

You all rock!!!


Thank you for reading this morning's silliness.

~Jenn

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Jenn-nny I got your number....

Ah the memories...

I'm very music motivated.  No matter what I'm doing, there is always music playing in the background.  In my car, at work, in my kitchen... It's what keeps me going.

Of course it's the music that rewinds my brain and brings me wherever I want to go.

This morning I opened my Facebook and saw a post by my lovely niece regarding the Jenny 867-5309 song from the 80's.  I suddenly lit up like the sun.

I was in my teens in the 80's.  S.H.U.T.  U.P.!!  Right??

As a teenager, I was grounded ALL.THE.TIME.  Really...

If my curfew was 10 pm and I walked in at 10:01 - GROUNDED.

I think it was the only way my (step) dad could control me at that age. Just ground her butt, keep her inside so she stays out of trouble.

So yes, I was grounded.  All the time.

Anyway, with all of my groundings - I missed many parties.  I think that was the idea.  Problem is that my boyfriend, Gary, was at the parties. Again, I think keeping me grounded was the idea.

Gary was REALLY sweet.  I've written about him many times on here because he was my first true love and someone I've kept special in my heart almost my whole life.

Sadly he passed away entirely too young.

The parties in the neighborhood were a mere 4 houses down the street.  I would look out my bedroom window and hope for a glimpse of what I was missing.  Knowing my boyfriend was there as well made me sad.  He didn't live in my town.  He lived about a half hour away and always went out of his way to come see me.

Now something else you should know is that Gary was H.O.T.!  He was super, super cute and before he and I started dating - he was a total player.  The girls dripped all over him. For whatever reason, I never felt insecure or worried, but my friends always felt compelled to give me the play by play.

At one party in particular, there was a lot of beer drinking going on.

Before I go further... this is an 18+ blog... If you're under... get lost.  If you don't get lost, don't take this as advice for things to do in your own life.

Ok....  To continue - there was a lot of beer. There were a lot of games of quarters and there were a lot of drunk girls trying to kiss my boyfriend.

And, MTV was always playing in the background.

MTV was HUGE back then.  It just started.  It actually played music videos and most everyone would sit in front of the television watching, amazed because it was something new.  The same music videos would be played over and over again.  A few specific to my memory are:  Pretty Woman by Van Halen, Heat of the Moment by Asia and of course Jenny 867-5309.

Although those girls were doing all they could to be near my boyfriend - every single time Jenny 867-5309 came on MTV, my phone rang.  Gary called me from the party to tell me he missed me.

Every.Single.Time.  That's the stuff smiles are made of.

These are the memories that come flooding back when I listen to my music.

Gary may be long gone from this planet, but things like hearing Jenny 8674-5309 on the radio or just a mention can still put a big smile on my face.

Thank you for the memories....

And thank YOU all for reading my blog!

~Jenn

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You see what????

I know, I know....
I've been doing a lot of reviews lately, but ya know what... This is my platform and I've got something to say.

In the Web-o-sphere, I've had an opportunity to meet so many fun and amazing people.  Some I've truly held onto and can call friend.  Seems crazy to say that about someone you've never sat in a room with, but it is.  I also like to help others on here when I can.

Last week, I was chatting with my friend K over at Queen of Sarcasm and we were discussing several different things.  One item she talked with me about was her friend Mike over at Psychic Sarcasm.  She mentioned how she'd developed an online friendship with him and he gave her a read - I should give it a try.  I'm up for almost anything...  So I thought sure, why not.

Now, let me tell you -- I'm a good little Christian woman.

I have been taught to not believe this kind of stuff.

I'm no angel - of course, in my younger days I have had a reading or forty.

I have definitely ventured into the realm of the unknown.

It's not something I've ever let rule my life - nor should it be.

It's for entertainment purposes only & Mike will tell you just that.

I went to his website, which you can find by clicking HERE and I signed up for a "quickie" which is an online chat reading.

Honestly, I wasn't expecting much.  I was solely in it for the giggles and the let's see what he's got to say.  I formulated a situation that I wanted some information / clarity on and I was ready to go.

At my appointment time, he signed in promptly and we began our chat.

I let him know the specific situation I was looking for information on and asked my question.

I was both shocked and surprised at the accuracy of his replies.  Almost like he just knew.

I mean, yeah - I am a total open book online, BUT - I made sure that the situation I was asking about was not something that he could go onto my blog and read up on or read down my page.
It was something private to me.  Something I don't discuss.

Our chat session was only 15 minutes long - but in that 15 minutes, I had a feeling of clarity and ease take over me.  I truly enjoyed the reading.  I also enjoyed Mike's wit & flare for sarcasm.

