Self Esteem Saturday: Some Battles Must Be Fought Internally

Featuring Moxie, from 7 Shades of Woman

My journey to finding self esteem was been long and heartbreaking. As someone who has successfully become comfortable with myself and gained confidence in life, it’s really humbling to remember how I used to feel and to know that is how many other women feel about themselves now. I want them to know that it is possible to overcome anything and to defeat any imperfections you feel you have. One of the most important rules to life is that you have to love yourself before you can love anyone else, and you must respect yourself before you can expect them to respect you in return.

I wasn’t tackling just one problem growing up, but many. Weight, frizzy hair, abuse of all forms, and general loneliness and lack of family values.

My mother drank, heavily, during my childhood. Each step-father I’ve had did not hesitate to hit her when she got mouthy. She used to chase me around the house and sometimes she was pretty rough once she got a hold of me. I lived most of my life hidden in my bedroom. We moved dozens of times, so as soon as I made a friend, I lost them. I remember in 1st grade there was a girl who would force me to walk her to her classroom and if I said no, she would punch me in the stomach. A few years later, I got beat up by a couple of boys as I walked home from the bus stop. My mother’s only words of comfort were “You gonna live?”. I was completely lonely, and suffered from lack of affection.

So I stopped loving ME.

The first half of my childhood was spent in various towns in New Mexico. I gained weight quickly because no one was watching my diet. I dressed in my brothers hand me downs and my mothers jeans. My uncle moved into MY room while he was in town and I was already afraid of him because he used to touch me inappropriately while I was asleep when I was barely four (I developed chronic insomnia that year, and only recovered recently). During that stay, he did expose himself to me but I did my best at ignoring him. As if life wasn’t stressful enough, my hair was frizzy and curly and I was constantly picked on. I was “El chubbita” (a male friend was called “El Chubbo”) and “Bozo”. They made fun of me for being the “rich” white girl. One of my friends in 5th grade turned against me and told everyone I had Scabes. The entire class avoided me for the rest of the school year even though I was cleared by the nurse. Then I moved to a whole different state.

Florida. And I dearly hate this place even now, 15 years later. I thought the kids back in New Mexico were mean -- but they were angels compared to what I found myself up against now. I had no friends in 6th grade, which is when I “became a woman” and started to blossom. I continued to increase in weight and my hair was just as frizzy and impossible as ever. I always wore it back in a pony tail and then used a headband to keep the fly-aways at bay. I looked ridiculous and boyish everyday. Boys on the school bus made fun of me because I never talked to anyone -- they said it was probably because my father sexually abused me as a child (my father is dead, btw). I was called fat, ugly, and even had the word “whore” inserted in the middle of my name simply because I wouldn’t do anyone elses homework. I was tortured and made fun of because of my weight and hair. I had a jacket my mother picked up from Goodwill, and I had no problem telling anyone that.

It never really ended during my school career. High school was just as ugly. I gained even MORE weight. I had no respect and barely had any friends (thank goodness for my online buddies. I love you guys.). I was still “Frizzy hair” and other stupid names. We moved in the middle of high school experience and I gained 15 pounds because of it. I developed a panic disorder and had attacks at school that kept me in bed for three days at a time. I considered suicide. There were times I could hear my mother scream and be chased by my step dad. I’ve had to pick her up off the ground before and she’s lied to me about her bruises. I once grabbed a steak knife and started up the stairs to their room -- but I also felt that it wasn’t the best choice. I had become completely depressed. I’ve lost count of how many students threatened to beat me up just because they didn’t like me. I moved in with my grandmother, and I started to feel better. At some point, my mother moved to Texas and I was the last to find out. Towards the end of high school I did develop a small band of friends who appreciated me for who I was. I did figure out how to calm my hair and I started trying to control my weight and dressed a little better. I got a job and it was encouraging to have people appreciate me for my contributions and not have to comment on my appearance.

Still, it took years and years. I had several more breakdowns and even went through therapy before something seemed to click inside my head. Maybe because I hated sitting in front of someone and telling them what terrible things people have done to me and how I’ve felt about it. That really wasn’t the point, I decided. The point was how am I going to let that effect me? Why the hell should anyone else define how I feel about me? No one’s opinion matters more then your own. And I knew I was a good person. That deep down, I was beautiful and I deserved to be treated properly by everyone.

So my hair isn’t frizzy anymore. I’m nearly forty pounds lighter then I used to be. I still have some anxiety around new people and people still judge me, but now they judge me in a different way. They don’t call me fat, or ugly. Those are titles that have scarred me for life, for sure.

I’m not a different person. I appreciate myself. I think of the things I have going for me and I smile. No one else in the world deserves the right to have any control over my self-esteem. That was the key. Controlling my confidence and putting a smile on for the world.

I want every woman to hold her head high and smile, because you are beautiful.

---

About fifteen years ago (give or take) I stumbled into a chat room and met Moxie for the first time. We bonded over shared interests and have grown up together - along with several other close friends. We've gone through the pains of growing up - many of which she described above. And we've gone through graduations, heart breaks, weddings, trials, births and much, much more!

To say she's a strong woman is such and understatement. Matt may be my soul mate, but Moxie is my kindred spirit, my sister and my best friend (of which I have very few).

She is proof that women can overcome anything, and that your past may help to create who you are, but it does NOT define you. Love you too, sunflower.

Each week we will use Self Esteem Saturdays to spread joy and love to one another.  Please show love for Moxie in the comments below, for being brave and putting herself out there on display to the world. 

Note: Pass the word along about Self Esteem Saturday! We need more bloggers out there rebuilding low self esteems and spreading the word that healing is a progress that can be achieved! If you are interested in being featured on Self Esteem Saturdays, please send an email with the title  "Self Esteem Saturday" to untypicallyjia@gmail.com

Ain't It Good to See the Sun Again

Today I feel good.

So good.

I know it's too soon to feel the full effects of the medication, but I can see the light.

As of today, I have this song stuck in my head.
As for today, it is my anthem.


Aint it Good - Children of Eden

Oh look out there
In the eastern sky
Is that a hint of light
Oh come and look
I need to know
If I am seeing right
We lived so long in dark
I'm almost frightened to believe
Those clearing skies on
That glistening horizon please
Tell me my eyes
Do not deceive me

Ain't it sweet
To smell the morning
In a world washed fresh and clean
Now the storm has left it's warning
And we see, we see a hint of green
Pale grey light
Grow strong and golden
And release us from our pen
Where we rocked for endless days
On a sea of endless greys
Now we sing a song of praise, Amen
Ain't it good
Ain't it good now
Ain't it good to see the sun again

When my ears
Were filled with thunder
And when my soul
Began to shake
There were times
I'd truly wonder
If those clouds
Would ever break
But no storm
Can last forever
Though we felt
So helpless then
Now we raise a joyful chant
For a glimpse of olive plant
Haven't seen one since I can't
I can't remember when
Aint' good
Oh ain't it good
Our hearts are dancing
Hopes
Since
We got a second chance

And for now
We are done with fearing
We might be
The final generation
In a dawn that's new and fresh
Open wide this floating tress
And deliver
Every precious speciamin
Ain't it good now
Ain't it good to see the sun again
My Lord

After all the nights we stood
Smelling rain and gopher wood
To see the sun again!

Therapy. It's a Good Thing.

