Jessica's Domain

Cupid's Joke

2012-02-14T18:28:00.003-08:00

I guess I'm a little bit bitter about Valentine's Day... Even though I'm in a relationship and have been for the passed few V. Days, it never seems to strike a good chord in my heart. Cupid never hits me with an arrow of love or something...

I have few memorable February 14ths and most of them are depressing. My first memory was when my mother gave my sister and me a beta fish. This is probably my favorite Valentine's Day ever and I will hopefully never forget how wonderful it was. My second is the year a friend of mine got many carnations for V day and I got none... She plucked a petal from her carnation and gave it to me... the sentiment was sweet, but it was a depressing reminder I didn't have any secret admirers or friends who liked me enough to spend $3.00 on me. That same year, I sent a pink carnation to the boy I liked and watched him toss it in the trashcan... Thank God I didn't put my name on it!

The last Valentine's Day I can remember vividly was the first V Day I spent with my horrid ex, Matt. He had me close my eyes the Christmas before, got down on one knee and procured a velvet box which contained cheap gold earrings with fake rubies in them... How sweet. >_> The following Valentine's Day I spent sitting on his bed watching him play WoW, eating chocolates I bought. He gave me two wine toppers, knowing very well I didn't drink alcohol and swore I never would.

So, needless to say, even though I'm in a relationship, I never put ANY stock into V Day and I never expect anything... because anytime I ever hoped my hopes were always crushed, anytime I ever expected, my expectations were dashed. I will never like Valentine's Day and my heart goes out to all of the adolescent girls and boys who are destroyed year after year by their various crushes. I know for most of you this time is just a painful phase and will pass... and I also know, from witnessing obsessive adults sob over their lack of a love life on this day, for the rest of you this day will only get harder and harder as you get older. I wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day and hope you know there is someone out there who loves you, even if you don't know who they are.

Himo Nailo

2012-02-09T08:49:00.000-08:00

Why do you always do this to me? Just when I begin to think I can go on without you, you come creeping back into my life like a poison, reminding me how much I miss you and wish things had turned differently. Why can't you just leave me alone? Why do you always do this?!

Cuts and Divorce

2012-01-24T09:02:00.000-08:00

Skin is only skin deep, but with so many scars holding you together, it makes it nearly impossible to see through to the original being. I don't even know who I am anymore. A cutter? A paranoid bitch? No.

I am wise to the point of self destruction. I know, from readings, from experience, from seeing... I can only trust myself... but every time I let someone in, I get the feeling I can finally trust someone who isn't inside me, I get burned. Every time I let the past be and try to wall it up, it bursts through to remind me history will always repeat itself.

I grew up incapable of crying. I will hold everything into myself... My skin is my wall and the cuts I make are the small releases I give myself from all the pressure. I used to be so psychotic. I would bottle all of my burdens, my feelings, my anxiety... until some small minute detail caused me to completely snap.

I didn't like that. I have always said I have my father's temper... but it isn't a good thing. Sometimes there is no reasoning... sometimes there is nothing you can do, because you can't control other people... but you can control yourself. You can control the cuts and scars.

But... when you reach a point when there's no more room... what do you do? Where do you cut from there? When the wall is so patched up, all the tar and cement holding it together means you can't let the river on the other side trickle out and relieve some of the pressure. Every cut made is harder and harder to make... Not because it hurts, because my skin is so tough from all of the pain in my history.

I can't discuss what brought me here... I'm not ready and I can't breath. Right now, I just want to pick the blade back up and slice so deeply, the river will bleed out and there will never be anymore need to relieve pressure. There will never be pressure. I can't think clearly...

Sanctuary

2012-01-19T12:19:00.001-08:00

Sanctuary

It wasn't just a home,
it was rehabilitation
from those horrid years
filled with torment and humiliation.
It wasn't just a roof,
it was a shelter
pulling us from the mud
and helping us feel better.
I know this poem is full of weak rhymes,
completely not in synced
and failing in time.
I just wanted you to know...
what you did in your part,
you not only raped our sanctuary
but you broke our heart.

Pray for sight

2012-01-12T11:54:00.001-08:00

What if instead of asking God to cure all or to bring back what is lost... you, instead, ask him to give you strength to accept what he has done and give you sight so you can understand what he has in store for you?

Collateral

2012-01-05T21:47:00.000-08:00

There is no one I can vent to about this... so I just have to get it out there.

I know the things I miss are material and vain, but the honest truth is, I don't miss them because they're gone. I miss them because the principal of their disappearance is what is truly grating on my nerves. The person to blame, other than myself, doesn't care and it irks me to no end. I have sworn off swearing and would like to become a better person, but I just... GAH!

The following is what I would like to say, completely raw, unedited, and invisible. I know you will never see the following words as I spew my heart into this blog, so I can feel mild comfort in the fact I will never have to face your condescending tone or "words of encouragement". I will never have to hear you tell me, "Well if you had just... then this could have been prevented." I will never have to think you are berating me when you see me... and I can continue to peacefully interact with you when the need arises.

And so I begin:

"I get that it wasn't your responsibility to take care of my things! I understand you never cared! I know you look down on me because I used them to regain my bearings... but the truth is, it's unfair! You're being unfair! I didn't have a choice! My parents abandoned me and they were the only ones who would take me in! I hated that anytime I would open the fridge for a glass of milk, I could feel your eyes bearing down on me as you shook your head disapprovingly. I couldn't do anything right! You were supposed to be on my side and you abandoned me, just like they did! After she got married, you, and everyone else, took one look at me and decided to count your losses and move on, because I would no doubt become just as epic a failure as everyone else in my immediate family! I was never given a chance!!!