So if you're someone who likes a reading or is looking for something fun to do, go on over & see Mike.

His Facebook page, Psychic Sarcasm is a page with silly jokes.  Light and funny.

His website to book an appointment is:  http://www.psychicsarcasm.com

Tell  him Jenn said he's a "super prophet"  :)

**  Disclaimer:  The information in this post is solely my opinion and should not be taken as anything else.  I paid for my reading and have not been paid for my review.  My review is done solely because I like to "pay it forward" across the net.  However - if the mood strikes ;)
I am not responsible for any information which you may be given, or advice you may receive.  This should be seen as ENTERTAINMENT ONLY.  Have fun! **



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I left my heart at the Jersey shore....

The place, not the show :)

This weekend for Mother's Day, my number one wish was to go down the shore.

I knew that I may be disappointed, but I figured I'd take my chances as Martell's, one of my favorite boardwalk places, is re-built and opened.

I was not disappointed!

Yes, there's still work to be done, but it's really looking good and will do just fine this summer.  It was very encouraging.

Afterward, I really wanted to drive down Route 35 to see how things were progressing further south.  I wanted to see the how the area just past the Mantoloking Bridge was coming along.

Wow.

What a heart breaker.

It's been 6 months and 20 days, at this writing, since Hurricane Sandy hit New Jersey leaving a wake of destruction in her path.

I hadn't been down the shore until now.  In my area, Sandy's mark is still evident in many places.  Even looking out my own back door I can see the remainders of the uprooted trees that came down.  Our destruction is NOTHING like down the shore.

The destruction down the shore is something that can only be seen.  My description could never come even close to what I saw.  Pictures on TV can never truly depict the actual decimation of this once beautiful vacation haven.

Seaside Heights... The boardwalk and area made famous by shows like the Jersey Shore - a total horror show.  I drove down "the strip" and became very sad.  Though I was able to peek up some of the ramps and see that my favorite place The Midway was open, the boardwalk is not complete.
There is so much to be done.  So much is just...gone.  The ride piers are gone.  The roads and buildings looked more like a sad old town than any place people used to go to vacation.

Much of the area I used to frequent when I was in high school was unrecognizable.

All along 35, some the magnificent homes that used to stand proud; collapsed, crumbled and condemned.  I was amazed at how the ocean seemed to pick and choose what houses will stay and which will go.

My heart sank.

There are too many horrors to count as you drive by.

Yet, this is all long forgotten.  Old news.

It's been almost 7 months since Hurricane Sandy.  Several other tragedies have come and gone.  People have forgotten.  People like me, who took a drive and saw for myself, only to realize that the place so close to my heart - so big a part of me and my younger years is gone, and may never be the same.

This weekend, I truly left my heart at the Jersey shore.

I blew kisses to the Atlantic and said a prayer for my home state.

It's been almost 7 months.  Summer is just around the corner.

It's time to remember that place that has every Jersey girl & boy's heart...

Restore the shore.

If you wish to make a donation to help restore the Jersey shore, or would like more information, please click on the Restore the Shore link below which will take you to their site.

Restore the Shore

I love New Jersey and I love our beaches.

I left my heart at the Jersey shore.

Thank you for reading my blog!

~Jenn



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What imprint will you leave?

Ever since my dear friend, Ed, passed away in February I'm reminded of him, almost daily, in some way.

Silly stuff mostly.  I'll take a picture with my phone and think what a crappy picture my "camera" took and his words... "It took a crappy picture because your CAMERA is a PHONE" or I'll think of one of our very "deep" conversations about life in general.  He was a good person.  Someone who I won't ever forget.  Someone who made an imprint on me.

In my adult life, I've worked to do good things and lead a godly life.  I'm far from perfect.  I'm far from a great example - but I work toward it.  When I see someone needing help in some way, I try to make the extra effort to make that person's life easier in some way.  No matter who they are.  Just because that's what we fellow humans should do - care for each other with no expectation of a return.

I was definitely no angel or fabulous example in my earlier years.

My childhood wasn't stellar and I didn't have much regard for the rules that were set before me.  I'd never break any major laws, but I often tip toed on the line.  I don't look back at my old self as a bad person, just someone who I'm glad I'm not anymore.  Someone who needed guidance and probably a good swift kick in the ass.

I look back on that person now and KNOW that she is not the person I want people to remember when they think of me.

I often think of the imprint I want to leave on this planet.  My mark.

How do I want people to remember me once I'm gone?

