Can one be so smart, yet amazingly dumb at the same time?

How can some people that are so amazing intelligent, be so intolerably dumb?? I'm serious. Let's just say that someone I know works for a particular industry where files and such are very important and need to be disposed of properly. As in, they need to be shredded after a certain amount of time. Not kept in a semi-private warehouse and definitely not thrown into a dumpster somewhere. So why is it that these smart people decide the best thing to do with the top secret files dump 1,328 pounds of files into a dumpster??? Oh, and let’s not forget to mention that they had to drive right by the shred company that they pay for monthly to get to the dumpster they chose to dump them in. What the FRIG??!?!?

I am sure you are asking yourself how I know all of this, and certainly this cannot be true. No one can really be that dumb. Oh how wrong you are. I know because I spent the better part of two hours in said dumpster retrieving these oh so very important files so that: One- The idiotically genius person that threw them in the dumpster didn't lose his business or get unimaginable fines; Two- Because I am one of those stupidly nice people that doesn't want any one, no matter how stupid they are, to get hurt in any way shape, form, or fashion; and lastly, because I was stupid enough to open my mouth and point out that the person they had chose to send to 'guard' this dumpster was needed more on the job. Of course, they agreed with me and said that I should go instead.

Through all of the heat (did I tell you that it was hot as balls outside, not to mention in a metal dumpster), pain (I found a way to break numerous blood vessels in the fingers on my left hand. Can you say OW?!!), sweat (Oh man, I didn't even sweat that much the last time I had sex!), and falls (Yes, I busted my ass in the dumpster. The kind of fall that catches you so off guard that you can't help but laugh as soon as it happens with your legs still sticking up in the air.) That this afternoon dealt me, it was still an experience I will never forget. As my big ass was in the dumpster my friend and fellow co-worker Zowie was loading everything into our two vehicles. She got a kick out of me climbing into the dumpster, losing my footing once in the dumpster, and the crazy one liners that were coming out of my mouth. Not to mention the hot ass guy that was working at the shred company where we ended up. That in itself was almost worth it, to see him in action... Yummy! Well almost… I think a raise or a paid day off is more in order, and I think Zowie would agree!

Writing Excersise #2: Coping

After reading this chapter, I am somewhat confused, intrigued, and scared. I never knew that many of the ways that I deal with things could be considered coping. I have always that the only way I coped was pushing it back into a box of sorts and locking it up. Sure, it got lose from time to time, but for the most part I have always just put it away. That was honestly the only way I knew how to deal with it, not to mention the only way that I felt like I wasn't going to go crazy. Like I said, I never knew so many of the little things that I do daily can be looked at as a coping mechanism. Even E has pointed out somethings that I do that she views as a way coping. The best way I can describe these discoveries is to make a list. Which, by the way, I have been told that my constant need for structure and order is another way of coping.

• I'll start my need for structure, order, and consistency. I always thought my love for math, history, lists, outlines, and the like was just something that I just enjoyed. But the morning I am learning, not only about myself, but about recovery and healing, is telling me that I enjoy those things because they are always the same. They never change, they never leave. 2 + 2 will always be 4 no matter how you change it. The Civil War will always be an American war on American soil. Lists and outlines are my way of organizing my thoughts and feelings. They are way of weeding out bad thoughts, ways of possibly getting embarrassed, or not making sense. I can write and rewrite until I am happy with the outcome and feel comfortable about whatever it is I am going to do with it. Beneath all of that, I have been told that it is a way of making things my own. Of taking control of the situations and feeling comfortable with the fact that I can always rely on the consistency of the known, instead of fearing the unpredictability of a situation.
  