Forget you! How DARE you 'leave my belongings as they were' but take from me what you wanted! You left my things to rot! I'm lucky (and completely skilled) to have salvaged the trash you left for me... But anytime you wanted something, you would just help yourself! I don't know what happened to a few things, but I don't have them now and I sure as hell didn't throw them away myself. If you didn't do it, that leaves one person.

You are a hypocrite for the exact reason I can't say I have a mother anymore! You shameless dirt!

You told me I would always have a home there, but the second you got a taste, you were sure to make me feel unwelcome. I know I didn't live there as long as you had, and I know it will never be my first home, but it was the first hint of stability I ever had and it was the place I had come to know as home for the longest duration. You got your home back and you're very smug about it. Every time I see you, I want to retch, knowing you stole my childhood and my only safe memories from me. The most sickening, is knowing how selfish, snobbish, and heartless you are.

'I washed my hands of you.' You said. What does that even mean?!

The fact is, I don't care anymore. My feelings for you have been burning and twisting into anger and hatred lately. I don't know if I feel misplaced anger for the torture I have been through, but the truth is, I just can't stand YOU! The way you were quick to judge her. The way you speak to me, as if anything you say is worth listening to anymore. The words that come from your mouth are poison to me.

I hurt and you're apathetic. You're so self absorbed in your glory and victory, you don't even realize the pain you cause. Not only to me, or them... but to your own parents too. You're a brat! It's incredible! You can judge and point your slimy finger, but when it comes down to it, you're just scared and projecting the insecurities onto easy targets.

Some of my things... some of them, even you couldn't have saved, but did you even think to try? My stories! All of my years of work and creativity... spark notes, ideas, fantasies... all of them were destroyed! You don't even care... you washed your hands of the fact I cry night after night in a tight ball, realizing my past is completely gone. Your parents are the only things that hold me from completely uprooting myself. Everyone else, they're too consumed in their families. I don't hold that against them. They deserve the gifts they were bestowed. You act as if you have a family, too, but you don't! You're just abandoning your sick parents and the family you have because it's too hard for you to realize they're dying and the rest of us are moving on. You are pathetic.

Stop telling me I must have misplaced those missing belongings. It's completely impossible at this point. My entire baggage has been unpacked for the world to see. At this point I don't, at all, believe you didn't steal these things from me. If you didn't, that leaves the only other possible person in your life who did. In which case, you should really REALLY reevaluate the company you have been keeping lately. I'm not sure a stupid psychotic thief who can't maintain any form of stability is someone worth investing time in.

My point is, I don't care about the material possessions, I care about the lack of respect for my personal belongings. What kind of messages are you sending with your carelessness? Oh. That's right. You just plain don't care.

Gee, thanks. Great to be your name sake."

Destiny

2011-08-30T04:09:00.001-07:00

The woman who follows the crowd will usually get no further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has ever been.

-Albert Einstein

Death

2011-01-21T15:33:00.001-08:00

La mort, la muerte, kamatayan, tod, shi...

In whatever tongue you speak, it elicits the same emotions. The largest of these being curiosity. Death is the most famous topic in human culture, to that of love, and has been since our very beginnings and people first roamed this Earth. Regardless of who you are, death has crossed your mind at one point in time.

Let me ask you then, what happens after you die? Religious zealots, of course, will adamantly claim, based on lifestyles, despite true biblical evidence or word, a glorious kingdom awaits those deserving. Those who do not, can count on an eternity in hell and lakes of fire. Atheists and non-believers with no faith in the omnipotent, super-being, God, say nothing happens. Our minds reside in a dreamless, sleep-like state, in which our bodies return to the earth.

Looking at this from an objective, non-biased, anatomical point of view; your mind and all thought process is composed of your brain firing neurons and transmitting electricity. A "brain-dead" person ceases to have these firings and a "dead-dead" person does too. With this inactivity, I ask with open ears, an eager mind, and honest hope... how does one continue to think? Know? Believe?

This is where soul comes into play. What is the soul? An imaginary floaty that no one can hear, see, smell, taste, or feel? An entity in which resides in only the "heart" and mind/brain of humans? Our inner being, which no human sense can comprehend? (Keeping in mind, if the soul comes from the imaginations of humans and imagination comes from the brain, then once the brain stops, so does the imagination. The soul.)

Believe me when I say I want there to be a god. I want an after-life, an eternity of happiness for the good I have done. Hell, I would gladly accept a timeless end of damnation, torture, and punishment, if only I could know something beyond death existed. Faith, the size of a grain of mustard seed, the tiniest spec on the tip of a grown man's finger, can move mountains... Faith, everyone has... and I will be ridiculed, chastised, and berated for not.

I ask, though... of my religious friends, how can you be so certain? You tell me grand things await, but science and law betrays your faith. You tell me I need faith... but I lost faith. How do I regain what time and time again has proven a farce? How is heaven such a certainty?

And of my atheist friends, you may laugh and scoff at my pitiful pleading or lame logic, but to you I ask how? How do you continue, knowing there is a nothingness for you? What is the point in life at all? You can't relish in what you do or see your rewards... there is no one waiting and nothing there... and you will surely be forgotten. How do you pull yourselves out of bed with these thoughts?

I am a torn and tortured soul. I seek answers I cannot receive, and I know this... but perhaps words of comfort will suffice.

Thank you,

Jess

Knight Angel

2010-11-23T00:56:00.000-08:00

God, if there is a god, has graced me with the best, most amazing, exquisitely perfect, awesome... boyfriend ever. (In his words "slash thread".) Never in my life has any man done for me what my Pumpkin did for me today. I've been comforted, I've been consoled, I've been told everything will be fine/ will be alright/ will turn out well... but when I needed someone to take action, no one did.

Without going into detail, my grandmother was admitted into the hospital. I rushed home to pick my grandfather up so he could be with her, my day already sucking... and as I was pulling out of the driveway, I felt a weird popping beneath the tires. My heart sank, as deep inside I knew what I feared the most; however, I held onto a bit of hope that maybe... just maybe, I had run over a branch.