I certainly don't want the party girl remembered...She was fun, but totally irresponsible.  Quite the story teller.  Not always so nice.  I don't want to remembered for my idiocy that creeps out from time to time.  I want to be remembered for my good....  How often do I let that show?  Enough for people to remember?

I mentioned a few posts ago about the older man who got nasty with me in the restaurant.  He could, very well, have been remembered as a cranky, nasty old man.  He instead called to apologize - so I no longer think of him in that way.  He changed his imprint.

I thought of this again yesterday, as I lost patience with the worker at Lowe's.  Granted, he made a stupid comment, but my reaction was not appropriate.  I later apologized.  I was not kind, nor was I the person I want to be remembered as.

My life and the things that go on around me definitely get plopped here in my blog. Mostly to let go of things, but also to put on display for others to see.  Not to tear anyone down - but to teach and to learn.  I constantly learn while I type these blogs out.

The fact is that we can believe whatever we want about ourselves, but until we actually live what think we are, people will ONLY see what we show them.  It doesn't matter if you're the most philanthropic person on the planet and only do good....
If people see more of the ick, that is what they will think of you.  THAT is the mark you will leave.

So again, what imprint will you leave?  Will  you leave one similar to my friend, Ed - where people think the happy stuff and smile?  Or will they remember bitter and unkind?  What face will you show people?

What imprint will you leave?

Thank you for reading my blog!

~Jenn


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Building houses out of bread...

I like kids.
Truth is, I probably like kids better than adults - because kids just are.  They don't care what they say, what they do, how they dress.  They just go about life & do what they want until they're scolded for being inappropriate.

Darn good thing I'm a little person in an adult's body, or I'd be scolded all the time.

A few years back, my husband and I were invited to his buddy's baby's first birthday party.  I knew his buddy, but not his wife or anyone else at the party.  No big deal.  I'm social.  I'd talk to a rock if it talked back to me.  I bring my own fun.

At this party, there was a little boy sitting at our table.  He wasn't sitting with the other kids.  He was with his parents.  This little boy had autism.  His behaviors were "odd" and he wasn't great in social situations.  This was his cousin's party and he needed to be here.  I could see the strain in his parent's faces as he acted out.

It wasn't his fault.

I saw other people looking at the boy.  Looking at the parents wondering who was going to control this boy.  Control?

It wasn't his fault.

I like kids.  Kids get me and I get them.  Especially kids with special needs.  I saw this little boy sitting in the corner of the room and I asked him if he wanted to play.  His parents were at the table with us as well and they knew my husband - no one thought anything of it.  That was, until I got on this little boy's level.  Then people started to wonder about me.

Personally, I don't give a crap.  Like I said - I like kids.  This little boy was at a kiddie birthday party.  The other kids were having fun, he should have fun too!  So I sat down on the floor with him.  I asked him what he wanted to do.  Did he want to build?  Did he want to color?  He wanted to build - and he wanted to build where no one could see him.

No problem...  Let's go play under the table.

Yes - I sat under the table in my pretty clothes with this little boy and we built houses out of the bread that was on the table.  We built houses and cars and made a zoo and animals.  Whatever this kid wanted to build, we built.

Was it appropriate?  Meh, probably not - but the boy's parents got to enjoy a birthday party as adults.  The little boy got to enjoy a kiddie party and I ... Well, I sat under the table on the floor, in my pretty pretty dress and built bread houses with my new friend.

It wasn't his fault that he didn't know how to play like the rest of the kids.  He needed someone to play with him on his level.

After the party, everyone thanked me for taking care of this little boy.  I didn't need to be thanked. 

It was the most fun I ever had at a kiddie party... EVER.

Sometimes we just need to get over ourselves and stop judging what we don't understand and get down to a level that you do understand.  Maybe even have some fun.

...and build houses out of bread.

Thank you for reading my blog!

~Jenn



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No one is spared...

I flipped on the news this morning and was saddened to hear of the suicide death of Rick Warren's son.

Some of you may know who Rick Warren is.  He's the pastor of the Saddle Back Church in Lake Forest, CA.  A mega-church - which I state for a reason.  Rick Warren is also the author of the book, The Purpose Driven Life.  If you're Christian and you've read this book, you've probably heard of him.

Relax people...  I've never ever denied my status as a Christian - but I've also never crammed it down your throat.  Read on...

This post is meant to show - no one is spared.

No matter how good or bad, wealthy or poor you may be - depression can sneak in.  Depression knows no boundaries.  It doesn't care who you are or what you do.  Depression hides in the nooks and crannies.  In the places you don't even think of looking.  No matter what some people try to do or say or feel, it's there.