Wanted to thank you devoted readers for giving me all your support yesterday when I had a major down slide in this whole depression-medication adventure. I recovered quite well after a well deserve midday nap followed by a short marathon of cartoons.

Today I went to therapy. Week four in the whole healing process.

I love my therapist.

The first time I walked in her office, I looked up and spotted a calendar over her desk filled with basset hound pictures. We get along very well. My only issue with her is that she never let's me talk shit about myself. She's always building me up and trying to make me into a better person. It's really annoying. ;)

It's amazing how an hour can just fly by when you're talking about yourself. I never thought I'd be open to the idea. I imagined that I would lay on a couch while some older woman in a professional suit and glasses would sit there staring at me, nodding and saying things like, "And how does that make you feel?" until I'd have an emotional outburst where I'd cry about how my parents never loved me or some garbage, and that's why I have a hard time washing dishes as an adult. Or something like that.

But it's quite the opposite.

My therapist is very down to earth. She's a little scatter brained like me. We jump from topic to topic and then have to retrack in order to get to a certain point. She's analyzing me, which is something I'm also very good at. Only when she says what she finds, I actually have to listen. Because it's really easy to blow yourself off when you realise things that need to be done. But it's quite another to look a woman in the face who has letters after her name and say, "No, I think I'm just gonna ignore that for a while."

Today I walked into her office pissed off about a number of things. Medication. Money. Etc. I walked out feeling good about myself and my situations - even the pissy ones.

And I get homework every week that I go. I write on a mood chart what I'm feeling and when. How many hours of sleep I get. If I nap. If I panic. The list goes on.

Today we talked about the progress I'm making.

Dr: You're much different than many other patients I see come through here. You've done a lot of this work on your own.
Me: Yeah I do that sometimes.
Dr: Well it's very good. You've conquered your anxiety on your own and you've got a really good handle on your OCD for the most part. How did you do it?
Me: I blog.
Dr: Come again?
Me: I blog. I just write and get it all out there. I write and I let it go.

Of course there are other details on how I overcame my panic attacks and how I deal day to day with my OCD challenges. And when it comes to my depression, I've been using the same tactics with therapy. I talk. I just talk and get it all out there. I talk and I let it go.

Of course it's much more complicated than that. Medication is needed and there are tools and therapeutic lessons, etc. But it's progress.

It's blogging with my mouth.

That sounds dirty.

Medication: Day Six

The storm before the calm.

That feels like the best way to describe how I feel right now. Despite the fact that I look calmer than ever.

I'm tired, fatigued and my body hurts. The first few days on my new meds had me running around crazy. Restless and awake at all hours, I couldn't stop moving. Now I'm suffering the consequences with tired and sore muscles - muscles that still want to move. I get twitchy every now and then. Like I'm crawling in my own skin. Sometimes my teeth chatter. I can deal with those side effect though. I know that they will fade.

The mental side effects are so far the hardest.

A very typical side effect of most SSRI antidepressants, is that things can get worse before they get better. I'm sure if I wasn't as tired as I am right now, I would probably analyze and theorize it to death, but I just can't think straight right now. Who knows how it all works. It's not the same for any two people. Hell, some people even have a side effect of suicidal thoughts. But I'm used to that with having OCD (which causes intrusive and unwanted thoughts, sometimes in regards to death).

The depression has however worsened. I can feel it. Fogging up my brain. Making it harder to think, move, react. It feels dark.

But it only feels dark today.

I know that tomorrow it could be light again. And even if it's not, I know that it's somewhere over the horizon. I've taken the step needed to fix this. Now it's just a waiting game. Not waiting for a good day, or a good week. But waiting for things to balance, so I can maybe have a chance at living a normal life. Dealing with stresses and sadness in normal ways. I don't need to be maniacally happy - I just want to live on my own terms.

And I'd really like a nap right now.

And a massage.

And a Pepsi.

Love, Yourself - April Update

For those just tuning in, last year I wrote letters to myself that will automatically post on my blog each month throughout the year. It's my way of keeping up with progress and showing myself the difference an entire year can really make. Instead of obsessing on the little things, I'm looking at the big picture.

Yesterday, another letter posted to the blog. And here is the difference that one year can make.

April did come with it's low points. Like remember how you thought for a minute that you might have had a hidden pregnancy and had gone into labor because everything hurt that bad? And then you thought it was uterine fibroids? And then it turned out to be a kidney stone that had you pretty much paralyzed with pain and horror. This is one of the reasons you need to keep drinking good water. Because you had a kidney stone for crying out loud and you just let it be for WAY too long.

I am still drinking water and have cut down on the soda I drink. No more kidney stones! And unlike last year when I refused to go to the doctor for any given reason, I have already gone in the last week and am on the road to balanced health!

This month you were sent an angel. Rachel, your visiting teacher came over and helped you clean. It really got you started on a path that was slowly leading you out of depression. When Rachel helped you clean, you put a bunch of plastic bottles in the closet because you had a plan to use them for something. They are still there. If I haven't thrown them out by the time this letter gets posted, then that's your chore for the day. Go throw those out. You keep the weirdest crap.

The giant paper bag of plastic bottles has been moved from my closet to the porch next to the trash bin and is sitting there waiting to be picked up, as I write this. But yeah . . . that's embarrassing. LOL.

This month you weighed 241 pounds and you were doing so good. I honestly think that if the kidney stone thing hadn't happened, you wouldn't have gained the weight back like you did. You would have kept going.

Due to depression issues and new medication, I have gained some weight from my weigh in last month (which was my lowest weight at 234) but . . . I am still less than what I weighed last year! As of this morning, I am sitting at a proud 239!

You held ten pounds over your head for 3 minutes and 54 seconds. I challenge you to beat your record.
 

I have beaten my record as of today! I held the same ten pounds over my head for a total of 7 minutes!

April 2010               -              April 2011

Love, Yourself (April)

Dear Jia,

A year ago you lost eight pounds! It was pretty impressive because you didn't even have to change that much. You started paying attention to what you were eating instead of just blindly shoveling food into your mouth. It wasn't the best food, but you were awake when you were eating it. You also started drinking more water. It was so good for you. Did I mention you lost eight pounds? You can do this!

April did come with it's low points. Like remember how you thought for a minute that you might have had a hidden pregnancy and had gone into labor because everything hurt that bad? And then you thought it was uterine fibroids? And then it turned out to be a kidney stone that had you pretty much paralyzed with pain and horror. This is one of the reasons you need to keep drinking good water. Because you had a kidney stone for crying out loud and you just let it be for WAY too long.

This month you were sent an angel. Rachel, your visiting teacher came over and helped you clean. It really got you started on a path that was slowly leading you out of depression. When Rachel helped you clean, you put a bunch of plastic bottles in the closet because you had a plan to use them for something. They are still there. If I haven't thrown them out by the time this letter gets posted, then that's your chore for the day. Go throw those out. You keep the weirdest crap.

This month you weighed 241 pounds and you were doing so good. I honestly think that if the kidney stone thing hadn't happened, you wouldn't have gained the weight back like you did. You would have kept going.

This is what you looked like in April 2010. This was a screen capture taken from a video you did for the weight loss challenge. You held ten pounds over your head for 3 minutes and 54 seconds. I challenge you to beat your record.

So take a picture of yourself today, April 2011 and post it tomorrow along with the progress you have made.