To no luck. There, flailed my dearly beloved pet kitty, Georgie. I cried out, burying my face in my hands and immediately reached for the phone. My angel came to my rescue and did far more than anyone would have expected another to do in that situation. As I drove my grandfather to the hospital, Ian took care of and buried Georgie so I wouldn't have to deal with him when I returned.

I cannot express in mere words how this touched me... I have the greatest gift on Earth and his name is Ian Shaye!

Baby, thank you. Not just for this, but for everything you have done for me, you do for me, and you will do for me. <3

A Very Dark Spring and Religious Hypocrites II

2010-10-25T07:48:00.000-07:00

Religion is a funny thing. Without it, you discover you're alone and any minute purpose in life is completely invalidated because there is no ending reward. With it, you have to follow strict and outdated rules, which within the norms of society, don't fit. All religious people "cherry pick from the bible", as you put it. It's true.

I begin this portion by stating what I have already said once. To an extent, I believe I would be happier with God in my life. If I had fallen into a devout radical religion, like my father's, I probably would still be a blind worshiping fool; however, I have lost my faith in a higher being. If there is a man sitting in the clouds above, he has long since turned his back on me and therefore, I don't give him any credit in existence.

I would rant and rave again about how I was a good devout christian girl. Steered clear of drugs, sex, and violence... but inevitably, it did not matter. But this isn't about me. It is, but not really. It's about you. Both of you.

I will state first names, to avoid any confusion, finger pointing, or hurt feelings for those who are not being targeted. Alex, and Anthony, are my sole quarries and these are those who I will speak about, while, yes, alluding to others as well. My family is very conservative, on both sides, and both sides are born into Christian households. Of course, they have differing Christian views (which probably didn't help my departure.) and sometimes this caused conflicts. Regardless, I was raised Christian, and BOY! Was I ever Christian. I carried a bible to school. I cried and wept for those who I knew died without being saved, (Timothy McVeigh) I prayed every night, before every meal, in public, in private, with friends, for friends... for STRANGERS! I swore, with my God, I could do anything.

Now, with every Christian view, comes more fights than are necessary. (YOU'RE CHRISTIANS!!!) It amazes me, to this day, how many Christians are quick to point judgmental fingers, "Oh, you're going to hell!", ridicule each other, or will turn their backs on their fellow men. Even after leaving my faith behind, I am still as caring as ever. I see a person crying, coddling their legs, I will reach out to them, hug them, tell them they're loved by someone and if they need an ear, shoulder, or anything, I am willing to help them to the best of my abilities. Both of you turned your backs on me in the most horrific way.

We'll just cut right into business now and begin with Pre-Marital Sex. A big sin, resembling adultry. (Regardless of your intentions.) To Christians, this sin is the most jaw dropping obvious, slap in the face, no no. I never wanted to lose my virginity in the way it was lost. I had vowed to myself, my body is sacred, and I won't allow anyone to enter unless I have devoted myself to them... I wanted to wait until marriage. I was naive, even though I was smart enough to know better, my heart wanted to believe those sweet deceitful words. I will not lie anymore... I regret things often. I live with my regret, using it to benefit me: knowledge, power, wisdom... Regrets are experiences learned. But sometimes these regrets do rise up and haunt me. This is one of those. I regretted it immediately, but there was no turning back. What had been done was done.

Now, from a scientific point of view, virginity is nothing more than religion jargon utilized in scaring prepubescent Christian girls into avoiding men and sheathing them in ignorance. The hymen is easily broken and often times is broken before the penis ever enters the vagina. I just thought everyone should know that. Your virginity can be stolen from you by WALKING, EXERCISING! Doing daily activities...

But still, there is a dawning moment once you have sex for the first time. I think for most people NOT in my shoes, it is mediocre to amazing... but not horrific. For many, it's an achievement, a goal reached and realized, for some, it's a meh experience where neither party reaches climax, but nothing went horribly wrong. For others, it's romantic, it's pure love, it's ecstasy. Not something to look back on and bow your head in shame and bitter anger. It was un-pleasurable. It hurt. He was apathetic to my hesitations, concerns, and reserves. He didn't listen to what I wanted and needed... I felt unloved, uncared for, and in the end hated myself for giving my devotion to this piece of... scum. (I would much rather utilize another four letter S word... but my father believes I swear too much in these blogs.)

We'll start there, Alex: you seemed to think I glorified my premarital sex. You often times brought it up and shoved it in my face. Using it against me in every argument, in every stance... Telling me I was doomed to an eternity of hell, no matter how I repented. No matter how I tried to make it up... I had already regretted the decision to open my legs to this man, and now I was going to hell forever because he had convinced me we would marry so it wouldn't matter. But of course, we would never marry. I was left with broken promises and a stolen virginity... a hideous reminder of the biggest mistake I ever made. And no matter how many times I cried, no matter how much I prayed for forgiveness, you wouldn't let it go. You used it against me every chance you got.

In the end, you broke up with me because I wasn't a virgin and you were.

The only thing my father had to say about this... was you were right. I was so scorned. I couldn't shower enough, I couldn't cry enough, purge enough... nothing would empty my body of the disgusting reminder.

Now, let's move to Anthony. You, my friend, called me a prude. I *was* a prude. I was naive, I was scared of sex. Scared of being hurt, and letting someone into my heart. You made me feel like I should be ashamed for being sexually inactive. I worked so hard to gain your attention, and I was met with that.

I thought I could impress you. If I could be sexy, like the loose girls you tended to chase, perhaps you would look my way and find me attractive or worthy. We never spoke directly about sex aside from these moments when you called me a prude; however, you were a hypocrite from the start. You were a virgin too! I was so stupid to think you weren't. I lost my virginity before you. I just wonder if yours was half as bad.