Watching the brief interview on the news with Pastor Warren and his wife, I saw the familiar grief.  The grief of parents who lost their son... to suicide.  Forget that he's an author, a pastor of a mega-church.  He's a father.  She's a mother.  They are the grieving parents of a 27 year old man who took his life, because life was too much for him.  Matthew Warren struggled with depression.

It was quoted that Pastor Warren's son said to him ten years earlier, "Dad, I know I'm going to heaven.  Why can't I just die and end this pain?"

WOW

When every instinct in the lives of most is to survive - he just wanted to die.

While this has always been something I have not been able to wrap my head around,
this continues to be the re-occurring theme of suicide.

The thing that those afflicted can't seem to get away from.  The pain is just too much.

It always hits me hard when I hear of suicide.  It's like reliving my own pain over and over again through the tears of others.

Today it was wanting to reach through the TV and hug them - to tell them they weren't alone.

No one is spared.  Not the rich.  Not the poor.  Not the most holy or the most evil.

Anyone can suffer from depression.  Any family can lose someone they love in the most horrible way.

No one is spared.

To Matthew, a man I never knew - I wish you the peace of heart in heaven which you were unable to find here on earth.  I wish an end to your pain.

If you are feeling depressed, or suicidal or need someone to talk to - reach out.  Hurting yourself isn't the answer.  Don't suffer in silence.  Someone does love you.  Someone wants to help you.  Someone will be there for you.  Please reach out!

Thank you for reading my blog!

~Jenn

National Suicide Prevention Life Line:
No matter what problems you are dealing with, we want to help you find a reason to keep living. By calling 1-800-273-TALK (8255) you’ll be connected to a skilled, trained counselor at a crisis center in your area, anytime 24/7. Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Blended families....Not for the weak hearted

I am the product of, and have my very own blended family....

If this term is unfamiliar to you, a blended family is one where two families come together as one.  Whatever the circumstances may be.  (Think Brady Bunch)

When I was growing up, my parents divorced and my mother married my (step) dad, who was also divorced with kids.  We didn't all live in the same house & on weekends there was a kid shift.  I & my brothers to dad's my step-sibs to my house to visit their dad.

When I was growing up, I was not fond of my "steps".  I got along well with my step brother, but sometimes resented all the "extras" he seemed to get.  My step sister wasn't around much, and when she was - I usually wasn't.  I went to my dad's on weekends as well.

Confused yet?

I was always confused.  None of that was easy, for anyone.

My step dad wasn't my daddy.  He was my mother's husband & in my youth, I resented his absolute being.  I hated him telling me what to do, where to be, when to be home & even that he breathed the same air I did.  I did not make life easy for anyone and vice versa.  This, of course, changed as I grew older & matured.  Many years prior to his death, he and I became very close.  I miss him now - but during my childhood - the situation was just awful.

I now have my very own blended family.  In my case, I was married previously and have a son from that marriage & well, that didn't work out very well.  A few years later, I met my husband, we got  married and we had our daughter.... At first, things went along wonderfully.  Kyle & hubby got along great. Everything was wonderful - the birds were singing, the flowers were blooming, love, love, love.

THEN - my son started maturing.... The testosterone surge came through & suddenly it became a power struggle.  (pay back's a bitch)  My little boy started becoming a young man & resented my husband.  Hated him actually.  All this mere months after his little sister was born.

I've got to give it to my husband.  He's put up with more crap than I ever would have!  It was NOT an easy 7+ years of Kyle going through his stuff!  (it wasn't all bad)  They yelled, they fought - sometimes Kyle was right, sometimes my husband was right- and I was always stuck in the middle.  Nothing I ever said was right.  No one was happy.  It was a constant struggle.

My little baby girl was the princess & could do no wrong in daddy's eyes.  Though I could clearly see when she was being a little turkey - her daddy only saw rays of sunshine beaming from her entire being.  She picked up on this immediately and used it to her advantage.  Kyle would walk past her & she'd start screaming & crying.  Kyle would get in trouble.  As mommy to BOTH of the children - I was totally impartial...  Hubby, not so much.

So what's the answer?  There isn't one.  It would be fabulous if everyone were able to marry their forever person on the first shot - not as easy as it sounds!  For sure that would make things easier & eliminate the whole blended family thing.


It's not always awful and uncomfortable, but it sure is work.  Someone's feelings are always being hurt - someone's always having issues.  It's a job!

I am lucky to have a strong man.  Like I said, I couldn't have put up with a quarter of the crap he's dealt with.  My son is my life, but he's never been easy & he knows it!  He's definitely earned me my mommy stripes & then some.

