Shadow Work, Day Four: Regret, Emotions and breathing?

 

Hey guys, 

Today isn’t really fueled with the same passion as I have had lately. I think I am starting to settle into my new reality. That every day is the same. Thanks for that Trent Reznor. Nothing to be sad or mad or really passionate about. Today is when my old friend apathy rejoins me in my continued path of solitude. I am going through the motions of reading through dating profiles, but I don’t think I really want to find anyone. That’s the thing about regret. You can only see the things we regret in a rear-view mirror. I don’t want to be laying on my death bed, thinking, man, I wish I had tried just a little bit more. Here is me. Trying. But since we are talking about regret, why not?

I actually came across some interesting motivational tid-bits on the gram about regret. Prior to the breakup, which gives me a clarity outside of my grief. I learned that regret is not supposed to make you feel bad. It supposed to remind us of mistakes so that we can work on being the best version of ourselves. It’s a reminder of a time when we were not that version. Some of us have more regret than others. My take on the subject has always been that regret is a terrible concept, because it means that if you had a time machine, you would go back and change that moment. You know what you would really being changing? I don’t know. And neither do you. We are who we are today because of the choices we already made. Wanting to change that is a type of anti-self-love, is it not? Sure, I wish I was richer, thinner, smarter. However, I am only as much effort as I have applied. Anything that comes to you without the hard work doesn’t teach you to appreciate it. Then if that thing leaves you, like money, you’re stuck. It has always been freely given and now you don’t know how to fish. It’s a slippery slope and as is with everything, shit rolls downhill.

To sum up, regret doesn’t have to be this terrible concept at all. If we aren’t learning, are we even living? I see things popping up all the time on my gram about how failure only happens when you give up. We all mess up. It’s called being human. But to the people who give up after messing up, you failed. Success is paved with the road of our mishaps and the end is only reached by those who keep moving forward. All of these concepts make so much sense on paper. And in reality, emotions set in and it’s hard to see with any clarity. I am often controlled entirely by my emotions. When I think back on a moment, I sometimes cannot even tell you why certain words were said, or actions made. I can only tell you that I was emotionally blind in that moment. It's not really something than can be explained. But we have all felt it. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is how most people explain away temporary insanity. I often joke about Women Hysteria. The cure for which is just fucking brilliant. Google it. At the end of the day, most people are controlled by the temporary inconveniences of emotions.

That being said, there is a way through this wilderness. Breathe. Just count to some random number and breathe. And maybe the fog will clear enough for you to be the version of you not being controlled by your emotions. It’s funny how many things can simply be solved by breathing. Try it right now. Just a few breathes. Count them as they go in and then count again as they exit. Do you feel better? I know I do.

On the topic of emotions, I am very excited to see a new installment of the “Inside Out” franchise. I waited a while to see this movie when it first came out. Not because it is intended for children- we are all children at heart. But because I knew this topic was going to be hard for me to watch. It’s no secret that I have always felt like a slave to my emotions. My biggest dictator being sadness. It was the movie that gave me new perspective. Before I saw it, I always thought I was a bad person for being sad all the time. That the people around me were the good type of people because they could smile and function. Then I saw that stupid blue girl with her glasses (looking kind of like me) thinking she ruined everything, only to discover that sadness is just as important as joy. Even if you don’t feel like that, we need to accept that these emotions are going to happen and sometimes without warning. You cannot control everything that happens to you. Honestly, you also cannot always control the way you feel about things. But you can ALWAYS control how you react on the outside. If that means seclusion so that you don’t hurt the people in your life, do that. Call out of work. We live in a new day and age where people need mental health days. USE THEM. This is inside me yelling at outside me, because I'm a firm believer in, "Give me work or give me death!! Death is real possibility though when you put YOU on the back burner. Think about it. Would you treat friend the way you treat yourself? I hope I wouldn't. 

