Kids?

Obviously procreation is necessary for the continuation of our species.  Having children is unavoidable in many situations, but now with modern aids such as birth control or condoms, we can live without passing our genes off to another.  But why would you want to?  Why would anyone NOT want to have children?  I’ll tell you why.

I grew up always believing I would have babies.  I loved babies.  I was almost 7 when my youngest brother was born and I absolutely loved taking care of him and playing with him.  When I became a teenager and my oldest cousin started having babies, I lived with her in the summer and during college to help her with her 3 babies.  I have a very special bond with them because of this and I am forever grateful.  But recently, I have made the decision that I would not want to bring another life into this world.  I have multiple reasons for feeling this way, so I’d like to make my argument that not having children is going to be the best decision for me and my life.

First of all, when I was about 12 years old, I got my period for the first time.  I also mentioned previously that I have a genetic metabolic disorder.  Well, annually, I used to go to a local hospital each year to meet with a specialist and discuss my life, my diet, and for them to ultimately monitor my progress and measure how “normal” I am.  The year I got my period, that visit changed my life.  They decided that now that I am a “woman” it would be a good time to tell me that having healthy babies would almost be an impossibility due to my condition.  The excess phenylalanine (phe) levels in my blood would compromise the fetus’s development in the womb and chances for normalcy were slim.  Crash.  Devastation.  My dreams of ever becoming a mother were just torn from my heart and it took me probably about 15 years to become okay with this.  Since then, there have been many leaps in medical treatment and control of my disorder, and there have been healthy babies born while mothers with PKU are on a new pill that helps to regulate these phe levels.  Catch is, insurance rarely covers it and you have to take, on average, 30-40 pills a day.  Plus there is no guarantee that baby will be healthy.  I am among the oldest people who have been tracked since birth with this disorder, so not much medical knowledge precedes us regarding many aspects.  Regardless, healthy children would mean taking a gamble.

For a long time, I knew I would still try to have at least one baby.  I knew the pregnancy would be the hardest thing I’ve ever done and no results were guaranteed, but I was convinced that my desire to be a mother would supersede any cravings for something high in protein.  But then, life happened.

I became a “stepmother” to a 7 year old in 2008 when I started dating my ex.  We were together for 6 and a half years and I watched this beautiful young man grow into a teenager.  He is now 14 and I love him as if he were my own.  During this time, I have learned what a pain the ass it is to be a parent.  Constantly worrying and trying to make sure you are teaching them to make the right choices and do the right things.  Overall, it is a very controlling job.  I don’t like to exert control over people.  I used to be very bossy.  I was the oldest growing up in my house of 3 kids and I look back on when I was younger and realize just how bossy and domineering I was.  I probably got this from my mom, because that’s how she ran our household, but when it was brought to my attention, I didn’t like what I saw.  I don’t want to be the mom who says “because I said so!”  So after a few years of keeping myself in check, I have become a very easy-going person.  Easy-going isn’t going to cut it if you want your kid to turn out NOT a little asshole.  While this isn’t technically a reason I think one shouldn’t have kids, it certainly helped me to make my final decision.

The main reason I don’t feel bad about not wanting to have kids is the state of the world I would be bringing them into.  Yes, we have it easy.  We have technologies and luxuries our ancestors I’m sure couldn’t even dream about.  We are in a digital age where we can be located at the touch of a button and there is even talk of micro-chipping us, making all of our personal information attainable at the pass of a wand.  Sounds great?  Really?  Does it?  Control.  We are being controlled.  We live in this country with the illusion of freedom, not actual freedom.  Our government and leaders have distracted us with technology and entertainment so that we don’t see what is actually happening behind the scenes.  Voting booths are digital.  How difficult do you really think it would be to control the elections?  Do you really think you have a say?  You probably didn’t even know that taxing our income is not required by law.  But not only have we given up our own freedom, we have also enslaved and killed trillions upon trillions of animals and destroyed our precious Earth for the benefit of having the luxury of eating any type of meat or cheese we want at the expense of our own health.