It's hard for me knowing the resentment between my husband & my son.  This was definitely not what I had in mind when I started out in my relationship with my husband.  I do hope that when my son grows up & matures - he will also see that his step-dad did have his best interest at heart.  He did love him & did think of him as his son.  For now, it is what it is....

I'm just thankful we've all come through so much & continue to roll forward.....

Thank you for reading my blog!

~Jenn

Life IS good... A tribute to my dad 29 years later...

I received a really nice compliment from my cousin the other day.

She said, "Jenn, I love how you always do nice things for people."

THAT, to me - is one of the biggest compliments I could ever receive.
That compliment, to me, means that I am being my father's daughter.  I'm living as he lived and as he taught me.

My dad was one of those guys that would give you whatever you needed.  It didn't matter if it was his last or only.  If he had something that could help to make someone else's life a little easier, giving it to that person made him happy.

I know this first hand, because I am his daughter.

I am the "little girl" that, when my dad came into some money, didn't even have to finish the "I would like  want." sentence and my daddy was providing it to me.  He wanted me to be happy.  A bit spoiled, yes - but happy.

That is who he was.

Although this is my self proclaimed Mental Health Month
because my dad took his own life on this day in 1984,

I didn't want this post to be about how he died.

 I wanted it to be about how he lived,
 so that when people read this post they think,
"Wow, her father was an amazing individual."

Was my dad the absolute perfect person on the planet?
Well, he was my daddy, OF COURSE I thought so!

I do know that if he talked the talk, he walked the walk.  If he said he'd be there, he was there.  If he made a promise, he kept it and if you needed something - he would find a way to provide it to you.  No questions asked.
He wanted others to be happy.

This is how I think of my dad.  This is how many thought of my dad.
He was just a nice guy who did for others with no agenda.
This is the person I try to be. 

As an adult, or at least someone who is older and is supposed to know better, I wonder how he was able to hide his pain so well for so long.  He always smiled and joked around.  He always seemed happy.  I never knew of his demons.  I don't know if anyone did.

If I could have saved him I would have done my damndest.... But here we are.  I didn't know my dad needed help.  Even if I did, I don't know if I could have helped him, but I CAN help someone else out there... Someone who may read this.  Someone who may be lost or feel that it's just not worth it.
It IS worth it...really.  All of it!  Even the crap.

This month, I've sought out anyone who was willing to share their personal experiences on mental health with me... with you.

This is all I could think of to do to honor my dad.  To do as he would do.  Reach out and help another person.  Not only with my own personal experience of pain as a suicide survivor x2, but for others who experience pain in their own way.

For me, the sun rose and set over my daddy,

and to this day I love and miss him as I live and breathe.

This is my gift to my dad.  

My tribute to him, on this day.

29 years after he chose to leave this planet.

Today, his death will not be remembered with the sorrow of loss, it will be celebrated with the hope of saving another. Even one.

If you are struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts - please don't give up or give in to the feelings.

You are worth it.  You are loved.  Life is worth it.  Really.

No matter what problems you are struggling with, hurting yourself isn't the answer.

Call 1-800-273-TALK (8255) to talk to a counselor at a Lifeline crisis center near you.

Someone does love you and someone WILL miss you and hurt terribly.
Take it from me.  I miss my dad every day.

Thank you for reading my blog.

I send you all love.

~Jenn

In loving memory of my daddy, 
William Robert Cooper ~ August 8, 1942 - March 28, 1984

My Dad and I...  Many years ago

One kind word can change everything...

Throughout this month I've had several guest bloggers share their words for my version of "Mental Health March".

Those words, although difficult to pen, have been shared with the kindness of heart in an effort to help another.  Those words have made a difference to many already.

That does my heart really good, as this is my way to honor my dad.

I focus on the words right now, 

because it really is amazing how powerful a few simple words can be.

Sometimes without the speaker / writer ever knowing their impact.

A few years ago on this date I was really sick.

I was in the hospital waiting for tests.  I was scared and at the hospital alone. I had no idea what the doctors were going to tell me this time.  Nothing to that point had been positive.  It was like an entire cumulation of crap had been thrown at me in ways that seem so far away now.

Things were tense.  I was emotionally brittle.  Physically, a train wreck.  The doctors kept giving me more and more pills and sending me for more and more tests.  I was always sick.  I couldn't walk.  I couldn't sleep.  I felt awful all the time, yet I still had to function.  I had to be mom.  I had to go to work and perform well.  It wasn't easy.  None of it was.  

I was not feeling fabulous about anything, and it showed.