• Next is my ability to fake things. I touched on this a couple of times, but the ability I have of being able to fake adaption to any situation is both a good and a bad thing for me. The good being that I can walk into just about any situation and deal with it. Anything from a job to a bar, I have always been known for my way of walking into a room like I own it. The bad is that on the inside on all of those situations I am dying inside. Constantly questioning what people are thinking of me, if they are looking at me, why I am there, and how am I going to deal with this without people knowing that I am freaking out on the inside. 75% of people, even my very close friends and family, have, or had, any idea that I was truly like that. Hell, even the people I consider to be closet to me and have complete and total trust in didn't know how bad I was until the last few years. It always amazes people how scared of everyday life I truly am. To me, it is just another day. Another fake smile that I put on until I am by myself.
  
• I am that friend that everyone comes to for help, support and honesty. I had never thought anything other than I was just one of those people that enjoy seeing others happy and figuring out those problems with them to feel useful. I had honestly never thought any more of it than that. But from what I have read and been told, it is my way of trying to help everyone and not face my own fears and problems. My need to make sure people are happy and taken care of is my way of securing that others aren't hurting like I am. To make sure that everyone close to me is secure in their life and that no problems can get to them without going through me first. My severe protection of my friends is my way of saying that nothing will hurt them, or me, again. While this can be a great thing, and I do enjoy being there for the ones I care about, it ables me to push my own fears and problems to the back of my mind. Knowing what they are going through makes it easier for me to say that my problems are nothing compared to them, not to mention that they don't need to hear my fears when they have so much going on in their own lives. Until recently I never realized how true that actually was, but it is.

I started writing this about 3 weeks ago.... for some reason it never got finished. I don't know where I am at this point. E had told me to expect to go through a period of non-activity. I didn't realize that she meant it was going to stop me from being able to write or enjoy a book, but it did. I don't know when I am going to finish it. But I know I will, at some point. I go back to E on Monday, maybe that will get me back in the deal with it mode that I was in.

Wonders never cease

Why is it that some days it seems like everyone in the world is dealing with one type of sadness or another? I wake up each day to convince myself that I can make it through another day, and that I made the right decision to start my journey to recovery. Everyday it’s a little easier to believe that I did make the right decision, at the same time it’s still not any easier to deal with the pain that I now can’t seem to push away. But it’s days like today, that no matter how hard my life truly is, I am reminded that I am not the only one with pain and suffering, though it may feel like it at times.

My co-worker and friend Z took a long awaited trip this past weekend to see her fiancé. She was so excited all of last week, almost to the point of annoyance to those of us not in one of those happy relationships. Not only was it the first time in nearly two months that she had seen him, but it was also her first plane ride. Needless to say, she was elated for Friday to come. When she came in this morning, of course my first question to her was about her weekend. I could tell by looking at her that something was off, but honestly put it off to her being tired from the weekend and late flight last night. When she made eye contact I could tell then that she had been crying. It turns out that her weekend was not anything like what she expected. Early Saturday night she overheard her fiancé talking with a friend. His friend was trying to convince him to tell her about something, and he was saying that he didn’t know how. Apparently, her fiancé had a one night stand not too long ago. Needless to say, she was not only pissed, but crushed as well. This was the man she planned on marrying. The man she had loved for the past four years. All of the sudden her world was falling around her. She gave him back the ring and spent the remainder of her weekend alone in a hotel in a stranger city. All I could tell her was that no matter what anyone says or does for her nothing will be ok until her heart and head decides it’s time. That it’s ok to be upset and angry and that no one can blame her for being upset or distracted. The good thing is that she is young and has plenty of time in life to fall in love again. Who knows this may be a great thing for her, or so I can only hope for her.

Today my brother’s uncle passed away after a long, hard battle with cancer. He was put into a hospice last night after being told that there wasn’t much else they could do for him. Basically his body was rejecting it’s self and all they could do for him was make him as peaceful as possible. J, his mother, and brother had planned to leave Wednesday or Thursday to go to see him, thinking that it probably wouldn’t be much longer before he passed. No one expected to be leaving to attend a funeral. Now, as it turns out J, C, J’s parents, and siblings will all be leaving very early Wednesday morning to make arrangements and help with preparations. Though I myself had never met Uncle M, I have heard so many stories of his generosity, carefree ways, and loving attitude that I know he will be very dearly missed.