Who is to say we even deserve to procreate?  Not only are we destroying our planet, but we are destroying ourselves.  It makes me sad now, all the innocent children brought into this world on a daily basis.  They will be taught what their parents know, which is mostly nothing.  They will continue to love television and video games and continue to be distracted by professional sports and entertainers.  They will perpetuate the enslavement of innocent animals who deserve to live just as freely in this world, if not more so, than we do.  So having children saddens me now.  If I did have children, I know they would be raised right and I would instill my beliefs in them, and they would feel my overwhelming love and joy for them and the beauty in this world, and they would become the most beautiful of souls.  But when they learn the truth, they will be just as depressed about the world as I am.  They will cry when faced with the ugly truth of the meat and dairy industry and they will become enraged when they learn that the police force actually has no interest in protecting them, just enforcing laws; laws created by people that government officials elect into office with probably no regard to the population’s actual vote and only have one idea in mind: Control.  Why would I want to do that to an innocent life?

So no babies for me.  Too bad, because I would probably be a great mother and raise brilliant children.  But not only am I not physically equipped to bring healthy babies into this world, but I love my unborn offspring just too damn much to subject them to the horrible truth that so many people ignore.  The human race as a whole, as far as I’m concerned, is a plague to the Earth.  Things need to change, harmony needs to be achieved and I don’t see that happening in this lifetime.  Maybe in my next life, there will be a balance between humans the rest of the world and there won’t be a fight for power and control woven into our very nature.  There is hope to become a mother in my next life.

Love

My purpose.  I am here to love.  I am here to love and admire and enjoy.  I love love.  I love being in love, I love watching others in love, I am in love with love.  Perhaps because my sign is ruled by Venus, the planet of love, I am infatuated with loving as much as I possibly can during my short span here on Earth.  I want love all around me all the time.

Sounds great – but the problem is that this world is so full of hate and anger and negativity.  I am surrounded by it.  I do my best not to indulge in it.  I try to encourage and display love and light in all I say and do, but sometimes it gets the best of me.  It is easy for my mind to go into dark places, but for some reason, I only think negative things about myself.  I can forgive the most unforgivable in others and chalk it up to their own life lessons and experience.  But when I make a mistake or someone tells me something is wrong with me, I dive into a self-hating spiral and it is difficult to pick myself back up.

Here is what I think the problem is.  I hate to disappoint people.  I was raised to do whatever my parents said and if I didn’t, I was punished.  And I was punished quite a lot, mostly for speaking my mind and arguing that my mom’s rules made no sense and weren’t fair.  But I digress; what I’ve learned from that is: punish your child enough and they will learn to punish themselves.  How do we change habits that have long been ingrained in our very nature?  How do I accept the fact that I am human and I will make mistakes just as everyone else?  And how do I convince myself that I am worthy of my own forgiveness?  This is what I struggle with when negativity presents itself.  How do I love myself even when I fuck up?

I am so afraid to fail that I rarely take chances on things unless I am completely sure I won’t fuck it up.  Example: my boyfriend and I are playing music together – well, he plays, I sing – and I was so terrified to have my singing actually heard because I was afraid it wouldn’t be perfect.  Which it wasn’t – but did it kill me to actually try?  You would’ve thought it was life or death if you had seen my initial reaction to the “intimidating” microphone standing in front of me.  Why did I have such a ridiculous reaction to the thought of failure?  Why am I so sensitive to constructive criticism or advice?  Because I was raised in an environment that constantly made me feel like I was doing something everything wrong.  And I hate that feeling.  I avoid it at all costs.  And when I do feel like I’ve fucked something up, it is difficult for me to move on.

I’m sure I’m not the only person who feels like this.  In fact, I’m pretty sure my closest friends have the same problem because I know how they were raised, and I have a feeling that is what has attracted us to each other on a LOA level.

But I’m fucking over it.  I’m so tired of living so carefully.  Can you even call it living?  I’ve been so safe up to this point, it hardly feels like it.  When I’m not beating myself up mentally for fucking something up, I actually enjoy myself.  I like the way I think and I like the way I talk.  I appreciate the fact that I can see the light in most situations where others are in despair (they may not like it, but I do) and I enjoy my sense of humor.  I am a pretty cool chick and I will make mistakes.  Ironically, I read this quote on Facebook today:

“The master has failed more times than the beginner has even tried.” – Stephen McCranie

What a noob I am at life.  I’m 30 years old and I’m finally ready to try.  Sorry for all the fuck ups bound to happen, but they are making me a better me and I love that!  And I am grateful for my upbringing, because honestly it humbled me.  I am not perfect, that’s true.  But it has made me a more loving and accepting person when it comes to others.  And I love that about me.