While I was in the waiting room I remembered it was a friend's birthday, so I routinely sent off a Happy Birthday text and continued on waiting for my testing.  A bit later, my text announcement went off.  As I read the words before me, a smile formed on my face.

It doesn't matter what the words were, or the meaning behind them.  What mattered is that those few nice, unexpected words were sent as a gesture of pure kindness when the writer knew I was having a tough time.

For me those words made me smile during a time I hadn't been smiling much.  Those words made a difficult day a little easier.  Even if it was just for a little while.

I never told of this until now.

People don't always know the power of their words, good or bad.

Small gestures of kindness seem to be overlooked in a world where people become jaded at such a young age.  It's nice to have a reminder that just one smile, one kind word could make a positive difference in someone's day.

...even if it's just for a little while.

So as  you go on with your day, think about your words and how the things you speak or even type could make a positive difference to another.

Because you never know who's crying on the inside.

Thank you for reading my blog!

Have a wonderful day!

Love & Hugs

~Jenn

We the Broken by Cassi at Fire and Rabbits (revised from August, 2012)

This post originally ran last year on the anniversary of my brother's suicide. I have revised it only by taking my initial lead in out and changing it for this month's Mental Health March.

Her words continue to be her words.

I absolutely, positively LOVE my Cassi girl over at Fire and Rabbits.  I joke and say that I act like her internet momma, but I'm too young to be her momma so I'll settle for being her really cool internet auntie.

Cassi is another that I've latched onto for dear life.  I love her, truly will be here for her any time she needs to reach out.

This post brings me to tears each time I read it.

It's a perfect example of WHY I chose to do Mental Health March, in honor of my dad.  To help even ONE person with simple words.

And now, I give you the lovely Cassandra...

we, the broken

Jenn has given me the humbling and honored task of writing a guest post about something that is close to both our hearts on this important anniversary for her.  I wish that neither of us had anything to say on this subject, but sometimes life chooses your strengths for you and God puts you exactly where you need to be, even in times of abject weakness.  I’ve struggled with bi-polar, mania, and depression since I was a small child, and never has it felt like a blessing until now.  The dirty secret about being suicidal is that once you reach a certain point, you don’t care about anything anymore.  Well, except for dying.  You care about that a great deal.  You don’t believe what anyone says to you.  The words of comfort roll off and hit the floor.  The platitudes of PSA’s swarm and retreat, meaningless.  Making the decision is freeing and empowering.  And selfish. And cowardly. 

That’s what no one explains: to seek help is brave.  It’s scary.  It feels unnatural.  When you reach a point where your survival instincts are turned off it’s a terrifying journey to ask for help.  To admit brokenness.  To admit defeat.  I can say all this with absolute certainty because I’ve been there.  I am there.  I live everyday as a person who has to ask for help. 

A year ago this September was my sixth attempt to end my life.  In the hospital, after the cobwebs began to clear, I wrote in my journal:

October 3, 2011

I think one of the biggest things I have to do to get well is let myself remember what I did.  I have to confess to what I willfully and intentionally did to my family and to my body.  I have to put all the ugliness on paper.

Then I have to forgive myself for it.

I remember spending time with my grandmother and mother that day, all of us wondering what to do as my depression worsened.  My lights were barely flickering and any signs of life were becoming harder and harder for my family to see.  I’d been lying to them for years about my condition, pretending to be well and functioning when inside I was slowly unplugging.  They thought I was at the beginning of another cycle of depression that we could cut off at the knees, and secretly I was trying to organize my life enough for my death.

I stayed with a friend because everyone was worried I was too depressed to be alone. I went along with this because I knew they could take care of my dog when I was gone.  I also did not want to die in my mother’s home, or in mine where my dog might be alone for days.  I zombied through an afternoon with my mother and grandmother feeling like a petulant child mumbling automatic answers to empty questions.

I went back to my friend’s house and showered and put on makeup, trying not to consider my fat, pale form repulsing the people who would have to get my body.

I took eight beers from the fridge and hid them in the guest room, feigning tiredness and excusing myself for the night.  I started with the Klonapin first, 27 pills washed down with cowboy cold Lone Star beer.  Then the Atenolol for good measure, also 27 pills.  Then I fell asleep with my dog curled up on my feet.  I woke up about three and realized I hadn’t done enough so I went to my friend’s medicine cabinet and took 24 Walgreen’s brand 12 cold and sinus pills then 18 Aleve 12 hour cold and sinus pills, then 8 more Aleve.  I remember they spilled on the floor.

Then I slept.