Signing off today, glad that I am finally starting to get back to normal. Post break-up. Life moves on whether we do or not. I don’t want to be left behind. I’ll keep learning - improving my self-awareness/emotional intelligence and maybe sharing some of that with you, along the way. Remember, Just Breathe.    

-Jen 

Shadow Work, Day Three: Am I STILL the bully?

I'm standing in the shower, and I can feel the hot water pouring down the sides of my face. I've been looking at the wall and have lost track of the time. It's strange for me because I'm a 5 min shower kind of girl... I suddenly realize that it's been much longer than 5 minutes that I've been staring at this wall. Like in the horror movie, Carrie, I suddenly hear the high-pitched voice of her mother. Except it isn't saying they are going to laugh at me. No. It's saying you're alone now. Alone now. Alone now... Like some fucking broken record of my life. Memories are flooding my brain, and someone asks me how I can go to movies and sit in restaurants alone. At the time, I'm in my 20s having spent a lot of time alone. The question is strange to me because I do everything alone. If I didn't, I wouldn't ever do anything. And now fast forward to I'm 38 years old, standing in this shower trying to get up the courage to go to a movie or the store alone because I'm not that independent person anymore. Now I'm this hollow shell of an incomplete pairing and I'm terrified to leave this shower, right now. I feel warm liquid run down my face but it's coming from me. I'm crying again. Why do I keep crying. I have to leave the shower. I go to my bedroom and sit on my bed. Why do I check my phone again. What will I find but 0 notifications. I start doom scrolling. Instagram is full of motivational poems about moving on. Great, my eavesdropping phone also knows I'm alone. But not just that. It knows I'm riding this roller coaster of emotion because one ad is dating apps, but the next one is about death. The man starts talking during a rain drenched scene in a cityscape. He's saying that he doesn't want to kill himself. But he's tired. And if God were sitting across from him, he would say just that. Dear God. I'm tired. I'm done. Can we just go? Anywhere but here because I'm just done. That resonated with me in a way that only sadness can comfort sadness. 

Today's shadow entry isn't about my recent flight or fight response to my impending loneliness. It's about asking the hard questions so that I can work through my barriers. I know you want to know why my boyfriend left me. Today feels like the day I should open that box. I want to start from the very beginning though because that's what shadow work entails. Healing childhood traumas. 

I remember most clearly, an incident when I was 5. Sure, this wasn't the first one, but this is the one I can remember. We are all coloring our pictures of dinosaurs. Fat crayons in hand, working to stay inside the lines. My guy is going to be green. As one colors, the shape curves to a flat point. Some of the girls in my class are coloring their dinosaurs red. Which means that all of their crayons have shaped themselves into lipsticks. Everyone is giggling and applying crayon to their lips like we have all watched our mothers do. I want to play too but my crayon isn't red. The head mean girl points this out and says that no one wears green lipstick. That's just Ludacris. I'm crying because I'm the weird kid and everyone knows it. 

I'm also a military brat, which just means we move every 3 years. With me being the weird kid, this is actually a blessing. But also, a lesson that no matter where you are, if you're the problem, it never leaves your side. That knowledge that all of your problems are because of who you are. Oh, and the problems too. The problems never leave you. I can recount story after story. Go into long drawn-out details about the year the girls stole my diary and spread it like wildfire. Or the year the volleyball team threw volleyballs at me in gym because I'm too outspoken in class and the teacher's pet. I find solace in my relationships with adults. I befriend the lunch lady and the school bus driver. Kids my age hate me. I'm bullied my entire childhood. 

People have asked me, what did I do? It's a funny question because victim shaming. Wow. What does anyone do to deserve bullying? If you have spent any amount of time with me, you will know what I did wrong. I was me. But here is a list of my top complaints: I often open mouth insert foot. I can't pronounce any words of real value. I always say one sentence too many. My opinion is always unpopular and towards the negative side. I lack filter and I usually say everything on my mind. If I'm not saying what's on my mind, my facial expression is doing that. I don't want to say I deserved what I got but I definitely rub people the wrong way. 