Love,

Yourself

My Uppers Need a Downer

Twelve years ago I was diagnosed with depression. Immediately the doctor put me on zoloft. I don't remember many of the side effects, aside from insomnia. I rode the meds out for six months before the refills ran out and we just never went back again. I was never cured. And when I got off the pills, it just got progressively worse over the twelve years that followed. Not only that, but the OCD that had been a mere cameo in my life, went from guest star to featured regular in the daily show that is Jia.

In between then and now I've had a plethora of poorly educated / prejudiced / pill pimping / vegan hippie doctors that haven't helped with much or agreed on anything other than the fact that I was clearly over weight and that's probably the root cause of everything that's ever been wrong with me ever ever ever. Ever.

Between my distrust of doctors there's also been my distrust of medicine in the way of me getting healthy again. Birth control pills taken when I was fifteen destroyed my hormone balance and could very well be the core reason that I am presently infertile. Pills given to me by a doctor who hadn't yet confirmed a disorder I "more than likely" had left me bed ridden for an entire month.

It's taken over two years of fiercely battling depression, OCD and anxiety for my family to convince me that medication may be needed. I learned to fight back against my anxiety, and I've grown closer to surviving OCD. But depression is something that you can't fix by will alone. Ah, hell you can't fix OCD or anxiety with will alone either, but I never said I was fixed.

After three weeks of therapy and a visit to a balanced doctor (who insists on being involved in my recovery), I am back on antidepressants. I've seen many friends go through the same ordeals and I've admired their strength. If it wasn't for them, who knows if I'd be okay with being on meds right now.

I'm back on zoloft. 

New side effects have risen to the surface. I'm not cool with the hot flashes, but to be fair, at least my air conditioner works now. Another side effect that came out with a bang yesterday is the restlessness. Not being able to sit still. Always moving, shaking, or needing to talk - and usually with a great amount of speed in my speech. And then I remember that I had this side effect last time too. It eventually wears off as the medication kicks in and starts fixing what's been improperly wired in my brain.

Last night though . . . the insomnia returned. I'd forgotten what it felt like. To be so physically exhausted but completely unable to rest, relax and eventually doze off. And I like sleep. A lot. Most people with depression are really good at sleep.

Once an hour I'd turn and look at the clock. Sometimes I'd fall asleep for maybe ten minutes at a time, but I'd wake up with jaw pain and a headache. Apparently, I was clenching my teeth during those "peaceful" ten minutes of rest. Eventually the combination of complete exhaustion, ear plugs (and a healthy dose of Metallica behind that to help drown out the sounds of my neighbors alarm clock that continued ringing for over twenty minutes) - plus the loving hands of a good husband rubbing my head, neck and shoulders . . . and I finally slept for more than ten minutes. It didn't last long, but it was enough. For now.

I'm okay. I can ride this out. Because I know that there's a light at the end of the tunnel.


And I'm really, really tired of living in the dark.

Three Men and a Chick Stared at My Boobs. What Did You Do Today?

 

It's okay. I'm allowed to write that. 

Cause those are my boobs.

And they're awesome.

Just ask my husband.

Today my boobs had the largest audience since that one time in high school when I thought my then 36D's could fit into a size medium button up blouse. Oh how my current 40DD's laugh at the good old days. 

(And I'm probably underestimating their present girth at the moment.)

Remember last year when I had a doctor tell me that I needed to stop touching my boobs so much? Well I went back to the doctor today because in addition to a few other things, I found some lumps.

Now a woman of my size is used to finding lumps here and there, but, and every woman on the face of the planet can attest to this, finding them in your breasts immediately triggers panic attacks. Sure we're told (sometimes) how to conduct a proper self breast exam, but we're thorough, and not all cancers look and feel alike. It's a good thing we're told to do breast exams under the clothing, because I drop too many skittles down my cleavage to run into a potential candy cancer lookalike anytime I come home from the movie theatre. My heart just couldn't take it.

I've found lumps before. Usually they go away when the impending cycle of doom rears her ugly head. But lately, they've stuck around like tics on a banished meerkat. (I've been watching a marathon of Meerkat Manor, for that I apologise.)

The good doc (a new one who I very much like), stepped into the room with his student assistant, a nurse and my sweet husband in the room and told me to drop the sheet. Like the shameless girl that I am, I did as instructed and the show immediately began. 

Then without even so much as buying me a drink, the event was over and he said that I have fibro cystic breasts and he was amazed that with my medical history and symptoms that no doctor has mentioned it before. They've got me scheduled for an ultrasound and maybe even a meeting with a general surgeon after that just to be sure (because my rack is too amazing to risk cutting corners), but I'm much relieved in the meantime. 

Except that I have to cut back on my caffeine intake. Which makes for a much angry Jia.

In the meantime, I'll ask not for prayers so soon. Those prayers are deserved for women who have been diagnosed with breast cancer and are doing what they can to kick it's ass. If it comes down to it (which right now is very unlikely) I'll ask to borrow your strength.

But for now, let's all just just sit in awe of my amazing cleavage.

Untypically in Love: Five Words

Read the full story, chapter by chapter here.

Some names and events have been changed to protect the identity of certain individuals.

---------------------

Chapter Thirty-One
Five Words

Some names have been changed to protect the identity of certain individuals. Likewise, certain events have been altered slightly - some for time constraint - others because this is not only my story, but the story of those who were also there and certain details are not mine to tell.

---------------------

"Do they always fight this much?" Joseph asked me as we walked toward the movie theater, Kristine and her boyfriend Aaron remained near the car behind us screaming at each other. I turned around to watch my sister throw a cup of hot chocolate at her boyfriend only to have it splatter against the windshield of his car, freezing almost instantly against the glass due to the chilly weather.

"Pretty much," I sighed and continued walking, secretly wondering why I'd agreed to go on this date at all let alone turn it into a double date with what I believed to be the most overly dramatic couple in the world. It wasn't bad enough that Kristine and Aaron worked together - so it brought drama into the workplace - but Aaron had to pick tonight of all nights to start a fight with her?

I'd agreed to go on the date mostly from peer pressure. By the end of the week everyone at work already assumed Joseph and I were an item, and when I cleared it up that we weren't, I was followed around by a parade of people asking me why - it was apparently so clear that we were perfect for one another. Or so they said. Of course a big part of me giving in was due to loneliness. It'd been months since I'd had strong arms wrap around me and a deep voice call me girlfriend. I missed Josh. Mostly, I missed Matt.

Hours earlier, Aaron picked Kristine and I up in his car and we drove a few blocks away to where Joseph lived. I had gone to the door, dressed in my tight flare jeans and a low cut black and white top that Kristine insisted I wear. Joseph proceeded to introduce me to his siblings, his two brothers I already knew from work. His younger sister was nice enough, but still had a bratty quality to her when she answered the door and screamed, "Joseph, your girlfriend's here." There was another man there as well. Nearing his twenties, Joseph introduced me to a friend of the family who had driven down from Indiana to visit. I politely said hello but the mere sight of him sent uneasy chills up my spine; I didn't know why.

We drove to a little italian restaurant near the movie theater and took our seats. I sat opposite my sister and kicked her in the foot anytime she said something to get Joseph and I to scoot closer together. The dinner was nice enough, but Kristine and Aaron took up most of the conversation, leaving Joseph and I to relax a little at not having to deal with the awkwardness of a first date.

"Jia?" I heard from across the room. Immediately Kristine and I widened our eyes, both thinking the same thing. No one called me Jia during this time of my life. No one but Josh, who'd yet to drop the old habit. The only people who still knew me as Jia were people from high school, from a time when I wasn't my most mature in life.