The rest is a blur—my friend found me around four the next afternoon and wondered why I was still in bed.  She called poison control and we went straight to the ER.  I know my mother and grandmother were there.

No one could understand how I had lived.  Even my liver enzymes were fine.

I was sent to a mental hospital, again, numb and lethargic and angry.   The first five days were spent detoxing out what I took and trying to get my bearings.  My nephew was born a few days later.  I looked at his little face in the pictures my mother sent and wanted desperately to re-join the living:

October 3, 2011

Today I laughed with my fellow patients.  I mourned their losses in a group, and I began to see how lovely We, The Broken, can really be.  We reflect and expand and contract.  We tell the truth about our own shame and guilt, and we admit the courage it takes to heal from deep wounds.  We accept that sometimes the only answer is “it is what it is” and that has to be enough.

I have victimized myself and my family for too long.  I have used my illness as a tool to manipulate and be an observer in my own life.  If I had only understood that being well doesn’t mean that problems go away and the waves of life stop crashing.

I no longer have to put on a brave face.  I can be brave, courageous, fearful or scared and know that I am loved so completely that people are willing to fight for me.  Everyone, including me, is a person who is loved deeply.  We have mothers or fathers, brothers or sisters and friends who care for us when we do not care for ourselves.  There is an army of love out there, people who are fighting their own battles to understand what brought us here.

The most obvious thing I see in my journals from the hospital as a person now struggling to live and be well is that I was never, at any time, alone.  I had people holding me up—in prayer, in support, in tears, in compassion; I was surrounded by love.  It was seeping into all the hollow places I had allowed my depression to eat away over the years. 

I guess that I’m the tough love version of suicide prevention.  I’ve earned my stripes in a terrible way so I can use tough love.  If you are struggling, ask for help.  It’s scary.  I get it.  But the consequences of staying the way you are is more far reaching than you can understand right now.  I know what it’s like for your brain to be clouded in depression—nothing anyone says makes sense—but listen to them anyway.  They love you.  They love you more than you love yourself, most likely, and they are your advocates right now.  Let them be until you are well.  Let your army fight for you.  There isn’t a big secret to life somewhere that you missed but everyone else knows.  Life is for living, even if it sucks sometimes.

I live with the damage I’ve done to my family and friends every day; the trust that’s been broken, the wounds I’ve administered with select intent, and the shadows of things that I can’t undo.  I’m okay with that, because I’m living.  I get to wake up every day.  I get to write, I get to paint, I get to listen to music and eat good food and hold my nephew and see bluebonnets and have my heart broken. I got to turn 33.  I didn’t think I’d do that.

Who cares if I’m in a million pieces most of the time?  I’m beautiful.  My life is beautiful. 

Even shattered things can reflect light.

I’m determined to be very open about my struggles and victories, and if you have any questions or comments please visit my blog Fire and Rabbits or e-mail me at fireandrabbits@gmail.com.  You’re not the only one who feels lost.  I can say with all honestly I know exactly what you’re going through.  Let someone help you.

Thank you sweetie for sharing this!

Please go visit my lovely Cassi's blog at:  Fire and Rabbits
and her Facebook page at:  Fire and Rabbits

Thank you again, Cassandra.  Your story touches my heart in such a way I can't even clearly state.

Be well, young friend - your heart and spirit are amazing - as are you.  I am in awe of your strength.


If you or anyone you know is struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts, please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

No matter what problems you are struggling with, hurting yourself isn't the answer. Call 1-800-273-TALK (8255) to talk to a counselor at a Lifeline crisis center near you.

Someone loves you and someone WILL miss you.  I promise! 

Never, ever give up.

~Jenn

Smoochies to you all!

Living in the Dark By: I Will Get Up Again and Again

Some people on here I've latched onto for dear life.
Not because I want to ride anyone's coat tails - because that's not my style, but because I see something in them in some way that draws me to them.

It's no different with today's guest blogger.  I've latched onto I Will Get Up Again and Again for my own personal reasons.  Mostly because I want to see her continue to get up.  I want her darkness to fade and for the sunshine to fall gently on her face as she smiles and says out loud... 
"It's a good day!"

I have been reading I Will Get Up Again and Again for several months and I like to think I'm one of her biggest cheerleaders.  Even if I don't always outwardly express it.

Her story is one of consistently choosing to get up every single day.  Even when it's like living in the dark.

I give you  I Will Get Up Again and Again:

Readers of my blog know that I’ve struggled with various forms of depression and suicidal ideation off and on for several years.  Consistently since my youngest was born in 2002. The intensity spiked up ten notches after I had gastric bypass and the ability to absorb medication properly came to an abrupt halt in 2004.