Somewhere along the line, you became religious too. You repented and made up for your pre marital sins... but for some reason I was still incapable of doing this, in your eyes. No matter how many times I swore off sex until marriage and prayed and asked for grace, I was still doomed to hell. The joke became, "------ can have butt-sex and still be saved. But the rest of us are going to hell." You pious...

You fluctuated though. I could tell your religion was insincere, right away. It was alarming. When I was at my most religious, I never thought to be so judgmental. I never would have told someone they were going to hell, and I was most certainly never a hypocrite. If I knew I didn't want others to be doing it, and I knew I shouldn't be doing it, I wouldn't. I was never going to be caught dead doing something, just to turn around and say, "Hey! You can't do that!" It gets better though.

On both accounts. :)

With Alex, I thought he had a point. He was right. My dad thought so. God thought so... and deep in my heart I knew so. Anthony, though... was wrong. He continued with sex, and would go and ask for immediate forgiveness, promising to swear off sex until marriage... yet never stopped. I don't know how many times you broke a promise to God. I don't know about you, but seriously, I would be terrified to break a promise to the big white robed man upstairs. That just seems like a hugely bad idea. Even now, I can't imagine doing something so bold and dangerous. That's like asking for a freight train ticket on the next boarding straight to hell.

I kept one thing, though. I never had loose, scandalous sex with just anyone. No one night stands, no three-somes, no polygamous deviations... What I did in bed with the man I loved and devoted myself to, was my choice and his... His body belonged to me and mine to him... That's how it works with sex. You don't sex every moving thing, every woman you have interest in, etc...

Men are men, though. Aren't they? When you first told me you weren't a virgin anymore, I was shocked. I really had no idea how to reply. Then, I will admit, I laughed. You poor sorry soul, I said. You've doomed yourself to hell- your own words, remember? Oh Alex... I asked you then, "So, are you not religious anymore?" and your reply... to be frank, it pissed me off. I lost every ounce of respect I had ever held for you. "Of course I am." ARE YOU SERIOUS!? How can you be?! And you had the nerve to blow off sex like it was no big deal.

You. Are. A. Hypocrite. Thank you for the months of torturing reminders I wasn't good enough for you or God. Thank you for making me feel smaller than even Ryan had. At least you never said I was going to hell. Thank you for being a Christian.

Oh, and for the record, you're probably going to hell. :) If hell exists, that is.

Now, let's return to Anthony. Ahh Anthony. I gave myself to you. I thought you would carry me from my dark place. Rescue me on a bright steed... You told me you loved me and wanted to marry me. You made me believe you, just the same as Ryan. And the day after, the very next day, after I had loved you for FOUR years, waited for you to stop dating whores and come sweep me off my feet, the very next day after you finally give me everything I ever wanted from you, you tell me you were leading me on and immediately I found you in a relationship with someone my sister's age who had a newborn baby. And then it started again. I was going to hell for having premarital sex... You were living with a young teenager, who had a child, and slept in your bed with you... and you tell me I'm going to hell, AGAIN?!

You... You are probably the biggest most infuriating hypocrite I know.

The Golden Rule is to treat others how you would like to be treated and I believe Jesus said himself, "Those without sin, may cast the first stone..."

"Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measure to you again...

Thou hypocrite, cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye."

A Very Dark Spring and Religious Hypocrites

2010-08-16T15:44:00.000-07:00

Pulling into the small parking lot, floods of memories came rushing back to me all at once. I had been here many times before, and each time had varying emotions linked to the nostalgia that came with it. I grimaced and fumbled through my bag for the notebook and pen he had given me. Pulling these out, I exited the car and found my usual place in the swing facing the street. Opening the notebook, my fingers thumbed through the discarded stories and ideas, as I searched for a blank page.

Here, I began this...

Two years ago seems like a long time when deep in reflective thought. Even then, I knew we would not last. Yes, being here was fun, we had a lot of good times, but overall, you were not the one. Regardless of knowing this, I stuck around anyway. My paranoia in our relationship began pretty early. In my own mind, this should have been the biggest red-flag. They always say a woman's intuition is right, to go with your gut feeling, trust your instincts, etc... but I over thought the situation and decided I was just being paranoid.

True, but not true. I am a paranoid individual, but by every right. Or maybe I'm not paranoid at all, I just have a sixth sense for humans. Either of these could be accurate, or they could both be accurate, but all that remains now is why am I here?

I said my goodbyes to this place two months ago. I thought it would be easier to leave all of this behind... but it really isn't. I have a lot of bitter resentment towards you, towards myself... and the whole debacle. I will be heading to your place soon, to pick up the rest of my belongings. My stomach is churning and my heart is racing.

The drive here brought back so many memories. When laying them out on paper, I realized very quickly, most of those memories were bad. I was alone, and depressed. Often, I found myself wandering the streets aimlessly, wondering if you would come looking for me or if you would pay no mind to my erratic behavior. You never did look for me. Many of those times, I made my way to this park, and would sit on the same swing, waiting for you until it was too late and too cold to sit any longer. I thought of it as our place, but I didn't realize you never wanted to share anything with me.

That spring I should have been happy. I was with a man who I thought loved me exclusively. No, I lie... I never thought you loved me exclusively. I wanted you to. I wanted to be your one and only. I wanted you to put me on a pedestal, as you said you tended to do in relationships, but deep in my mind I worried you would leave me. You would find someone better or just become bored with me and then you would leave me. I know you looked at other women. You didn't really try very hard to hide it... I was insecure and you did nothing to reassert my position or my value to you.

It wasn't just that spring though. It was always. Every day, every season, every hour of my life. I worried about you. Who you were talking to, why you were being so distant and cold... Why I couldn't count on you for anything, but money. I shudder to think I sank so low in my life... to become blinded by success. I wanted you to pull me up and out of the mud, you only pushed me further. I didn't let myself become blinded though... It was masochistic. I couldn't trust you for anything.