“If you can’t love yourself, then how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?!  Can I get an Amen?!” - RuPaul

“Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

Quite a cliché quote I’m sure we’ve all heard before.  But for some reason, this quote has been brought to the forefront of my attention today.  I’m not sure when it happened, I think it has been culminating over time, but I think I’m ready to make a drastic change to my life.

Now when I say drastic, I’m almost positive that what I mean and what someone else interprets is going to be completely different.  The change I want to make is simply to become more routine, more regimented, more consistent - with everything.  That may not be drastic to some people.  However, in my life, I have never really stuck with any one thing.  I tend to be very lazy and inconsistent.  Because of this, I tend to have very high highs and very low lows.  Are the two directly correlated?  Who is to say?  But I’m tired of the inconsistency.

In order to attempt to add something constant in my life, number one, I have learned that I can’t include anyone else in it.  Whether it be a break-up or death, I have learned the hard way that I am the only thing that will be consistent in my entire life.  I will be here forever (or at least my forever).  That might sound kind of harsh or morbid, but one thing I have learned after the death of my Daddy in 2013 and the break-up with my supposed “soul-mate” and former fiancé in 2014, is that I am in this alone.  That doesn’t mean that I don’t have people to support me or people who want to be with me by my side, but it means that I need to learn to be okay with myself.  I need to learn to depend and rely on only myself for this consistency, because one day you could wake up and your best friend might not.  And you have to be okay regardless.  I have to be okay with myself regardless.

Number two, I have to find something that I enjoy, something that I love, something that lights me up inside.  If it doesn’t, if I view it as work or a chore to do this one thing every day, then there is no way I’m going to do it consistently.  So, something I enjoy and something I can do alone?  Masturbation comes to mind, but honestly, I wouldn’t want to do that every day.  (Nor do I need to – I have a very fulfilling sex life – very.)  What comes to mind again and again is writing.  I enjoy putting my thoughts down.  I always have.  It helps me to organize myself and work through decisions without input from others.  It helps me to determine how I really feel and want to portray myself.  Sharing it lights me up.

Here’s the problem I am concerned with, though.  The last time I wrote and shared my feelings, I was a teenager.  It was on deadjournal and livejournal and xanga.  It caused stupid drama with stupid people and it wasn’t worth it.  That isn’t something I want to do.  For this reason, my writings will be completely anonymous.  No names will be mentioned and if they are, they will be changed.  I anticipate writing about personal issues and opinions and my overall goal here is to add something consistent in my life while sharing experiences that sometimes I feel like I am the only person going through.  I’m sure there are others who feel the same way, so hopefully I will be able to give something back should anyone stumble upon and read this.  But in the end, this is for me.

So here we go, its April 1^st, 2015 and I feel like today is the first day of the rest of my life.  I feel like I have some control and I look forward to consistently blogging and maintaining this miniscule fraction of the internet.

LOA

After studying my past entries, I find that I am in a better emotional state.  Sometimes, we just need to get to the root of a problem before we can come to terms with it and find an effective solution.

So WeightWatchers is going great!  I’ve been on it for 17 days and I’ve lost 14.1lbs.  I feel awesome – my clothes fit me better… I feel prettier!  My confidence level is at an all-time high.  For the first time in a long time, I feel like I have a drive.

So a few years ago, my aunt/GodMother introduced me to “The Secret.”  I watched the movie and read the book, and it made a lot of sense to me.  However, it took about a month-long of listening to the audio CD in my car everyday for it to really sink in.  I recognize “The Secret,” or the law of attraction (LOA) as my reality.  While, in theory, this is a very simple concept, practicing it all day everyday is a whole other story.  How do you constantly remind yourself to think positive?  How, when you are a very thoughtful, strategic person, do you ignore the negative when everything you’ve learned up until this point has taught you to look at both sides of the coin?  How do you analyze something when you are supposed to ignore the alternative to what you want?  This is my problem.