In an effort to combat the bullying though, I became the bully. I can't really remember picking on people in the way that others seemed to search for me. I just was reactive. If you talked to me, you usually got some rude response or criticism. As I matured, I lost empathy for others and along with any patience. I grew quick to anger. I want to say that me being bullied stayed in my school age days, but I made a huge mistake that followed me into my 30s. I got fat. I got really fat really fast because I discovered at 16 that the only thing that made my heart hurt less was when my stomach hurt from binge eating. Everything I could fit in my mouth. I ate and ate until I couldn't feel anything else. Then strangers started letting me know how they felt about my existence. I received the most interesting interactions from legit crack heads asking me how I get up with my fat self every day to tall construction workers announcing to a full gas station that the fat girl is holding up the line with my over whelming girth. I want to tell you I imagined it all in some sick self-loathing fantasy I created but ask any fat person how their experience in society has been. Go ahead. I'll wait. I promise you will not find one that has not been bullied by complete strangers for what reason? Being outside of societies beauty standards. 

So, let's recap. I'm bullied in my youth for my personality and then as an adult for my outside packaging. I don't kill myself, so I just rot from the inside out. I eventually reach 450 lbs. It hurts to walk or move. My most recent job has fired me because my boss found my personality to be grating. One of my write ups was, "employee is heard referring to herself as dory, a fictional disabled fish with a bad memory". It's hard not to laugh at the things people often were annoyed with me about. My roommates didn't care for me either and so I call my mother in New Mexico and tell her that I am done with life. Fast forward 8 years and I'm now 270 lbs., living in NM, driving and owning an actual car.... my life has changed so drastically.

However, I still carry the wounds of my previous life. Every day, I feel like I'm a little better than I used to be, but then I get dumped for being mean. That's your answer. My boyfriend left me because I'm too mean. Because I get mad in social settings. Because I say mean things to strangers. Just don't talk to me. That's all I ask. Just leave me alone. I can't with people. When I'm being paid, I can put on a fake smile and act the part of a normal human, so I don't end up homeless. But on my days off, I just don't have it in me to fake a smile. To say good morning to strangers. Or to be thankful that service standards have plummeted since Gen Z started entering the workforce. And for that, along with my several unpopular opinions about life, another man has left me. Yes, this is actually the second man to tell me that they can't be with me because I'm too mean. How do you work through that? And the fact that the two men are 10 years apart tells me that no matter how much we feel like we've changed, we never really do, do we? Does this mean that I'm just too broken permanently? There's no fixing it. I need to find someone as mean as me or that's it. 

You know what I liked about my ex. That he was the opposite of me in every way. Because he wasn't mean, like me. I think that's why this hurts so much. Because I don't think I can ever not be mean. Yes. I heard that. I'm saying it out loud and I'm hearing those words. You know how someone like me controls their anger? I have to take mind numbing medications. I have to take a front row seat to my own life and watch out of my eyes like some projected movie screen. Someone is telling me that my grandma has passed and all I can say is ok. You aren't living a life. You are watching one go by. There is more I'm leaving out in terms of medication and diagnoses. Maybe it would help my story to tell you that they say I have a chemical imbalance and that's why I've always been the weird kid. The only reason to divulge that though, is to tell you that not everyone wants medication to be the answer. I know because I've tried it. And through talk therapy, I've been advised that I can manage as long as I'm always hyper aware of myself and my surroundings. Think about that. I have to constantly check and recheck myself. It's so exhausting. So, I self-medicate with recreational methods, and I sleep. People can't hurt you in your dreams because I entirely control those worlds. I can no longer remember my dreams, but I imagine they are better than waking life because I sleep so much. Probably another contributing factor to my recent breakup. I really do sleep a lot. Better to run than.... well, face my reality. 