"Oh my gosh it is you!" Audrey, an old friend approached the table. "I was just saying to Erik that I could swear I saw Jia of all people sitting here! Where's Matt?" She asked and I closed my eyes, groaning inwardly. Before I could get a reply in, Audrey's boyfriend called her and she smiled and gave me a quick hug. "Well it was nice to see you! Say hi to Matt for me!"

Our table sat in perfect silence as Kristine and I stared down at our plates, just hoping the moment would pass. It didn't.

"Jia?" Joseph asked, more to himself than anyone else. He said the name over and over again before his eyes widened and he turned to look up at me. "I knew it. I knew you looked familiar."

I dropped my fork in defeat. "Familiar?"

"I had a class with you sophomore year," he smiled. "I'm pretty sure it was you. Did you . . ." he paused wondering if his next question would offend if it turned out that I wasn't the girl he was thinking of. "Did you once throw a geometry book at a teacher?"

I lowered my head to the table and sighed irritably before bringing it up once again, raising my defenses. "Okay, let's get this out of the way. She deserved it. I had the right answer and everyone knew it and she said my book was wrong, so I showed it to her." I huffed. "How was I supposed to know she couldn't catch?"

"I knew it was you," Joseph smiled. "I mean, I didn't know you or anything back then. You had a pretty serious boyfriend, right?" He asked.

"Yeah," I said quickly, turning my attention back to my food, unwilling to raise my eyes once more until the subject was dropped. I was a different girl back then. I had been a different girl with Matt. That girl was dead now.

Reminded of my old life, the one I had enjoyed so much, I felt weak and emotionally distraught. Despite my best efforts to avoid the date to begin with, I'd caved. Despite my best efforts to not get emotionally invested, I'd caved. By the end of the movie, Joseph had kissed me. It hadn't been the firey passion that I felt when Matt kissed me. It hadn't even felt sweet and slightly taboo when Josh had. But it numbed the pain, and not feeling pain for the first time in months felt really, really good. I quickly grew drunk on the morphine of a relationship that was doomed from day one.

"I had a good time," I smiled as Joseph and I walked to his door, Aaron and Kristine waited in the car behind us.

"Yeah, me too," Joseph said, pulling his hand away from mine. Something immediately didn't feel right. "Listen," he started. "You're really great, and nice but . . ."

"But?" I had an instant flashback to Josh and I, standing in the rocks of his front yard. I couldn't handle another rejection. Not now. Not so soon. Not when I had fought this from the beginning only to be worn down into opening myself up again.

"We can't do this anymore." Joseph said on an exhale as though he'd been holding it in all night.

Five words.

Five words would change everything.

Six months later . . . 

I sat up quickly, waking from a deep sleep, startled by a nightmare I couldn't shake. My eyes gazed around the room and sighed. Not my own. I'd been staying at Riley's apartment for about a week now. Closing in on my eighteenth birthday it became very clear that it was time for me to move out. Emotionally I'd already begun, though I wasn't quite sure where I'd end up. I stood up from the mattress that had been set in the middle of the living room floor, and immediately I began looking for my shoes.

"Didn't sleep?" Joseph asked from behind me, still resting on the mattress he and I had been sharing for several nights, though nothing physically intimate had happened. It was a line I seemed firm in my refusal to cross, and Joseph hadn't even asked. No, ours had been a six month long emotional relationship the likes of which I'd never before experienced. And not in a fairytale kind of way.

"Nightmares," I sighed. Nightmares of Audra, my once best friend who'd recently tried to get in contact with me, begging me to go on a camping trip with her and several other friends. I'd ignored her calls for weeks until finally I made an excuse not to go at all. Being around Audra just reminded me how good life used to be.

I began pulling my hair up into a pony tail and a sharp pain flooded my right hand. Looking down, I had almost forgotten it was bandaged. Peeking beneath the white cloth, I examined the deep cuts on my knuckles from when I'd sent a balled fist into a brick wall the week before, when Joseph had - once again - told me, "We can't do this anymore." 

It had become a typical habit. One that my friends caught onto too late. In the beginning when Joseph asked me out again after that first disastrous date, I was told to give him another chance. A month later when it happened again everyone advised that perhaps he was afraid of his feelings or some other garbage. Now, they were getting ready to intervene on my behalf. I was dying inside and helpless to save myself. Deeper and deeper into the darkness, I'd lost all self esteem and most of my will to live. I was drowning and I'd stopped caring enough to try and fight my way to the surface to breathe.

I sat back down on the mattress to put my shoes on. I had to work later that afternoon and needed to get home in order to wash my work uniform. I felt lips on the back of my neck and I immediately pulled away defensively.

Joseph sighed and by the time I was done tying my shoes, he spoke up. "Listen, I need to talk to you," he said, followed by another dramatic sigh. "We can't . . ."

"Seventeen." I said coldly, cutting him off.

"What?" He blinked.

"Seventeen." I repeated myself.

"Seventeen what?" He asked, still confused.

"Seventeen times you've said that to me in the last six months." I very nearly growled. I was sick of these mind games. One moment he would do this, cut me off emotionally, and sooner or later he'd come around spewing tales of emotional confusion and spiritual distress. Joseph and I had two very different religions, both of which encouraged dating and marrying within ones own church. I'd let my faith slip months earlier, while Joseph seemed to use his to back in and out of our relationship at will.

"You're keeping track?" He asked, a hint of anger in his voice. A part of me wished that he would just hit me. I'd been hit by a boyfriend before, during freshman year before Josh or Matt ever came into the picture. He would hit me and I would hit him back. This relationship with Joseph felt more painful. Perhaps physical pain would snap me out of whatever was wrong with me. Whatever idiotic broken piece of me that took him back everything he'd do this and then say things like, "I love you," "I need you," "I'm sorry." Plus I really wanted a reason to hit him back.

"You know what?" He stood up, grabbing his things together. "Maybe we really shouldn't do this anymore!" He yelled as he stormed off to the bathroom.

"Eighteen!" I screamed back.

I immediately began looking for my keys, desperate to get out of there as fast as I could. I would apologise to Riley later, who had actually become a good friend of mine. Anytime Joseph pulled one of his emotional time bombs, it was Riley, Stephanie and Stephanie's boyfriend Damien who put the pieces of me back together; who encouraged me to leave Joseph forever.

"Why are you keeping track?" Joseph came back out of the bathroom, the look on his face reminded me of the one he used when he would come into work after a morning like this and ask my forgiveness and throw meaningless words around like "future", "love" and even "marriage" for good measure.

"So I can see how long it takes me to realise how incredibly stupid I am for believing you ever gave a damn about me," I snapped. Was I doing it? Was I leaving him now? Had I finally snapped and come back to life?

"I do love you," he said, reaching out for my hand which I immediately pulled away.

"No. I know what love is. I had it once and it was so good, and this," I said, motioning my hand back and forth in the space between us. "Is not love."

"Fine," Joseph muttered, grabbing his jacket and storming out of the apartment.

I fell back onto the mattress, head in my hands as I let bitter tears roll down my cheeks. What was wrong with me? Why did I let him do this? Unfortunately, all that time I thought it had everything to do with me and nothing to do with him. The truth of the matter was, Joseph was in fact a decent guy. Hard working, a devoted family man, and a clear vision of what he wanted for the future. Unfortunately, he also occasionally wanted me, and I didn't fit into his clear vision - he certainly didn't fit into mine - and it was that fact that ended up causing this giant mess. It would have been better for us both to walk away, wish each other well in the future and move on. But we were young, stupid, and for some reason assumed that this was good enough.