It’s time like this, that I step back and realize that while, yes, I am hurting more than I have in a long time, I am not the only one. I am not saying that my pain, or theirs, is any more or less than the other, but it’s sometimes a shock to be reminded that everyone suffers in one way or another, more often than most people care to realize most of the time. While these two stories are very different in nature, they both share a common quality. Both J and Z lost a loved one this weekend, and nothing will ever replace that spot in their hearts. I can only hope that the pain fades with time.

~*In Memory of Uncle M: Rest in Peace*~

To be or not to be a .... bully??

As I am sitting here tonight I am amazed at the things I am hearing. My niece, Kelly, has just told my brother and sister the truth of a fight that she was involved in on Friday. This past weekend was her weekend to be with her mother, further known as WD (Womb donor), so they just found out about it tonight. I am not amazed because she was involved in a fight, the fact that she lied, or even the fact that WD did not find it necessary to let anyone know until tonight when J went to pick her up. What I am amazed at is the fact that Kelly picked on this little girl in her class until that little girl pushed her down and shoved grass into her mouth. While this is something all children go through at one point or another in their lives, it just really disappoints me that it was my little Kelly. She, herself, was picked on so badly last year that she came home in tears almost everyday for a week because she was not wearing name brand shoes. She cried and begged J and C to help her in some sort of way, to make this boy stop picking on her. Now, almost a year later she was the one doing the bullying. It makes me sad that the lesson and pain of what she went through didn't stick with her.

J and C try to explain and get the point across that it's not nice or right to pick on anyone. That you don't know what kind of problems or pain it could cause for them, whether it be now or in the future. Hearing that really made me think of my childhood and how much I was picked on for being overweight, not wearing the right kind of clothes, or not living in the right city. I wanted her to understand what J and C were telling her, so I asked if I could tell the story, hoping that maybe it would help her get the point they were trying to make, also that it would make her understand that as little as something may seem to you it could mean so much more to someone else.

The story I told Kelly was one of where I was in the sixth grade. I was basically the new girl in a new middle school, from a neighboring town that was not thought of all that highly by this school. As I said before I was always overweight and it was a constant joke to some. At the time, my favorite color was purple and I had a all purple outfit that I loved to wear. Hell, I even had purple Keds to match, I thought it was awesome. One day as I was coming out of literature class I heard a chorus of three to four girls singing "How now purple cow! You're so fat, you are a cow! How now purple cow!" To this day, I will not wear purple. I hate just about anything having to do with the color purple. How silly is that? At twenty-eight years old, I still refuse to have anything to do with a color, no less, because of something mean that was said to me in the sixth grade! Yet, at the same time, I know that it really did affect me more than I understand. I associate the color purple with mean, being over weight, and a childhood that I want to run away from. If only I could save her from the pain that could be caused by her getting picked on and the trouble that it will cause when she gets in trouble or possibly loses friends for being the bully herself. Then again, we all have to learn our lessons ourselves in one way or another. I just truly hopes she understands that this could have been a whole lot worse, especially if she was the one getting picked on.

The first of many... hopefully!