Some days I believe I am the Queen of Suicidal Ideation.  I imagine my psychiatrist believes the same thing.  Several years ago, shortly after I was released from a short inpatient hospitalization, she said to me “Do you really believe you will eventually kill yourself?”  I can’t even tell you what my response to her was.  What she said next, I know I will never forget.  Ever.  It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to process.  I didn’t process it.  I didn’t even let it affect me.  She was right.  I knew it.  And just like many other areas things in my life...I stuffed what she said...deep down in the ‘don’t go there’ emotional bin.  

It wasn’t until about 18 months ago, when she said it to me again, that it dug deep. Even deeper than the first time. When I left her office, I spent another hour sitting in my car.  Processing what she said.  The depth of her comment.  And how incredible hard it was to hear.  

“__, I’m not convinced you won’t kill yourself.  And that haunts me each night.”

This was a continued conversation regarding medication, the lack of being able to take them, being at the end of another failed attempt, and pure frustration for both of us.  

I had no hope at that point and the pros/cons of being hospitalized was thrown around. To hear Dr. KSB confirm she didn’t have that hope, was a bit devastating.  Initially, few years earlier, it didn’t have the same effect.

I contemplated never going back to see her.

I made an appointment with a psychiatrist that specializes in gastric bypass, whom I had seen when I was in the hospital, whom had done an evaluation on me prior to my WLS, and whom even though I didn’t like...I did trust his knowledge was extensive.  It was a 6 month wait to see him.  I was desperate when I scheduled that appointment.  The appointment came and went.  He confirmed that I was seeing one of the best psychiatrists and that I needed to continue my treatment with her.  He gave me his recommendations and sent them to Dr. KSB.  Telling me to follow-up with her in a week or two.  He also, added several dx to my permanent chart.  That appointment was a year ago.  None of his recommendations were options at the time.  Dr. KSB has left the one recommendation as a last case scenario.  Agreeing that the only way she would suggest it being an option, would be if there was an attempt to end my life.  It would be, as he said...”LAST CASE SCENARIO”.  

And so...I continue to see her.  She knows me. I know her. She trusts me (I think). I trust her.  

And she knows that filling me with all sorts of medications is not an option.  

At my last appointment with Dr. KSB, we discussed the current state of my marriage.  My husband and I are both patients of hers.  Once again, she told me ‘my gut tells me you would not survive a separation or divorce’.  Damn as much as I know that. It is harder to hear it.  Once again, I sat in my car for a good hour after my appointment trying to process what she had to say.

Currently, mental illness waxes and wanes in my life.  There are a few good days here and there.  There are suicidal days where I’m holding on to the last bit of the frayed string, trying everything in the book to stay alive.  Some days all I can do is lay on the couch and watch my dogs play, listen to my children's voices, fighting against everything to hold on to their sweet voices.  Praying and hoping against all hope that the depression will lift.  Leave me alone.  At least for a day.  

A few weeks ago, I wasn’t suicidal.  I had more than an entire day without the constant thoughts of hurting myself, the bad thoughts, the self hatred, and self harm impulses.  Just sadness.  Sadness that this is my life.  The next few days, I wasn’t so lucky.

That is the nature of this beast.  The last 18-24 months this has been my life.  It is a constant battle to get up every day.  Some days, the darkness lifts.  

Everybody Hurts by REM rings a bell.  I woke up thinking about this song this morning.

And so....I leave you with that.

Everybody Hurts.

Everybody Cries.

Hold On.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2N_uvnvGbI

_~~~~~

And I will add I've had a bad week of suicidal ideation.  Self harm crap has been sky high.  My BFF informed me I'm to negative and need to try to increase positive in my life.  And while I know she is right, when every ounce of my energy is taken by going to work....there is nothing left.  Excuse?  Sure as hell is.  Bit it is where I'm at.  I have went as far as have plan in place and need to be talked down off the ledge by one of my Orlando Moms.  She gets this place.  I know she does.  And somehow that makes it that much harder.

Thank you, my sweet G for sharing your story. You know I just want to hug you through the computer every single day.

Please go on over and visit G on Facebook at:
 I Will Get Up Again and Again
And her blog page at:
I Will Get Up Again and Again 

Keep getting up girlfriend!

Thank you all for continuing through this series.

If you or anyone you know is struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts, please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

No matter what problems you are struggling with, hurting yourself isn't the answer. Call 1-800-273-TALK (8255) to talk to a counselor at a Lifeline crisis center near you.

Someone loves you and someone WILL miss you.  I promise!

Never, ever give up.

Lots of love,
Jenn