"I don't know why you put up with it," Riley said as he stepped out of his room, his girlfriend still behind the door sleeping the morning away in his bed. "He may be my friend, but clearly something's wrong and neither of you are willing to really admit it."

"You don't understand," I sighed, not willing to admit that anyone else saw our relationship for what it really was.

"I'm serious!" Riley yelled. "Do you know that Damien and I have had to literally physically restrain Stephanie from assaulting him?"

I smiled at the thought. Stephanie was a good friend. Her protective nature reminded me how I once felt about Audra whenever she was dealing with heartache. Immediately I felt guilt building up for ignoring Audra's phone calls and not going on the stupid camping trip with her.

"I have to go," I sighed. "I need to call Audra before I head to work."

"I thought she was going on that camp out or whatever?" Riley asked.

"How did you know that?" I asked, warning signs immediately alerting me.

"I was supposed to go look for a new car yesterday with Derrick," one of Joseph's younger brothers. "But he canceled and said that he and the guys were going on some camping thing with your friend."

I had forgotten that Joseph's youngest brother went to school with Audra and that because of me, she was now familiar with the entire family. A family which I still didn't get along with, with the exception of Derrick.

"Their sister go too?" I asked out of curiosity, wondering if it was just me that the little girl hated.

"No, just Derrick, Edward and Mitch," Riley mumbled from the bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

"Mitch?" I asked, brow raised as I recalled the few times I'd met the strange family friend. "Did you say Mitch went on the camp out?"

Riley nodded.

Suddenly everything began piecing itself together. The eerie feeling when I first met Mitch. The horrible nightmares I'd been having. The warning signs. I'd always trusted my intuition before and on several occasions it had changed my life for the better. At times when I ignored it, something bad always hung over the horizon.

"I have to go," I yelled and darted for the door.

Curious, Riley followed. "What's the hurry?" He called out after me.

"Why would someone Mitch's age have nothing better to do than go camping with a sixteen year old girl?" I asked him, and suddenly the worried look on Riley's face told me that I wasn't overreacting.

>>> Chapter Thirty-Two

Thanks For Making Me a Fighter

Today I'm honored to be a guest poster for one of my favourite websites.

Last year the Blogger Body Calendar stood together and created a calendar to show the world that our bodies are beautiful. Their forceful stance to strengthen low self esteem inspired me. They also raised some decent dough for the National Eating Disorder Association.

This year they've taken a new stance: Survival and Strength.

They also have a new calendar in the world and a new cause to support. Violence Unsilenced is something I've mentioned before. For those who are survivors of abuse, I encourage you to speak out! Do not let this silence destroy you. You are a survivor.

I know how you feel.

Abuse, whether it be physically, sexually, mentally or emotionally was something I assumed each woman went through. It was a rite of passage that was never needed, wanted, provoked or deserved.

But it made you stronger. Made you a survivor.

I became stronger because of the things I've gone through, and so have those who have raised me, inspired me, and strengthened me by surviving their own struggles with abuse - no matter the severity.

When my older sister went through her divorce several years ago, I drove up to Utah to stand by her side and help in whatever way I could. There is strength in numbers. I immediately went out and bought her a CD for a special kind of healing I knew she needed; including this song which quickly became an anthem.



There's really something powerful about seeing a woman standing up, standing tall, after being pushed down for so long.

Please check out the Blogger Body Calendar and do what you can to support other survivors.

Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts - Or Malware

After a ten year war against Troy with little (if any) success, the Greeks built a giant wooden horse and hid men inside of it. Then their ship appeared to sail away, abandoning their siege against the city. The Trojans saw the horse and pulled it into the city as a victory trophy. By night the Greeks escaped the wooden horse, opened the city gates for the rest of the massive Greek army and began slaughtering the Trojans in their sleep.

In a similar fashion, a Trojan somehow got into my computer system yesterday (thankfully not while I slept) and I spent the better part of what felt like a ten year war battling for the safety of my files. I won the war in the end, but there were MANY casualties.

So fair warning to you fellow citizens of Troy (otherwise known as bloggers and internet surfers) - there is a Trojan called Windows Recovery that pops up and tells you that your hard drive has been corrupted and it makes you think that all your files have been deleted. It literally makes them invisible to you and you aren't able to even search for them. So I ran a Trojan Killer (aptly named Trojan Killer) and it found the threats and then like an hour or so later when the scan finished, I clicked "Delete Threats" and it goes, "To delete threats, purchase Trojan Killer by clicking this link".

Yeah.

Eff that.

So I ran another anti-something scan which found nothing. Another scan which found nothing. And when I couldn't find the Windows disc that would let me just wipe the computer, I did a system restore which got rid of the Trojan and brought my file folders back.

But not the files.

I lost all my music, pictures, documents, stories, e-books, tv shows and movies. Over two years of pictures I've taken and scanned, things I've downloaded, things I've purchased and even things I've written. I'm suddenly very glad that I never finished NaNoWriMo last year.

Wanna guess the severity of my casualties?

At LEAST 250 GB gone!

Missing!

Forever!

Burned to the ground inside the city of Troy!

So that'll teach me to back up my files in the future I guess. Thank goodness most of my pictures have already been uploaded to FB, Picasa, Flickr and Photobucket at one point or another.

So now I have a basically clean slated computer, and 4 new anti-virus, anti-malware, anti-spyware, and anti-trojan programs that will be running at least once a day.

Think you the Grecians from your coasts are gone?
And are Ulysses' arts no better known?
This hollow fabric either must inclose,
Within its blind recess, our secret foes;
Or 't is an engine rais'd above the town,
T' o'erlook the walls, and then to batter down.
Somewhat is sure design' d, by fraud or force:
Trust not their presents, nor admit the horse.’

(Virgil's Aeneid)

The Blog Guidebook - A New Favourite

You all know how much I love mass blog websites.  I'm a huge fan of SITS and MMB.  And I have a new website that I've been indulging in over the last few months.  The Blog Guidebook.
They offer tips and tricks in blogging, blog design, and even how to make money with your blog. But they also have a massive blog listing where you can search other blogs by category and this so far, is one of my favourite features. I'm addicted to blogs. You know it, I know, and my non-existent blogoholics anonymous sponsor knows it.
The Blog Guidebook also offer blog critiques, advertising and even a new feature called the Blog Club to help promote readership and comment love.  And who doesn't love comments?(hint, hint)

What I Did During My Blog Vacation

 

Ah, Jamaica . . . I miss you.

No, I did not go to Jamaica on my blog vacation. Nor did I leave New Mexico. Hell, I barely stepped foot outside my front door and that was only because I'm tired of the dogs pissing inside the house.