So the first 'writing exercises' is from the first chapter. This chapter talks about the effects that being abused, thinking you have been abused, or being around someone that has been abused has on you and all aspects of your life. The ways that it can have an ever lasting affect on your day to day life and not to mention your personal feelings about your self and the way you feel others may view you. Let me start off by saying that this was a difficult chapter for me to make it through without pulling myself away and just 'read a book.' What I mean by this is one of the ways I learned to cope a long time ago was to pull away and just put on a happy facade. This could be while in public settings or even just when I am alone. So when I enter a situation that I find hard to deal with or begin to feel anxious about I tend to pull into that fake world of happiness that I have created. But, I don't want to be that way with this book, my 'healing', or like that in general anymore. I promised myself that if I was really going to do this and do it to the best of my abilities I was going to do it full out and head on. That in itself is a big deal to me, and it has already begun causing issues with me. Panic attacks that I haven't had in nearly fifteen years are back with a vengeance, and let me not forget to mention the nightmares, even when not sleeping. As I explained it to C and J, when they each witnessed one, it's like I have opened Pandora's Box. All of the visions and feelings that I haven't had to or made myself deal with in a long time are out and are not going to be forced in that box again. No matter what I do, I just can't seem to push these thoughts, visions, and feelings back like I have always been able to. The are the things that the first chapter touched on that not only surprised and hurt, but also brought forth a lot of these thoughts and feelings that I had always been able to push away. I have always been very down on myself. I thought it was because of the way society treated me or the way I felt that society looked down upon me. I have always, and will probably continue to be, a big girl. I am in the governments and general society views, obese. While this has always in my head, I think I was always worse on myself than others. I have never been happy with who I am or the way I look. This follows through to the way I look, the way I talk, the way I deal with everyday life. In the back of my head I guess I always associated these feelings with the abuse that I sustained at the age of seven, but it was never really at the forefront until I was much older and started really taking a hard look at the world. But, it's also like I said earlier. I created the happy facade at such a young age that most people never took the true look at me long enough to realize that it was just a facade and that on the inside I was so scared I could hardly breathe. It wasn't until I met my best friend/sister that I opened up and talked about it for the first time. And, even then I held a lot back. Even she didn't know, and still doesn't, everything. She was the first person I ever told anything to about the abuse since I had tried to tell my mother when it first happened. I was/am so scared that it would change her opinion of me or the way she felt about me. Though I know that it's silly to think that, but I can't help it. It's one of those lasting affects of not being good enough. That if I don't pretend and act like everything and I are perfectly happy then no one will want to be around me. For many years I used this and sex to numb myself. I pulled so far into myself that I didn't even know who I was anymore. I found comfort in alcohol, sex, and men in general. While a lot of abused women have a hard time being touched or having sex, I was just the opposite. I distanced myself so far from it that it meant nothing to me, unless I wanted it too. It got me the attention that I wanted at that time and place. I used my sexual assertiveness to make people think I was outgoing and happy, but on the inside I was dying of suffocation from all those years of being inside myself. I don't know that I even know who I am now, but I am working on it. Through everything I have been told that I am such a strong woman. To have been through everything that I have been through and still be standing on my own two feet, living my own life, being a single mother, working a very stressful job, and waking up everyday is amazing... while to them it may be, to me it's just another day. Some are good, some are bad, but they are all just days. While some people might see that as depressing, I see it as a strength. I feel that I am one of the very few people in this world that can honestly say that I live life day to day. While it used to bother me, I find now that it's a blessing and strength in my own way.

I didn't realize that I would be able to say so much. What's funny is that I am stopping myself. I feel like I am rambling and I really want to start trying to explain a little more of my back ground before going on. Then, maybe, some of the things I am saying will make a little more sense. Not only to you, but maybe to me too. I have never really dealt with everything from my past. I have never put it all down, and for me that is sometimes the best way to deal with things. To see it there in black and white, is sometimes shocking and therapeutic at the same time.

And here we go...

My name is Jena and I am a survivor... Ok, let's be honest here. As you can plainly see this is a blog of my life and participation in therapy to recover/deal with the past twenty one years of my life. I don't know how often, or if ever again, I will post, but this is a beginning. Some days I might use this as a way of talking about things that have sent me over the edge that day or things that just might have happened. Other days I might use it as a journal to express what I am feeling or as a way to do writing assignments that are involved with my therapy and the book I am working with. This is not my way of publishing my personal experiences or thoughts to gain attention, just so you know. I just don't know another way to share my feelings and process of recovery that might end up helping someone else deal with their own or not feel so alone if they haven't started their own healing process. All comments, whether positive or negative are welcome... and I mean that honestly. Who knows... this may end up being the one tool that works for me better than any other. Hell, it might even end up in the book that is helping me 'heal' or it might just end up being one more blog in the blogosphere that never sees the light of day again. Either way, this is me, my story, my life, and my process of healing.