I hope that in today's shadow work assignment, I could better shine a light on what I am and why. On how I ended up on day 3 of being alone again. Whether I push people away or they eventually run away on their own, the result is always the same. I'm alone. Just like the Carrie rant circling my head during my shower. Alone now. Alone now. Alone now... 

Shadow Work, Day Two: I have accepted it.

 

The stages of a break-up. Let’s fucking go. 

There’s always going to be research online to back up any opinion or claim. That makes researching difficult. What is a fact and what is just an opinion? Semantics really because aren’t these all just made-up things that we try to relate to anyway? From my very few days on the college scene, scholars will tell you to trust the information provided by reputable/certified/verified sites like “.govs”. But who doesn’t love a good BuzzFeed quiz. "21 ways to know he’s not right for you." I do love my flags red. (Sarcasm people.)

I am going to sprinkle some research into today’s shadow work because I don’t know anything about anything. Admitting it is half the battle, right? I can only talk about the stages I am going through, but it definitely is NOT linear. It is also not a list you go through and once you have visited the 1^st one, you are done, moving onto steps/stages 2-7 or 2-21, whatever magical number of steps someone created to help them cope. If anything, these magical lists of steps and stages are a starting point. But here is my journey thus far.

1. Crying. Omg. I couldn’t stop crying. It’s like everything was a trigger. Why does everything relate to everything else? Like Kevin Bacon’s 6 degrees of separation, but this was dipping into the land of delulu. I think for me, this was the stage of shock and denial. I kept saying that it came out of nowhere and there were no warning signs. This is exactly why this process is not linear. Because I’m pretty sure that leaks into another stage, but we will get there. A lot of questions. And you ask these questions because being confused feels better than this giant hole in your chest. This is where the shock really put its claws into me because I had to keep saying mantras just to walk through a room. You have to keep telling your brain to put one foot in front of the other to go forward. That to me felt like total despair. And so, the tears flowed to ease the pain of existing. The pain was confusing and suddenly you are worried that you are in pain for the wrong reasons. Why am I sad? Why am I crying? Why does my chest hurt? The denial part of this stage is me going through the motions of sadness but secretly expecting that this is all one big mistake and it’s going to be cleared up soon. So, you wait by the phone. The first minute is ok, because you can’t see through the tears anyway. But then it’s been an entire day and there’s still no notifications. No texts. No calls. No emails. Experts say that the silent treatment is registered as physical pain in the brain. Is that why everything hurts? Because you were there and now, you aren’t. Death. You have to mourn that loss. I cry over my recent loss. Loss of love. Loss of companionship. Loss is loss. But wait there’s more…

2. Anger. I felt mad. Did I just waste the last year? And for what? Just to end up back at the beginning. Downloading the dating apps only to grow frustrated that no one believes in romance anymore. “Hey hottie, wanna fuck?” No. No thanks. Then I am screaming into a pillow because I have all this advice streaming through my head and suddenly, I am rationalizing. Bargaining. Was it me. Can I fix it. Why go to grass I haven’t been watering? There's a patch of grass I have been watering for almost a year. I hate him. Anger is better. Sadness is necessary but anger feels good. It feels like I am doing something. I don’t have to tell me brain how to walk through a room because I am running through them. My heart is beating which lets me know I still have one and it isn’t actually broken into a million pieces. Yea, I like this stage. Cross that. I love this stage.

3. Depression and self-doubt. We can just skip this one because if I am not doing one of these things daily, I have been body snatched and we should be looking for the real slim shady. Plus, if you really want to hear me pour on and on about how sad I feel about my life choices, I did just re-publish old blog posts. Enjoy readers.