But I did take a little vacation from the internet (internet on my cell phone doesn't count). And here are some of the things I did while on my blog vacation:

• Scheduled a bunch of older posts which got more hits than I have had all month proving that my awesomeness does not fade and that I don't even need to be here to be fantastic.
• Bounced our rent check over the matter of 28 cents. (Not joking).
• Fixed rent check. (Yay, we still have a home!)
• Argued with Matt on the specific dog breed of Cujo. (We were both wrong. Did  you know Cujo was a Saint Bernard? Totally had me baffled.)
• Went to therapy where my therapist told me that I need to sleep more.
• Dyed my hair auburn. It's not my favourite color of red. I prefer "paint the town" intense red. But Matt kind of has a thing for The Pioneer Woman, so I give in to his little romantic fantasies in the hopes that one day he'll buy himself some leather chaps and wranglers.
• Watched a massive amount of Dog the Bounty Hunter.
• Wrote my Dad a letter while he waits to go to prison. Cause I'm a good daughter. Or something.
• Had the most amazing sushi date with my husband.
• Gagged on basset hound farts all effing week long. Seriously. It's just . . . not fair.
• Freaked out my mother in law by telling her that I didn't get enough sex before marriage (jokingly).
• Contemplated the meaning of life, the universe and my place within it, and then watched WWE Wrestling because contemplating the size of John Cena's biceps or the amount of baby oil that's been rubbed over Randy Orton's chest is just easier on the brain (and eyes).

Disney Movies are Ruining Marriages

Conversation between Matt and I...



Matt: 'Where the Wild Things Are' came out.

Me: I don't know if I want to see that.

Matt: Why not?

Me: Because it's one of the best children's books of all time. And so was 'Bridge to Terabithia'.

Matt: You loved that movie.

Me: It was okay. I didn't like it as much as the book.

Matt: That reminds me. I hate you. You knew about the end of that movie and you didn't warn me or anything. I was like, "Hey do you wanna go see 'Bridge to Terabithia'?" and you went, " . . . . . . yes?" Cause you knew and you didn't say anything!

Me: To be fair, I totally gave you fair warning about 'Marley & Me'.

Matt: Not the same thing.

Me: Marley & Me would have been way worse!

Matt: No it wouldn't have. I've seen 'Old Yeller'.

Me: There's a big difference.

Matt: No there's not! Watching 'Old Yeller' is like getting stabbed in the face. 'Old Yeller' is what children's nightmares are made of. 'Old Yeller' is for little boys, what 'Bambi' is for little girls.

Me: I never got sad watching 'Bambi'.

Matt: That's cause apparently you don't have a heart!

Me: No I mean the mom dies and I was kinda like, "So what? Mine died too, you gonna cry about it?"

Matt: Yeah plus 'Bambi' had that bad ass stag for a Dad.

Me: He was totally bad ass.

Matt: He was a stag pimp. He was like, "Yo Thumper, where's my money!?" And smacks him in the face. He hoof slaps a bitch. He was like if James Earl Jones was a deer, that would be him.

Me: James Earl Jones isn't a deer. He's a lion.

Matt: Stupid effing Lion King.

Me: Do. Not. Insult. 'The Lion King'.

Matt: You mean "MacBeth Light"?

Me: Don't start with me. You know better than to insult 'The Lion King'!

Matt: Did you know that 'The Lion King' is a total rip off of a Japanese movie about a lion named Kimba?

Me: That's stupid. The name similarities don't make sense. 'Simba' is Swahili for "lion". No relation to the Japanese movie. Besides, lions in Japan . . . doesn't make sense. Lions are in Africa.

Matt: This movie did take place in Africa.

Me: Why were there Japanese people in Africa? You're not making any sense!

Matt: . . . . . You can't be talked to right now.

Me: You know what I never understood? How like there's only two adult male lions in the whole movie, and yet it's established that Simba and Nala are the same age. Who is Nala's Dad? For that matter, who's the Dad of the little girl deer that Bambi falls for? Wasn't there only one stag in the whole movie? There is some serious polygamous secrets going on inside the Disney vault!

Matt: Well, 'The Lion King' was a stupid cartoon.

Me: You're a stupid cartoon!!

___________________________________________________

Update: Sorry to my more conservative readers. I'm aware an F-bomb was dropped. I would have given you warning, but it would have ruined the flow. Plus, I don't really warn people in real life when I drop them. I should work on that. Maybe I'll wear a sign.

Update x2: So apparently The Lion King does have a bunch of similarities to some Japanese movie called 'Kimba the White Lion'. But I maintain my loyalty to TLK. Plus I still sing songs from Simba's Pride like on a daily basis.

Update x3: A commenter wanted me to point out that The Lion King is not MacBeth light, it's Hamlet light. Which means Matt is terrible with Disney trivia and Shakespeare. 

My Uterus Also Has a USB Port

Matt and I were playing Scene It last night, the video game about movie trivia. Normally, Matt kills me during this game, but somehow, I completely lucked out last night.

Question: Kate Winslet starred in Sense & Sensibility, true or false?

Matt: False.
Me: True. (Correct)

Question: Who was the lead actress in the Pride & Prejudice 2005 remake?

Matt: What?
Me: Keira Knightley (Correct)

Question: Who had Tom Cruise at Hello?

Matt: I don't get it.
Me: Renee Zellweger (Correct)

Question: In Pride and Prejudice, how many daughters are in the Bennet family?

Matt: How are we supposed to know that?!
Me: Five (Correct)

Matt: Alright, I know for a fact that you've never read that book!
Me: Saw the movie once, like fifteen years ago or something. I think.
Matt: Then how do you know the answer?
Me: It's Jane Austen.
Matt: And?
Me: And I have a vagina.
Matt: What's that got anything to do with it?
Me: It's basically pre-programmed information. My vagina came with Jane Austen 2.0 and Meg Ryan Movies version 3.5

I've also successfully downloaded Hugh Grant 1.6, Molly Ringwald Widget and the latest Twilight 4.5 (Team Edward update).

While the vagina is programmed with many helpful features, it's competitor hardware the penis does have several functions that just aren't backwards compatible for the vagina. The penis, like many hardware systems perform their tasks VERY well, but it does not have the ability to download new software.

Case in point:

Matt: Honey, will you go make me a sammich?
Me: Why can't you do it?
Matt: Cause I have a penis.

Me: Hey babe, will you load the dishwasher?
Matt: I can't.
Me: Why not?
Matt: Cause I have a penis.

The penis is apparently also incapable of downloading programs such as laundry 2.6, salad eating 4.0, and any chick flick torrents unless prompted with rewards. I think it's made by Apple.

I'm Just Gonna Clean Naked From Now On

It's on the days when the swamp cooler isn't working at it's best and it's over 100 degrees outside that I really, really wish I had a cleaning lady.

I even called some today.

The front window that lets the light of Hell into my entire living room is currently serving as a heat magnifier as well.

Calling for cleaning services though is in it's own way a motivational tool for lazy homemakers, such as myself. Especially if they're cheap!

Me: Hello? Yes, I was wondering what rates you have for cleaning an apartment?
Maid: How many rooms?
Me: Well I only need the living room and kitchen done. So just two.
Maid: Only those two rooms?
Me: Yeah, basically anywhere the light touches.
Maid: I don't understand...
Me: Yeah, I think it's because I'm losing consciousness.
Maid: Are you okay?
Me: No, I'm dying of heat stroke. Being baked alive. That's why I need you.
Maid: . . . .
Me: Hello?
Maid: . . . .
Me: . . .  Hola?
Maid: Well what's the state of the rooms?
Me: Clean. Just like surface stuff. I just don't want to do it today.
Maid: Oh, well that'll only be sixty dollars.

CLICK!

Do you know how many cases of Pepsi I can buy with sixty dollars?!

I decided I should clean my own house! But first . . . . .