Spring, my favorite season. The light at the end of a long dismal winter-filled tunnel... but that spring was a dark one. I found no strength to pull me from bed each morning and inevitable found myself falling deeper and deeper into a dark gray cloud. Spring turned to Summer and things worsened for me. I thought you were going to dump me because I asked if you still loved your ex. Eventually, you decided to forgive me for your actions and asked me to move in. I did, that fall... and again, things only became harder and I fell deeper. Your over-reactions to everything... you always had to be right.

Winter came again. I knew I would drown, because of my SAD, but you wouldn't listen or understand. You never comforted me. Despite struggling to stay afloat with my own depression in tow, I took on yours too. I tried everything, every damn thing, in my power to make you feel cared about, loved, happy... any positive emotion. Any flitting gleam of hope, just so you would know not all things are bad. You took it for granted, using what I had to offer to get ahead, and shoved me deep in the mud.

I guess it doesn't matter anymore, honestly.

It didn't take him long to pull me out and brush me off. I guess my head is glued on tighter than I thought, and I didn't really ever lose my senses. I'm less bitter than I was, but when I sit down and think about everything, those feelings of resentment seem to still course my veins, making me grow cold and angry. I try to be forgiving. I try to move on...

You did one thing though. You made me realize how hypocritical I am. Thank you.

See PART II

The Ruined King

2010-08-05T18:15:00.000-07:00

I will never apologize enough for the amount of hurt I have inflicted on the someone I have come to love dearly. There are no words or actions to account for the damage I have done... but still...

Here I am, and he is mine. Why?

I did nothing to deserve this, but I will do everything in my power to make him the happiest man in the universe. I regret those moments of lashing out in anger, pushing him away, the distance, the cold treatments... Regardless, it is the past.

I don't know how to say this any other way: I am sorry. With my entire heart, I am.

How do I live with myself?

2010-04-12T00:30:00.000-07:00

I was talking to a depressed friend one night, us being mutually depressed. We were ping ponging stories and empathy, as is usual for us. I talked about regret and my views and he asked me something...

I was initially offended and pissed off, but after I thought about it I realized he was looking for an answer. Not just a surface answer, but an answer to live by.

He asked me, "How do you live with yourself?"

I told him then, I was still learning, but I think I found an answer.

Here are my convictions in a slew of "what ifs"...

"What if I had never talked to my mother about finding a relationship. What if I had never helped my mother find a relationship. What if I had come home every weekend from college. What if I had never moved in with Matt?"

Those thoughts hung on my head that evening... and those were the questions I openly asked my friend, in my distraught state. I answered them each, too. "My mother never would have dated Jonathan. My sister and I would have continued to live with her as a happy trio. I would have remained awe inspired with the world at my disposal. My sister probably wouldn't have gotten married young. I would be more secure about myself and my relationship wouldn't have fallen apart."

Those were my answers which he asked me, "Knowing what you do, how do you you live with yourself?"

Because I can. I had a friend who told me once, never make regrets. I think I have said this before, but I reiterate: I thought he meant, don't do things in which you will regret the results, but now I realize he meant don't live your life dwelling on your regrets. People make mistakes. The goal is to learn from those mistakes and move on.

I live with myself, because I know I'm imperfect and that is okay. I will learn and I will better myself. I have enough drive and motivation to keep me trudging through rough times. I can live with myself, because if I didn't I would give up and die. I want too much from life to let that happen.

I appreciate life and what it has to offer and I have high hopes that everything will work out for me and those I love.

Ugly Duckling

2010-04-10T01:27:00.000-07:00

I guess, for once, I want to be the preferred person.

Fire and Ice

2010-03-19T16:41:00.000-07:00

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
~Robert Frost

Men of fire, burn with desire
Men of ice, are not nice.
You are cold, hard, and blue
I prefer a man of a more ember hue.
Enjoy the loss you cheap tease
because I'm pretty easy to please.
Words that are empty only go so far
They will leave wounds that heal and scar.
Remember this, you arrogant prick
I am the iciest, flame-ridden chick.
~Jessica Tracy

Insanity

2010-03-02T13:00:00.001-08:00

I'm writing to vent. I'm livid. Today started out pretty damn rotten!

I woke up and readied myself, as I would do on any other weekday. Being a Tuesday, I knew I would have three classes: Math, French, and Aerobics. After class, today, I was going to bathe and prepare myself for a job interview.

Needless to say, none of that is important. What *is* pertinent for this blog is how pitiful I feel. 30 minutes before Math, like any other day, I went out to the car and started it... Alas, the POJ did not start, did not turn over, did nothing. I turned the key again, thinking perhaps I just didn't turn it far enough. Silence.

Horror crept itself over me, as I realized the car was not starting. I turned the key again and again, violently. Still, no amiable outcome.

I threw my head back, inhaled deeply, and snapped my eyes shut: tightly. For a moment, I focused all of my thoughts on my eyelids, and used my years of anger training to fight back the boiling seething scream as it inched towards my throat. No, I did not scream. I did not cuss. I just focused on breathing, like a normal human being.

In the end, I stomped back into the house and fought the angry tears back. Eventually, I vented to a few people...

I did not go to class. I would not have gone to my interview, but Ian is saving me. I do not know how I will go to class tomorrow... or work, if I get the job. I feel trapped and unhappy.

Anyway, that is all.

Beware the Ides of March!

2010-01-27T14:04:00.000-08:00

So, he was told, and he did not heed the warning; ending in his own demise.

Actually, this has nothing to do with Shakespeare or Brutus slaying Caesar. It has more to do with me not listening to my inhibitions. I feel as if I am living in a Shakespearean play. Everything is tragic, dramatic, and ends in sorrow. My life is tragic, overly dramatic, and I have a sneaking suspicion will lead to lead sorrow.