4. Longing and realization. I am visiting this stage through-out the sadness and the anger. Often to answer some of my confusing questions. Did you know that most people ask questions knowing the answers already? It makes you wonder how many games people play on a day-to-day basis. I don’t think I have genuinely asked (out loud) who-dun-it without having discovered the truth beforehand. In my research on these stages, I learned a new word, rumination. Turns out, there is a word for over thinking with a negative connotation in relation to emotion. IE: Worry. It’s such a funny concept because worrying only means you suffer twice and yet here, we are, all of us, masochistic in some sick but highly satisfying way. Yes pain, more pain. Rick and Morty said it best with a scene where Jerry is hanging out with the crew from Hellraiser and it hurts to hang out with him which feels good. That sums about my life right there. I am not sure what I am longing right now. It's hard to say how far someone can reach the goal of moving on in a mere 48 hours. But I like to think that I miss things. Moments. Memories. All less than tangible but added up together created a feeling of safety and security. Safe as houses. And then you watch the house burn down. Why we do we long for things so easily destroyed? Love is giving someone the power to destroy you and hoping they won’t use it. I long even now to be destroyed again because those less than tangibles things meant more to me than all the gold in the world. So, I realized that no, I didn’t waste my time. I am not rotting like some old maid. I am not dumb or slow. I am just me. And I just haven’t found the puzzle piece that fits my edges yet. But I am going to keep looking. Seven billion people is a very large number.

5. Finally, this journey only had 5 steps, but acceptance and moving on. Obviously, we are too soon to have moved on. You don’t say you love someone and then pretend they were nothing. Sociopaths do that. I wish I was that sometimes. It seems like empathy and sympathy control me more than I would like. I always tell people that if I care about this one thing, I have to care about the other things. I am only one person. World Hunger. Mass genocide. Unfair waring states. It just seems like wherever you look, there’s a problem. I can see why people push their heads into the sand and pretend like it’s all better. I want it to be better. Then I try to compartmentalize my life, because hash tag first world problems. At least I have food in my belly, clothes on my back and roof over my head. What more could an entitled passing for white young American female ask for? The world is my oyster. So, it says on paper. It’s not fair to say my problems are any less important, they are just different. Perspective matters. I’m moving on, not because I don’t really have any other choice. When someone doesn’t want you, you can’t change that. Why would I want to change that? But I do need to go forward and that means saying out loud that it’s done. There’s no going back. There are no more apologies or explanations. That time has passed. When I think of him, I want to imagine that he is finally talking to more like minded people who want to share their lives. I also want to imagine that he is happy. One day I will feel happy again and I hope that imagining my happiness brings him some peace too. I accept that we weren’t meant for one another, and I am thankful one of us was brave enough to do something about it.

Those are my stages as I see it. Maybe a month, a year, 10 years from now, I will read this and think of something that makes me chuckle to myself. There were some really good times. Times of joy and laughter. People going through a breakup only want to talk about the sadness and anger, but there is a sigh of relief that I feel in writing this. You are free little bird. Now apply what you have learned and be better.   

 

Shadow Work, Day One: I Love You and I don't want to

Seems like, I am broken in ways that make it impossible for me to accept or receive love. They say, you must love yourself before anyone else can. I am always looking for a way to accept and love myself. But, as is my way, I find myself with unrequited love. Only made worse when the person in question also plays along for a little while. Were they ever even interested? Was this all just a game to them. I must box away my emotions so I can pull them out every time I have scheduled that “time” for feelings. Since I have not done this, I keep spontaneously crying. Maybe the experts are on to something with this piece of advice. 

Honestly, it is giving me a lot of self-reflection time where I can review everything as a whole. I made a lot of mistakes. But were they mistakes? Or was it just me being "me" and him not liking that aspect to me? I am now recalling comments I made that I think started to add up over time. There were things I said that from the perspective of another, could be seen more negatively than the intention. I guess I forgot that the most important thing about dating is that you are getting to know someone. You are vetting a complete stranger, so you can decide if that person is the one you want in your life. 