Me: Wah! I want someone else to clean my house!
Matt: Sorry. You're it.
Me: Boo.
Matt: It's the job you picked. No one to blame but yourself.
Me: You know I'm much more sympathetic when you complain about your job.
Matt: Sorry.
Me: So . . . . hot . . . . gonna . . . die!
Matt: Too . . . . much . . . . drama!
Me: *dies from neglect and sarcasm*

So I did laundry. Mostly because I sweat through all of my clothes.

On the bright side, sweat makes me look totally sexified!

Oh yeah baby . . . salty goodness.

Update on Caulk

I apologise in advance for this.

Really.

Seriously. You might want to leave now.

You'll totally lose respect for me for posting this.

Or you'll give me an award.

For the record . . . this is completely true and almost exactly word for word.

Mother in Law: We need to caulk the front bathroom.

Matt: *twitch* We need to what?

Mother in Law: We need to caulk the front bathroom.

Matt:  So what you're saying, is that the caulk goes in the front?

Mother in Law: Yeah, the front bathroom.

Matt: Could it also go in the back?

Mother in Law: Yes, the back bathroom needs it worse than the front.

Matt: It needs caulk.

Mother in Law: Yes.

Matt: I've never caulked before. Do you know how to work caulk?

Mother in Law: Oh yeah. It's easy to work with caulk.

Matt: Is it messy working with caulk?

Mother in Law: Well of course it gets messy. You have to be careful.

Matt: With caulk.

Mother in Law: Yeah.

Matt: How does caulk work?

Mother in Law: You take the tube and squeeze it along the rim of the bathtub or sink.

Matt: So what happens when you squeeze the caulk?

Mother in Law: The stuff comes out.

Matt: What color is it?

Mother in Law: White.

Matt: Does caulk come in different colors?

Mother in Law: Of course it does.

Matt: Does it come in black?

Mother in Law: Probably.

Matt: Do you think the black caulk is bigger than the white caulk?

Mother in Law: I think caulk comes in all different sizes, why?

This went on for about 20 more minutes. 

I had to leave the room about 6 times cause I was crying and almost peed.

My mother in law never caught on.

We also never caulked the bathrooms.

Sorry.

----

Update: So about six months ago Matt's uncle came down to visit the family. He got to read this post and we all shared a good laugh about it. Matt's mom finally admitted:

Mother in Law: I have to tell you . . . I still don't get why this is so funny.

Uncle: Are you serious?

Mother in Law: What's so funny about caulk?

Matt: Think about it Mom. Caulk.

Mother in Law: Caulk. I don't get it.

Matt: What does caulk sound like, Mom?

Mother in Law: I don't understand.

Uncle: Cock Sis, like a penis. You know. A Cock.

Mother in Law: (suddenly doesn't find my blog so funny) I can't believe you kids!

The "Whore" You Know

Hi. I'm Untypically Jia.

Lately I've been receiving a lot of emails and comments excited about my usage of the word "whore." I thought it was time that I address these heart felt comments. First off, thank you. "Whore," is indeed a fabulous word. It is very versatile and can be used in many situations. For instance, you can call someone a "whore" which can either be an insult, or in certain cases, a term of endearment. For instance, April is a whore. Because I love her. Charlie is a "whore face". Same reason. At the same time, most of my husbands ex-girlfriends are whores.

Because they turn tricks.

Probably.

"Whore," can also be an exclamation. For instance, if you stub your toe and can't drop an "F" bomb cause your mother in law is nearby and she'll give you "that look". You can scream "Whore!" instead. She'll probably still give you a look, but it'll be less judgmental and more concerning.

But please, let's remember that whores are people too.

Whores might take offense if you actually call them a whore. If you are a whore, please understand that my usage of this word is not directly in offense to you. But I mean . . . you're still a frickin' whore, so you should get to used to being called a whore. And latex.

If you're a whore who is accepting of your lifestyle, you probably won't get pissed at being called a "whore".

But you should still get tested for gonorrhea.

ABC, I'd like a house now - kthanxbye!

Take 1 part gorgeous redhead . . .

Mix 4 hours of sleep and 8 hours of work . . .

Beat in 3 episodes of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition . . .

To get 1 red hot mess . . .

Matt won't even watch the show with me. He says it's too sad. Well duh! No one gives free stuff to happy people! I think this is just encouraging me to be even more sad. Seriously! My mom died when I was 2, I was raised by my three aunts (one of whom was killed in a car accident when I was 13), my Grandmother had a stroke when I was 7 and died when I was 15 . . .

PLUS, when I got married I gained like 50 pounds!

Where's my house, Ty!?

Matt is not sympathetic at all:

Me: I'm watching Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. It's sad. I'm crying all over the house.

Matt: Why are you watching that?

Me: Cause I'm dumb.

Matt: Well watch all of the ones you have recorded so I don't have to watch them with you.

Me: You have no heart.

Matt: Every time you make me watch that stupid show it's always about the family where the wife died and then I get sad!

Me: The wife didn't die in this episode!

Matt: Let me guess, the husband died.

Me: And one of their kids.

Matt: What is wrong with you?!

Me: I love too much.

Matt: I'll see you when I get home.

He totally doesn't get me.

It hurts inside.

It hurts so much someone should give me a house for it.

A Southern Accent is Like a Free Pass

 Conversation Matt and I had while out to dinner one night...


Me: I have no idea what I want

Matt: Me either.

Waitress: (A 40 something year hispanic woman with a valley girl accent) Hey there sweetie! (says to Matt) What's up girlfriend? (She says while sitting down NEXT TO ME!) Man if I could sit down and make money that would be the best.

Me: Umm . . . Hi?

Matt: *Snicker*

Waitress: You guys know what you want?

Me: No.

Matt: Yeah, sorry, we need a few minutes.

Waitress: Okay sweeties! (Leaves)

Me: Bubble! Bubble! She broke my bubble!

Matt: It's not a real bubble.

Me: Personal bubble!

Matt: That was kind of weird.

Me:  She broke my bubble and called me girlfriend. I feel violated.

Matt: Your OCD amuses me. It's like a party trick.

Me: I want my bubble back.

Matt: I'm sorry. Did it really bother you that she called you girlfriend and me sweetie?

Me: Yes. I firmly believe that unless you have a Southern accent you don't have the right to call a customer any pet name.

Matt: Why just them?

Me: Because Paula Deen calls people "Darlin"

Matt: You used to call customers in Utah "Doll".

Me: Yes, and I did it with a Southern accent.

Matt: But you don't have a Southern accent.

Me: I do when I talk to my Grandmother. It rubs off.

Matt: So only people with Southern accents, or third generation mental problems can call customers by pet names.

Me: Darn skippy

Matt: Who can break the Personal Bubble space rule?

Me: . . . . Firemen.

Checking Out and Letting Go

A while ago, The Bloggess (whom I love and adore) wrote a post where she "came out" of the mental illness closet. I came out sometime last year when I had a total mental breakdown, quit my job, hid in a closet and proclaimed that I would from this point forward, go barefoot.

And despite my best efforts to stand up, to be some sort of advocate for those who fear to speak for themselves, I've still tried to put a lid on the crazy - as if that was possible. Proclaim myself broken, in need of fixing and then act as though thinking the word "fix" was as simple as that.

I don't need to be perfect.

I don't need to be "fixed".

I can't be fixed. Things can never go back to the way they were before. But they can be better.

I CAN learn how to survive through my imperfections.