I am a Libra.  Now, I don’t believe that each zodiac sign is true to every individual, but I am a true Libra as far as the justice/equality characterization.  I like to see all sides of a situation… this makes me a very indecisive person.  It takes me a while to really figure out what I want.  When communicating a problem or scenario, I can get lost in the debate of a topic and completely forget to make my point… or settle on one at all for that matter.  On the bright side, I am an excellent problem-solver, but when it comes to the LOA, you have to know what you want.  You have to decide on something, believe it to be, and it will be.  Well, while my brain is analyzing all the reasons why it could NOT be, I am losing focus on bringing it to me.  How do you quiet a thoughtful mind?  How do you decide on something and focus all your energy into it without contemplating alternatives?  How do I not try to figure out all the ways it can possibly come to me and just believe with unwavering faith that it’s coming regardless of route?  Once I figure this out, I will be a master of the LOA.  I have enough emotion to put into what I want… it’s the focus that fucks me up.

This will be another step in my journey… learning to focus my thoughts and desires.

Let’s see… what are some ways to focus your attention throughout the day on what you WANT instead of what you don’t?  “The Secret” suggests things like vision boards.  Basically, you make up a poster or a collage of the things you want.  Find pictures or things that make you focus on the things you want to bring into your life and place them in a spot where you’ll see them everyday.  While you are looking at your vision board, imagine already having these things and feel grateful for them.

Okay… so when am I supposed to do this?  I lead a rather busy life.  I rarely sleep in the same bed two nights in a row and I’m always in my damn car.  My whole job is basically driving to and from clients’ homes or to and from my home and my fiancé’s home.  Perhaps I could make something for my car?  What a distraction that would be.  You know what the first thing on my vision board is going to be when I finally find a place for one?  My own home.  A place where I can keep all my shit together in one place, sleep in my own bed every single night (preferably next to my fiancé), and look at my damn vision board in the same place every single day.

Focus.  I will focus on the things I want and feel grateful for having them.  Until next time…

Men... can't live with or without 'em

In seventh grade, my family got a computer and after a lot of begging, my mom agreed to get us hooked up with AOL.  Like a whole lot of teenagers back then, I eventually became addicted to the internet.  One day, in a random chat room in 7^th grade, I met a boy from Arizona.  We chatted about everything.  Our friendship went through a lot of ups and downs over the years, but looking back, I can see that it was probably one of the most important relationships in my life.  I didn’t speak to my peers in person by this point, so communicating to this boy who would never really know me came easily.  In a lot of ways, I owe him a great deal of gratitude.

I was the type of girl who just loved boys.  I loved them in all sizes, colors, creeds… my most favorite boys at the time were in boy bands, however, because the ones I knew in real life sucked.  But this friend who was a boy gave me a certain degree of assurance.  I idolized boys and all they ever did was make fun of me and cut me down.  This boy saw a good friend in me.  Of course I had girlfriends, but I held boys up on a pedestal.  Looking back, this relationship helped keep me grounded.  It’s the reason I didn’t give up altogether.  I had something to look forward to.  I would turn out to be the girl who was best friends with her boyfriend, and in turn, my relationships would be the long-lasting kind.  I just had to have patience.  I didn’t really want a boyfriend, anyway.  Not yet.  A hopeless romantic, I even declined games of Spin the Bottle and came with a disclaimer when it came to Truth or Dare (it was a rule of mine – I’ll play, but I’m not kissing anybody!)  I wanted the excitement and the memory of a REAL first kiss.  One from a boy that really liked (maybe even loved) me.  This was an instinct I knew I could trust.  I didn’t want to cheat myself of meaningful experiences.  Perhaps this way, my experience came slower, but the reward was that my heart was in each one.

My first kiss was memorable.  I was in 11^th grade and the boy even loved me!  Maybe I didn’t love him, but I trusted him.  I liked the way he loved me, admiring me from afar all those years.  I wanted it to be the fairytale ending… I wanted to love him… but I knew it wasn’t going to happen.  I broke up with him after about three months.  This experience, too, did wonders for my self-esteem.  I am so grateful to have had that experience with such a kind and caring boy.  Even though I would never love him, I would always be grateful for what he was to me at the time.  He was my first real boyfriend… one I could actually talk to.  It was a confirmation that just because most of the boys I knew hated me, it didn’t mean that every boy was the same.