I am in so much pain because rejection never feels good, but this was inevitable. I just didn’t know it yet. I think that my lack of experience has me jumping on every piece of advice hoping for some magical solution to all my problems. That’s just not how the world works. The issue is that we live in shades of grey. Which means that what works now, may not work later. Or what works for you, may not work for me at all. I don’t understand why I am not a cookie cutter or better said, a Sheeple. Why can’t I just fit. 

Although my heart feels like it could fall into a thousand pieces, it comes down to whether love was enough. It wasn’t this time. I want to give up. Throw my hands and scream because what am I doing. I am aging. These goods are expiring and soon, no one will even want the outside packaging, either. I know this was an important lesson I learned. I know that I am blooming at a rate that makes me revisit the possibility of “being on the spectrum”. I also know that half the solution is writing down the problem. This is me, writing down the problem. Am I the problem? Is there no one out there that fits into the world like I do? Or really, doesn’t fit, in the way that I do not fit. I keep drifting into these realms of fantasy, where I am better. I am not me and people smile at me because they are happy to see me. And then I wake up and I am alone. Again... 

Finding someone is not about the job they have, the car they drive or even the clothes they choose to wear. It’s about the person they choose to be every day. Living is a choice. Loving is a choice. Just about everything about us is a choice. Why do we so often make the wrong choices? Or the choices that set us down the harder path. I understand what happened. I can even guess a lot about what is going to happen next. But now I must move forward knowing that even after all this time and growth, I am still being dumped for just being me. How much of me do I have to hide to be accepted? How much of me do I lose as I learn to conceal who I really am? Why can’t I just be me? Often revisited by the haunting theme of this life, that all the love I have had in this world has been unrequited. That I love more than I can receive. Maybe that’s on me because we are the sum of all our choices. How does one carry that? That we are the sole reason for our own unhappiness. 

The bottom line to my shadow entry, day one, is the Billy Eilish song, I love you. “I love you and I don’t want to.”

I created this current moment of unhappiness with a series of choices. But you can't say I didn't try. I shot my shot, and these are the results. Soon this will be a memory I can revisit, and my glasses will be more rose colored than the very dark poop shade they are now. That's why it is so vital for me to write it down. Everything. The good and the bad. It only feels bad right now because I saw a happy future melt in front of my eyes while the person burning it all down to the ground only had an apathetic glance for my direction. Maybe this is the best kind of rejection though, because now I have my closure. Where there was love is now only an empty space that longs to be filled once more. Distraction will fill the void until my heart is ready to try again. Until then readers, I sign off knowing that feelings are going to happen whether or not we are ready. So, plan those crying sessions. God forbid you look the way you feel inside.

-Jen 

Bad Girls Look Down - a spoken Poem

I was in a creative writing class, and I had to write a poem that featured onomatopoeias, which are the words that make noise. It feels therapeutic to revisit it as it was a very painful story to write. I also had to perform it, which is the link provided... 

BAD GIRLS LOOK DOWN

Trauma

By Jennifer R. Hanson

Clash, like lightning the transgression has been committed; bad girls look down.

Badabump, badabump, my fluttering heart slows - to – match – this - burden; bad girls look

down.

Brrrrrrrrr, my skin shivers as my shame covers me like a blanket of ice; bad girls look down.

Thump, thump, watching every footfall gently caress the ground below; bad girls look down.

Drip, drip, twin streams run their delicate course down across my field of freckles; bad girls look

down.

Wah, Wah, Wah, my judge jury executioner askes why I always look down. Bad girls look down.

BAD. GIRLS. LOOK. DOWN.

sssssssssss, I whisper trying to break the intangible silence of hope; but bad girls look down

AND sigh, at last, relief, from this temporary moment of despair...

I can look up now.

Because, only bad girls, look down.

New Year, New career?