In Shakespearean plays, it is noble to kill yourself. In real life, it is cowardly. Or is it? If you know your life is over, if you know nothing you ever want will be attainable, if you know the good in life ceases to exist, is it still taking the easy way out? I digress. This is not about me, but about a thought of me. I would like to think if I really wanted to, I would do whatever to my body, but the fact is, I fear death more than I would ever lead on.

There are people who I think should commit suicide. I'm not saying this in the idea of ridding myself of less than amiable sorts. I say this in a form of pity. These people who deserve suicide, are hindered by self protecting laws. They have no light, nothing to live for, and they know it. Sure, with "attitude adjustments and blah blah blah" they could lead a happy life... but is this so with everyone? Is it possible to completely *change* who they are? If someone is so unhappy with their life, wouldn't it make more sense to let them end their misery, if that's what they want to do?

Everyone always says, "Suicide is selfish!" Well yes... for those people who have a caring family, or multitude of friends... but what about people who don't have friends and who's family members can't give a shit about them? What about those people? Sure, someone from a church can say, "I love you." and take them in... but they don't really love them. How could they? They don't know them.

What if someone was born to wreak havoc? Could you take that person in and love them? In these days, I don't see many church going people being respectable anyway. They turn people in need away all the time. (Mr. Williams.) They take one look at someone who appears shoddy, and it gives them an eerie sense. They don't look passed the flaws. They don't try to do what "God" would want them to do. They may give out a buck or two, and then they send that person on their way. Only a few bucks... nothing to live on. Only a small minute amount, to perhaps buy one meal. A meal that does no good, because the person is going to starve to death anyway. It's prolonging the inevitable: death. (Food is a metaphor, by the way.)

How can the government determine if these people live or not? If these people want to die, should they not be allowed to do so? Who would it be hurting?

Then there are people who do not appear shoddy. They appear to have everything together. They wear a mask, but on the inside, it's nothing but hurt and pain. These are those who are over looked. They aren't given a few bucks to prolong anything. The universe shat on them and said, "There, look at what you have done!"

Two things happen to types like this: One day the mask falls off and they are revealed.

Or they wither up and die, alone and sad.

When there is no light at the end of the black tunnel... why go on?

Missed Chances

2010-01-21T12:58:00.000-08:00

Ever reflect on your life and realize all of the little moments where one decision would have drastically changed the way you live today... Some of them, if not most, are worse... but occasionally, you find the one that would have made your life perfect.

The most obvious, everyone sees in me, is if I had *not* dated Ryan. I think I have long since corrected that mistake... or I hope. But honestly, after Ryan I had a stigma towards most unrelated men. Why would God forsake me so when I had tried my hardest to lead a good life. I had steered clear of drunks, sex, vanity... all of the things that cause for a person's demise. I still ended up with that jerk!

Now, obviously I'm already over this rant.

But here, I find myself in a loop. Am I better, or not? I look at my dating history prior to Ryan and after Ryan.

Before Ryan, I had week long boyfriends like Claude, or Logan and Eric... All boys in first grade-fourth grade. Nothing anyone would consider serious at all.

Then there was Ryan. He immediately changed who I was for the worst. After breaking up with him, I felt like a nobody. I wasn't even sure if I still existed anymore. I felt like my inner being had been stolen from me and murdered. Sadly, I was off to the next extreme, Alex from Alaska. He was the rebound... and at the time I joked he was a "safe" rebound because he was far away and very religious... but I was never good enough for him spiritually. It became very frustrating and I started doubting God even more, especially after he "broke up" with me. I wasn't good enough for a disciple of God...

There were a few times I thought perhaps if I switched religions to one of the outrageous extreme churches (my dad's) that maybe I would start believing again... but I hit a point where I just stopped caring. I didn't care if there was or was not a God.

On the day of my graduation, I mentally hit a brick wall. My mom pulled into the drive way, I had my first panic attack. I realized, that day: I'm going to die. Eventually people will forget who I am and cease to care at all. Probably not even that far along after my death... I'll be "Remember that great great grandmother so and so... uhhh Jessica? Yeah she was great grandma Blah Blah Blah's grandma!" And I could almost feel, with those imaginary words, my inner existence would be gone as well. I would not be an angel in heaven, or someone who didn't quite make it... I was going to cease to exist.

My depression in college really did not stem from Alison... or homesickness... it came from realizing my life is just going faster and faster and soon it will be over... As a child, you wish to be a "grown up" but then you become an adult and think, "Shit, where did my life go? Why didn't I stop to cherish those innocent moments longer?" You regret how you lived... always wishing away your childhood, so oblivious to how soft it is.

I woke up from suicidal and death night-terrors, nightly; sobbing and drenched in a cold sweat. (Nightmares are truly one thing... If you have never experienced a night-terror, pray you don't.) I woke often having felt as if I had actually died. My existence, as it was, felt as if it had been compromised. Everything I ever knew or loved had changed in one night and I was expected to just "deal with it."

I suppose, as my father had put it, I was having my mid-life crisis. (I guess we could empathize with each other best at that moment. :p)

I regret wishing my life away... because, as it seems, I got my wish.

Dee Doubleyou

2009-11-27T12:26:00.000-08:00

This is a letter to a former instructor of mine.

As a freshman, I idolized you. You were strict, but seemingly fair towards your students. I was an aspiring author, as I still am, and you were a language arts teacher. I assumed you could be my mentor and further my writing...

Instead, this is what happened:

My sophomore year, I approached you to further myself. You let my dreams sit on your desk for months, without even glancing at them. I was crushed. After finally getting my unfinished manuscript back from you, I took it home and I burned it. I lost my passion for writing and I fell into a depression.