The only friendships that I currently still value and maintain from high school are with boys.  Boys are so much less dramatic than girls.  They are better at keeping secrets (possible because they don’t care about them as much as girls do) and they are less likely to get mad at you for whatever reason (girls are notorious for getting pissy if you look at them the wrong way or your joke offends them).  Overall, I just get along better with guys.  It was a lonely time when I was afraid to talk to them.  High school, though some people hate it, I loved it.  I learned so much.  While I was still afraid to talk to the boys that I actually had crushes on, I made some great friends who did a world of good for my esteem.

Looking back, going to an all-girl’s college at Rutgers University sounds like the dumbest decision a girl like me could have ever made.  But I’d made it… Douglass College’s campus was gorgeous!  I loved everything about it… until I actually moved in.  All girl dorms?  Really?  I can’t stand most girls… what was I thinking?!  Thank God for Marching Band, though – I became friends with some freshman girls I actually had things in common with… although our campus was not one of them.  They lived in adjacent buildings across the river.  About a half hour’s bus ride on a good day.  I stayed there a lot.  I even had a boyfriend for two weeks in the beginning… he was a weirdo, but for some reason (let’s call it insanity) I found him intriguing.  The more I got to know him, though, the stranger and even more annoying he became.  But dating him was apparently written in the stars because through him, I met my first serious boyfriend.

We started dating in April of 2003.  He was the kind of guy who always was better friends with girls.  He originally had a thing for one of my friends at the time, but we hung out more and more and somehow, it turned into an almost four year relationship.  This relationship, no matter how damaged it was, was one of my greatest lessons of all time.

He broke up with me about three months after we moved in together.  We were both 22 years old and had just started school at Rowan University.  We spent all of our time together.  I made no time for friends.  I only spoke to other people when I was at work, or when we hung out with his friends or our families.  I made him my whole world.  We fought a lot.  I didn’t think about why.  I knew he was the man I was going to marry, but I was so unhappy.  But again, I didn’t think about why.  The break-up seamed so out of nowhere to me.  I made him say the words while we were out to dinner after class at TGI Friday’s.  I could tell he wanted to say something, but I hadn’t known it would be that.  We had broken up once before, but this time I knew it was for good.  We talked and cried into the night.  He had work all day the next day, so I called a friend and got all of my shit packed and my parents came to help me move home.  He had no idea.  I just didn’t live there anymore when he got home.  We still saw each other every now and then, but eventually after a couple of months, he surprised me with a new girlfriend.  I knew I couldn’t keep holding on.  I threw myself into my friends.  Eventually, I got over him.  I learned probably the most important lesson of my life.

I needed to live for me.  I had no idea that up until that point, I hadn’t.  I lived for him.  I ignored a lot of the things I needed to do and was unfulfilled.  I was 18 when we started dating.  I hadn’t had the experiences I wanted from college.  He left after that first year, and a lot of my time was spent travelling to see him.  I left Rutgers after my second year because I was unhappy without him there.  I let him define who I was and what I wanted.  I had blinders on.  Letting him go was the first time I thought about what I truly wanted.  The life I truly wanted.  The kind of man I truly wanted.  Being without him, I could be myself.  Toward the end of our relationship, I wanted to keep him so badly that I lost who I was completely.  I thought I was keeping him happy.  I had no idea that I’d lost myself in the process.  That is why our relationship ended.  I vowed again to never let a man define me.  I promised my friends I would never lose touch with them because of a man.  What was it about a man that distracted me so much?  Maybe it was still that pedestal thing?  Maybe I trust them too much?  Maybe I hated myself.

Maybe I still don’t like or trust myself.  It’s become a vicious cycles of building myself up and slowly crumbling down into the little lost pieces of myself.  This time, I’m going to catch it just in time.

This time, the change is certain.  I will complete myself.  If you aren’t full, how can you give yourself to a lover?  If you don’t love yourself, how can you expect someone else to?

Thankfully, this time – my man isn’t a quitter.

A sweaty day in September

Growing up was hard for me, never feeling like I truly belonged anywhere.  Of course my family loved me and gave me a good home, but there was always something just a little bit off.  I remember the exact day everything changed.  It was the first day of 8th grade.  I had gotten my first period at the end of 7th grade and over the summer, puberty had NOT been kind.  I got really bad acne, which made my whole face red and I couldn't even go a full day without oily hair, even if I showered that morning (I fit that greasy Italian stereotype perfectly).  As a hormone-ridden teenage girl, I grew self-conscious.  But the cherry on the sundae was that first day of 8th grade.  In the new outfit my mom had gotten me with my new sneakers and long hair, from the moment I walked onto the bus that first day... my armpits started sweating... and 15 years later, they have yet to stop.  This was the first day of what would be many many many years of hating my body and myself.