I'm letting go of my secrets.

I have a confession. I've never been diagnosed. Only speculated at.

Until today.

So I'm coming out. I'm letting go. I've been diagnosed. 

Someone with fancy letters after their name looked at me and said the words that I already knew.

I have a plan.

Because I'm still getting better.

I can't do it all myself.

Sometimes we all need help.


And that's okay.


PS:


And a part of that new plan is taking a short break. I need to refuel. My energy has run out and I need to get more of it by focusing on my health, my home and my family. As of right now I'm only planning on checking out of the internet for a week. And I've scheduled some of my older posts to republish this week for those who haven't read them yet. To keep y'all busy while I'm gone.


Much love! See y'all next week!

Captivating Inspiration

Daddy issues. I has them.

So as the weekend went by, my emotional issues with my father just kept going. Like a sink I couldn't turn off, and even still now if I think too hard, or reflect on something too long, I'll burst into baby tears which immediately trigger the all too infamous "ugly cry" that we girls do our best to avoid at all costs. Ugly cries are reserved for the high school years, ex boyfriends and pints of ice cream.

This weekend Matt and I watched General Conference at home. For those who don't know, I'm a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, (Mormon), and twice a year instead of going to Church to listen to our local Church leaders and members talk, we stay at home and via satellite, cable or internet we watch our worldwide Church leaders talk. We believe that God still speaks to man and that our leaders are inspired by God to direct us.

Before General Conference, I usually pray and ask my Heavenly Father to inspire the men and women speaking. That perhaps whatever answer I need from Him, can be spoken clearly from their mouths. Usually the answer is something vague (but necessary). Pray. Go to Church. Serve others. Read your scriptures. And even once I got a healthy dose of "stop being so busy".

But this one needed to be a little more detailed. My prayer wasn't a typical one. I didn't kneel. I didn't even speak the words. But as I wrote my last blog post about my Dad, I asked God to tell me what I was supposed to do about this situation, and why NOW did I actually care? My Dad has gone to jail before. I've known for at least fifteen years, and never before has it emotionally hit me so hard. In fact, up until last week I was about 99% certain that I had stopped caring all together.

Sunday morning, my husband and I sat back and put the conference on the computer. I laid on the couch, my feet in Matt's lap as he lovingly massaged them (cause I got me a good man). I'll admit that at the time I wasn't paying much attention to the speakers. I was relaxing, enjoying the stress free moment. Matt and I would occasionally chit chat about our plans for the rest of the day and week, and then in a short moment of silence, the speaker, Bishop H. David Burton's voice somehow gained volume as he said,

"Be kind to the poor, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, administer to the sick, visit the captive."

Eyes wide, I turned and looked to Matt to see if he heard what I heard. He had.

I'd never heard the quote before, at least not directly. It sure sounded familiar as the scriptures often tell us how to treat the poor, the sick and the afflicted. Eventually, the only scripture I could find that was close to the quote was Jacob 2:19.

"And after ye have obtained a hope in Christ ye shall obtain riches, if ye seek them; and ye will seek them for the intent to do good—to clothe the naked, and to feed the hungry, and to liberate the captive, and administer relief to the sick and the afflicted."

There's a large difference between the two quotes. The scriptures say to "liberate the captive". Something that I clearly cannot do. Nor would I. But inspiration had told this Bishop to say, "visit the captive" instead. A phrase that cannot be found in the scriptures. Trust me. I looked.

Matt turned and said, "I think you should write to your Dad."

I agreed.

It's something I've never done before. It's something I never believed he deserved. I'm not sure I believe it now. And frankly, I'm not even sure if I know what I'm going to say that hasn't already been said. I don't know if my heart will open and I will be angry. Or if I'll be moved to forgive and beg him to change. Who knows at this point? But I'll put pen in hand and see what happens.

After all . . . I'm pretty sure at this point, God told me to do this. And I trust my Heavenly Father.

You Were a Hero in My Eyes

I'm not going to lie. I don't know if I'll actually click publish once I'm done writing this.

I've never really had a problem putting my heart and soul on my blog. There's very little that y'all don't know about me. But there are things I hold back. Things that I'm not yet ready to share, or things that I just don't understand enough to put words to.

This is one of those things. But I feel like I have to try, because I'm feeling really effing alone right now.

So here are the basics . . . I haven't spoken to my father in five years. Before that our relationship was unbelievably rocky. Before that . . . I was his little girl, he was my Daddy and the world was perfect.

I had made peace with the fact that I didn't have my father in my life. I could talk about him easily as though he were a character on television. I no longer felt connected. We were two separate human beings walking around on this earth, and aside from a little DNA, there was nothing else that held us together. And I was okay with that. Or so I thought.

Last night I signed onto Facebook to find that my step-mother had sent me a friend request. She and I get along well, and she even calls me on my birthday, wishes me well and then hands the phone to my little brothers.

For some reason, being suddenly connected to her on the internet got me curious. And I typed his name into the search engine. Low and behold, his Facebook profile appeared. And even though I have pictures of him in my scrapbooks and photo albums, seeing that recent image of him did something. It hit a nerve. And I lost it.

Spent most of the night crying. Effing daddy issues.

"Why don't you just call him up?" I hear some of you saying.

And that's a good question. But you see, there's a problem with that. Because right now the picture of my father online that I'm looking at isn't the one on his Facebook profile. No, it's the one I found when I searched the recent inmate rosters at the county jail website. His most recent mugshot. And when I say most recent, I mean to say that there's more than one.

Plenty more.

My name is Jia, and I'm an adult child of an addict.

And for most of my life I've been okay with shutting him out.

But there's a little girl inside of me who remembers that he once built her a dollhouse. That he took me to a Daddy Daughter dance for Valentines Day. That he let me hold the steering wheel when I was six. That he would toss me into the air when I was four - and he would always catch me. Because he was my Dad, and he'd never let me get hurt.

I'm staring at this mugshot and I hate it because it doesn't look like the Dad I had when I was a little girl. And I hate it even more because I can see myself in there somewhere. I have his nose, his mouth, his chin, his eyes. I can't even see my mother in my reflection anymore.

I've been listening to this song all day long . . . music helps calm my soul.





I'm still not sure what I wanted out of this post. It's not pity. Can't take that. Hell, maybe prayers. Prayers that I can just deal with this and move on. Prayers that he'll be that one minority that turns his life around. Prayers that even if he doesn't my little brothers don't have to deal with this the same way I've had to.

How to REALLY Win an Argument

Conversation between Matt and I about where to eat.

Matt: We only have like thirteen dollars to spend so do you want to just do Subway?
Jia: That's fine. Or . . . I could get a buy one get one free coupon to Sweet Tomato and then we could also afford drinks.
Matt: Or we could get in the car and drive into a lamp post...
Jia: Don't be rude.

Then we proceeded to argue the pros and cons between the two places for twenty minutes.

Matt: Fine, we'll go to Sweet Tomato.
Jia: Look don't just say let's go because you think I'm forcing it on you, I was just wanting to talk it out.
Matt: I'm saying let's go because that's where you want to go!
Jia: Yeah but don't say let's go and do it begrudgingly.
Matt: I'm not.
Jia: Cause if the food sucks I don't want you to be all, "We could have had Subway."
Matt: Oh my gosh! You're the only woman in the world who gets her way and then keeps arguing!
Jia: I'm just saying . . .
Matt: Why can't you be happy for you?!