You grew more and more bitter towards me every year, for reasons I knew naught. I excelled in all of your classes, I was a good patient student who rarely spoke unless speaking was needed, I didn't cause trouble, I did my assignments, and I was intelligent! You had no reason to treat me like the dirt you did.

I came to a realization my Senior year, you only liked a specific handful of students. The same sarcastic cynical brats, who idolized you, yet turned around and talked poorly about you behind your back. They were the gossiping pricks who took your "special" classes and did you "special" favors. They were your minions, your babies, and you were their God.

I graduated, inviting you to my party because you made a point to say if you had a time and place, you would be sure to go to everyone's party... You never came. It only edged my bitter anger deeper. Why didn't you go to my party? You picked me, the one person who for no reason at all, you hated more than any other student... Me. Probably the best student you will ever have had... and you didn't go.

I went to your play, the next year, to say "Hi, how are you?" and when you saw me, the first thing you said, "You were never my favorite student."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why? What was the purpose of saying that to me?

I sat down, solemnly, gritting my teeth and fighting back the angry tears, my friend put me in his arms and said, "You know why he hates you, don't you?"

"No!" I cried out, the seething anger boiling and festering in my body.

"Because he was going to be an author, but his book sucked, so he was turned down. Now he's a bitter old man and no one likes him."

It hit me then. He was right. You are just a bitter man. You failed at your one dream, and I reminded you of yourself. An inspired filled young author, who knew where she was going and what she wanted to do. You wanted to kick the dirt off of your feet, but instead, you got stuck in the mud. You became a bitter High School teacher, so you could destroy the dreams of those after you.

You almost did it, you fucking bastard. You almost made me think I couldn't do it. I was about to take your road. I made jokes of taking your job even. I know, I would never be a good teacher... and you aren't a good teacher. You settled, and know this you raging pile of dog shit, I will not settle. I will become an author, because you failed. You did not dispirit me, you only made me stronger. If I can survive unnecessary scrutiny for four years, I can do anything.

You, old man, go on. Continue being bitter, continue being hateful towards your students, continue being the jerk you are... and know that you failed. I am going to be more successful than you could ever have imagined.

You gave up too easily. I hope you enjoy your the life you settled for, you bitter toad. To all the times you deliberately forgot I existed. To all of the down putting things you did to me. To everything you ever said to try and get under my skin or hurt my feelings, I give them all back to you now, you ugly fuck. I am going to become a renowned author, and you are going to continue being a penniless instructor for the school district.

Shame on you for trying to destroy a young girl's dreams.

Sincerely,

Jessica Dawn Tracy

P.S.

Fuck you. :)

Why do I stick it out?

2009-10-19T11:53:00.000-07:00

Giving up has clearly never been a relevant option, but everyday you see people questioning their own self worth. I have to say, even I do it.

Now, I'll tell you why I *don't* give up.

I have a loving family, who knows my potential sometimes better than I do. I have people who look up to me, and ask me for life's answers on a daily basis. If I gave up, what would I be telling these people?

I have no potential? I can't do it? The only way out, is down?

No, I refuse.

I will become successful, because I have set such ridiculously high goals for myself, there is no way to not succeed at *something*.

I implore everyone to do the same. Don't give up on your life. Set goals that are so high, you will have no where to go, but up. Nothing to do, but get better. That is what I ask of all of my friends today. Best yourselves! Don't compete with humanity or life, compete with yourself. You'll find everyone wins that way. :)

Wake up, Moms!

2009-08-31T14:31:00.000-07:00

I'm so sick and tired of shitty little teenage mothers. What the crap?! Seriously, grow the fuck up! You forfeited your right to party and act like a teenager when you spread your legs and forgot to pop the pill or wear the condom.

Cameron Hospital, you lethargic piece of shit!

2009-08-26T12:30:00.001-07:00

I had an appointment for a CT Scan made for me about a month ago. Today was said scheduled appointment. Today, I walk in the doors at 6:55, and today I leave Cameron Hospital at 8:30...

In this time, I had to do MORE paperwork of sorts. Stamp my precious John Hancock on everything... and then, I am told to find the X-Ray room. Yeah, because I wander the hospital often enough to know where that is...

Anyway, after being lost and finding my way to stupid X-Ray and Laboratory, I am given the most horrid vile cream drink I have ever had the pleasure of ingesting. I literally had to plug my nose to keep from retching all over the waiting room. Not only did I get to drink one of these, but I got to drink TWO of them! Whole glasses full. A whole 16 ounces of what ever the fuck that was... sliding down my throat.

I swear I could feel the acidic sludge melting my organs away... or at least making them glow. Now, I understand how X-Rays work.

After an hour of sitting and waiting for the poison to make its way through my body, I am lead to a small room with an arc in it. I get to lay under the arc and wait while a woman undresses me, shit you not, and stabs my arm with an IV. (Hate those.)

In the "tube", hold breath, out the "tube", normal breathing. The nurse tells me to stretch my arm and let the fluid in the IV run in. It may do nothing to me, or it may make me feel warm.

Warm is a Goddamn understatement. My throat and chest were immediately engulfed in flames. My fingertips felt as if they would pop off.... and the worst of it all?! I felt as if I had pissed my own pants.

In and out the tube with "piss" in my pants.

Finish. IV is yanked out. I am told I have to wait "ten minutes" for the nurse to finish burning a CD for me. ?

30 minutes later, I get my CD and leave.

Stories

2009-08-26T12:22:00.000-07:00

If you, my avid reader, noticed a missing blog entitled Merry Christmas My Love, that is because I have moved it to my new blog spot.

I have decided to keep things organized for myself, I am going to maintain two blog spots: one for rants and vents, and the other for my stories and to-be-books.

I look forward to comments and what not on my "famous" works.

Oh, and for my Fang readers, I will be posting Fang in its entirety onto the new blog spot.