I was always a bit different, even from birth.  I was born with a genetic metabolic disorder called Phenylketonuria (or PKU for short).  Actually, I have a mild form of it known as Hyperphenylalanemia, but same basic principle... Instead of lacking the enzyme that breaks down phenylalanine (enzyme found in protein and artificial sweeteners - go ahead, look at the warning on the back of your pack of sugar-free gum.  I'll wait.....  you find it yet?... yep!  I'm a phenylketonuric.), my enzyme that breaks down phenylalanine is slower than the average person's.  Overall, this disorder really isn't a big deal, as long as it is caught at birth and a strict low-protein diet is enforced throughout development.  If left untreated, the brain is damaged and children become retarded, for lack of a better word.  (Thank you, baby Jesus, for being born in a time when all babies are screened at birth!)  So growing up, my diet was always different than other kids'.  I was jealous, essentially.  My brother, who is only 18 months younger than I am, I was most jealous of.  I remember, he could eat whatever he wanted.  Scrambled eggs?  A second helping of cereal with milk?  Sure!  And man oh man, if you saw how pathetic my sad little peanut butter and jelly sandwich was with the teensiest  smear of pb compared to his?  What was the point?!  Thanks for the jelly sandwich, Mom!  Eventually, when I was almost 7, my parents had another baby, a boy - and he had PKU just like me.  But the damage had been done.

I was always hungry.  Maybe it was the fact that protein is what keeps you full?  Maybe it was that I wanted what I couldn't have?  Either way, I began to love food.  When this first started, I was young.  I loved the fruits and veggies my parents got.  We rarely had junk food in the house, but when we did, it was chips.  My daddy likes chips.  Sour cream and onion was my favorite.  Or BBQ fritos... mmmmm :)  They never lasted long, though, even though we had to ask for food in my house.  We weren't allowed to help ourselves for a long time.  Looking back now, though, maybe it was because of my PKU, but I thought it was just to be mean.  I was always hungry!  I wasn't fat, though.  Maybe I was a little chubby in the midsection compared to some of my friends, but fat was a bit drastic.

My best friend lived across the street from me.  She was 2 years younger than me in age, but 3 years younger than me in school and 1,000 lbs skinnier.  I had a huge crush on her brother when we met, who was in my grade.  He too was 1,000 lbs skinnier than me.  Next to them, I looked like the beached whale that the boys in the neighborhood started calling me, even though I wasn't.  There was one boy in my neighborhood in particular, you know - the one who ended up in juvie a handful of times even before high school... he was the one who started with the name-calling.  All the boys thought it was hilarious.  Even my nextdoor neighbors who had been my friends since we moved in... even my brother at one point.  Apparently they didn't care that the "Pillsbury Dough Girl" had feelings.  Unfortunately, I cared what these boys thought of me.  Hell, I'd had a crush on one of them since second grade and worshipped the ground he walked on!  I began to see what they saw.  The fat slob of a girl who was best friends with the skin-and-bones girl who'd no doubt grow up to be a model (which she did actually dabble in a bit in high school).  What would I be?  Unfortunately at the time, I didn't realize I was the one in control.

I shouldn't have cared what those dumb ass boys thought.  I had a pretty face and pretty blue eyes... my mom always told me I had lips to die for... so what if I was a little thick around the middle?  But my mom wasn't fat.  My cousin whom I've looked up to my whole life was a freakin' model herself.  No one else I was close to in my family was chunky like I was except for one cousin, and her mom - my dad's sister.  I take after my dad's side... the side we hardly saw except for maybe holidays, and even that stopped eventually.  I just wasn't a dainty little girl.  I wasn't a monster by any means, but I wasn't little.  I was "healthy."  But regardless of genetics and boys I lived near, I still had hope.  So what if that stupid ass boy I was in love with thought the ground shook when I ran... there were lots of cute boys to admire in school, where my shithead neighbors thankfully weren't in my classes :)

However, needless to say, by the time 8th grade started, the groundwork had been laid out for me.  Years of name-calling and feeling large could have been overcome, perhaps.  But then, my own body betrayed me.  Pimples and grease and sweaty (though, not smelly - thank GOD) armpits... and to top it off, my boobs were not growing in evenly.  Are you fucking kidding me?!  At this point, there's no esteem to be salvaged.  8th grade was a nightmare.  Aside from one boy who had the hots for me since 7th grade and left an anonymous love note in my locker (and was later my boyfriend and first kiss when we were 16), I can't remember one good thing about my last year of middle school.

One year out of so many.  One horrible year changed my whole world... and somehow I'm still affected by it.  Maybe it's because I can still fill a bucket with the sweat my armpits produce in a day?  Or the fact that my right tit will just never catch up to the left...  There is a place deep inside me where I can't stand myself.  I feel cheated.  I feel cheated of positive reinforcement in my developing years... the years that help mold you into the adult you're going to be.  Of course, there had been a few "oh you look beautiful!" 's... but there were so many more "Jen, are you sure you want to wear that?" 's or "Jen, are you sure you want to eat that?" 's.  I did want to eat that... and I did want to wear that... but apparently I shouldn't.  I couldn't trust myself.  And for that, I didn't like myself.

I didn't trust a single instinct I had.  I became silenced.  Afraid of the words coming out of my mouth betraying me like my body did.  In my mind, I could never be like the other girls in my class.  Some were so confident and pretty in their tight shirts and baggy jeans.  I wore a sweatshirt whenever I could to hide not only my lopsided boobs, but the giant wet stains under my arms, always bigger on the right side, as if to make up for my small boob and even things out.  I got taller this year and looked less chubby in the midsection... not that anyone could tell in my hoodie.  I wished I could disappear altogether.

Thankfully, I didn't.  I had a lot to learn.

Introduction

So, welcome to my blog, I suppose.  This isn't exactly a blog that I am writing for the benefit of anyone other than myself, so if you are bored, disgusted, offended, etc. by anything you happen to stumble upon here, by all means leave and never return.  Like I said, this is for me.

reJENeration...  Obviously this is a play on my name, but I also thought it was very fitting.  I seem to be at a place in my life where I need to change something drastic about myself.  I'm not exactly sure when it started, but all of a sudden I find myself in this never ending downward spiral.  I think it may have started when I quit my job of over 5 years in the restaurant business and essentially lost the daily contact I had with the people who kept me sane.  Sane?  Maybe distracted?  Grounded?  Confident?  Either way, I'm thinking that the lack of interaction between myself and a large diverse group of people has had negative effects on my self-esteem and well-being (which actually blows my mind, because I am rather antisocial...).  While returning to the restaurant industry is not an option I wish to explore (sorry RL, but I'm so over it), I am attempting to satiate my needs for personal growth and expression elsewhere.  Not only am I starting this blog, but I have also rejoined Weight Watchers (yes, I'm a big girl).  I've become rather unhappy in this rotund, foreign body and it affects me in all aspects of my life.

This blog may turn into a psychological evaluation of myself, but in the end, I'm counting on it helping me become the person I want to be instead of the damaged person that I am.  That is what I am hoping for, anyway.  From the outside, (aside from the pudge and poundage) I bet I look like someone who has her shit somewhat together. I'm a college graduate who is still working towards another degree, I have a full-time job with benefits, I come from a great family, and I'm engaged to be married to the funniest, most handsome and kind-hearted man I've ever met...

...but looks can be deceiving.  I am unhappy.  Worst of all, I feel so guilty for being unhappy. I personally know so many people whose shit is much worse off than mine.  I put on my brave, strong face for them because they need me to be a friend who understands, or a friend who can help guide them through their heartache (cuz God knows I've been there), or a friend who they can look up to.  But inside, I'm just as broken, if not more so, than they are.  While part of me is that confident, wise woman my friends see, there is a whole other side of me that I rarely let anyone get to know... even myself.

I'm hoping unleashing this other side of Jen will help me to get to know myself better and in turn, I can then work on healing myself.  I've always been good at putting things down on paper.  Spoken words, I'm not so good with, but writing has always been my favored form of expression.  

And so the journey begins...