Here's a link for you lazy bastards: http://jezieneechan.blogspot.com/

Enjoy!

Penn Valley, you lethargic piece of shit!

2009-08-24T14:27:00.000-07:00

Oh. My. God.

I spent two hours... TWO hours waiting in a line watching as the faculty and staff at Penn Valley's Financial Aid office sluggishly helped people. If ever you were to see real life zombies... here they are.

Finally, I was helped, two hours after waiting, only to be slowly lead into the back office where a less than friendly woman tells me why my financial aid is screwed up and requires me to fill out a mountain full of paper work to fix it.

In any case, *points to title* Penn Valley is SLOW! You can't get anything accomplished in a timely fashion. Everything is confusing and... slow! I swear to God, these people are sedated before going to work every morning. I hate it, but it's one semester. I can do one semester.

*shudder*

CPR/AED Certified!

2009-07-17T15:54:00.000-07:00

I am both. If you are dying, and I am conveniently there, I will save you.

Another Blogsite about ME!

2009-07-09T14:37:00.000-07:00

I can see it now, everyone is just oh so excited to read the many blogs I am sure to post: rantings, ravings, fantasies, stories, poems. Yes, lines come in the millions.

Seriously, though, why am I doing this again? Well, I'll tell you why!

Upon my recent family misfortunes, my previous "blogsites" have been raped and pillaged by none other than my dear ol' mammy! Yes, that's right! She has read every word, every DETAIL of my despise towards her and her affectionate lover.

So, here I am, once more, creating a blog under a new pseudonym.

For my first order of work, I have decided to write an "About Me" in detail.

HELLO-O-o-o, my Raz Daz Droogs!

My name is Jessica Dawn Tracy. When I was little, I used to think my name was Jessica Dawn Middle Tracy, but Cookie Monster ate the middle, and that is how I became just Jessica Dawn Tracy.

I have one biological sister, two half-siblings, and a step-cousin who I have been calling my step-sister from the beginning of time. So, in all, I have four siblings. I would have to say, I am pretty damn close with each of them, but my baby brother and I really aren't close, at all. He's an annoying little butt of a six year old, and I'm the stereo-typical all knowing teenage college student. It's a love hate relationship.

My biological sister, Elizabeth, and I have been through hell and back together, more than once. She is on the Principal's Honor Roll, and receives high marks on most everything she does. Her aspirations are to become a loving, caring nurse for the elderly, mentally impaired, or infants.

My half sister, Sabrina, is the epitome of a teenage punk. She has a cell-phone, and abuses this privilege. I don't know what she wants to be, because she is quite fickle. I think my step-mother will probably make her go into some medical field, because it pays well.

My step-"sister", Pauline, has become more estranged from me as the years move on. We used to be best friends and I knew every detail of her life. These days have changed us all, and now she reminds me of the people I used to despise in High School. Always trying to fit in, because there's nothing better to do than to feign popularity. I believe, at least this is what used to be, she wants to be a photojournalist.

My half-brother, Nathaniel, is, as I said, an annoying six year old. He used to be quite charming and adorable, but these days, he's a demon heathen. Our parents have let him get away with too much without repercussions. He's spoiled, he's mouthy, he's boring, and very typical-as it turns out- as to what most children his age are like. What a sad realization for American Society.

Now, I shall introduce myself properly. I am a first-born child who holds those delivered after me, dear. I would do absolutely anything for those numnuts. *Said with love*

My aspirations pull me in the direction of being an author, more than anything else. I have no real interest in fame, wealth, or any of these things... just the name on a book and an autobiography stating my life, to keep me in the minds and memories of those after me.

I have a mother, a maternal figure, and the woman I call my mom. My mother, is a drunken half-baked teenager who abandoned my sister and me what feels like two years ago. My maternal figure is my grandmother. She has practically done all of the real mothering and raising. Finally, the woman I call my mom, is my step-mother. She has been more of a mother to me than my real mother, and since she is married to my father, she gets the title.

My father is a Med-Tech who really should have furthered his degree and became a doctor, because he knows more than most doctors do about patients. He has recently been promoted to "Van-Driving" but God only knows how that is a promotion... His real line of duty, is computers. That man is a computer genius.

My maternal grandparents are God-Sends. They're what makes a home a home. My paternal grandparents and I have never been close. They've never liked my adamant family loyalty.

I have a million uncles and aunts who are all getting married and having babies. Regardless to say, I will never have a cousin my age to play with, like most kids get/got/have. My mother had Beth and me when she was a teenager and her siblings were mere kids, themselves. My aunt, Dawn, is only seven years older than me. We've always felt more like siblings.

I have two pets, but I never see either of them. It breaks my heart. My cat, Aeris, is living with my aunt, for safe keeping. My dog, Pablo, is now my horrible "mother's" property, and I will probably never see him living again. I have always felt a specific close-ness towards animals and nature. I love animals... and my pets were my absolute best friends.

I will always prefer the company of a loyal pet to a friend.

I have a few friends who are worthy enough to mention. They're a resource of something or another... and I must admit, no matter what I am sure they'll always be there. Kellie was my best friend throughout middle and most of high school. We also grew apart when I hooked up with the biggest sleaze bag in town. We talk more frequently now, than we had been, but we're definitely not near as close. Claude and I have been close friends since about fourth or fifth grade. He's like my twin. I don't think we have much that isn't in common. Hainey was like a big brother to me, and always looked out for me. -I was madly in love with him for the entirety of High School and still harbor those feelings. Lastly, Maria... Maria, Maria, Maria... She and I became best friends my Senior year of High School. I feel we have grown apart, but she pulled me out of the roughest times... and I will always love her most.

If I didn't mention you, that doesn't mean I dislike you or you're not my friend. It just means you haven't done anything particularly note worthy, and you should really work on that! :p (Kidding!)