I have some life changing news, but based on recent feedback, I'd say the breakup was mutual. I have heard a lot of things over the years. You don't get to level 38 without hearing a ton of unwarranted advice. In my experience, the people who want to change you the most never really liked you in the first place. I took a toxic job knowing that I needed to learn a lesson. I knew from day one when my trainer was belittling and condescending. I would joke about it with new hires, how I would empty my locker at the end of each shift because I never knew when my last day would be. Today. It finally came. I think I hoped that someone would say, no,  stay. Don't quit. That's a fantasy. At the end of the day, people only care about saving their livelihoods.

Something about making sure I don't have any company property on my person was probably the icing on the cake for me. Why not just say, don't let the door hit you on the way out? Why did I stay? Why didn't I just leave when 50% of my team quit? Why was I the stupid one? I won't say the entire experience was a waste. I have never had more control of my emotions as I do today. Trust that I did not react the way I wanted to, several times. But people don't see your growth. They see that you still aren't fitting into their cookie cutter mold. I just haven't found my tribe yet.

My tribe. My like minded, hello darkness, the world is shit, kind of people. My family tells me that my tribe won't be in customer service. Have you ever had a job with 0 customer service? Coworkers and bosses are a type of customer too. Everyone wants me to be energetic, positive outlook Jenny with a y. But I'm just Jen. Just fuck this, fuck that, the world is shit Jen. My darkness helps to illuminate your brightness. You're welcome.

After my worst December ever, I feel numb. Like what's one more rejection? I just remember thinking about how my birthday is in one week from today and I just didn't want to cry on my birthday. I know it seems silly, but I really love birthdays. Something about celebrating someone's existence just sounds so amazing to me. Proving that even negative souls like things too. 

It was all the new years quotes I saw too. Normally they are all so dumb from new year - new me to I'm gonna lose so much weight this year. Yea yea Sally, how is Jan 1st any different than any other day this year? Ya had plenty of chances to start a new you. But there is something to be said about these handheld wire taps that we carry around with us because the quotes nailed it this year. Things like, don't be the reason you can't succeed. And only you choose to stay at toxic jobs. And it got me thinking that I feel stuck because I am allowing myself to feel that way. We don't get to control what happens to us but we do control how we react. I borrowed a celebrity autobiography from the library, as an audiobook. It was only 5 hours long. As I listened, I heard about this awesome life and I felt so envious. I realized what she was doing differently than me. She was seeing the things in her life that did not bring her joy and she cut them. Then she found time to work on the things she loved doing. So I quit my job and now I'm writting on my blog. January might turn out as bad as December but at least I'm now on a new path. Time to find my happiest version of myself.

That being said I'm looking for a new job. Something part time to pay my necessary bills. Sure, I have money saved up, but money is always finite. I think I need to get serious. Work on my IT certifications and look for my tribe within the technology community. Those people get me. They understand that machines are better because they lack emotions and motives. They do what they are programmed to do. That's all I want for myself. To run like an emotionless program. Wish me luck. 

Case File .5: The Lost Cat by Jennifer R. Hanson

Nothing speaks louder than the bright green face of several President Franklins now staring up at me from my desk. The door to my closet-sized office reads Demi-Goddess for hire. With the recently realized knowledge that magical beings of all varieties are openly living among humans, you would think business would be booming. Maybe it is my sign? I painted it myself.

“Well, Mrs. Escobar… I do not typically look for missing cats, but you have convinced me.” I said grinning from ear to ear. I noticed that she has not taken a seat yet and is staring around my office at the piles of interesting items. What?! Who has time to clean? I have to stay busy to pay the bills. Past due bills; which is why her money is screaming my name right now.

“Senior Cuddly whiskers is not just a cat. He’s been my only love since my husband passed last year. He…” She breaks off with a sob.

“No worries Mrs. Escobar. The Senior is in good hands.” I say as I reach over to pluck a short white hair off of her impeccable two-piece suit. “Do you mind? This looks feline and it is just what I need to get the search started.”

She nods quickly at me, turning to leave.

“Wait,” I say stumbling to stand before, she can depart.  

Mrs. Escobar turns back around, handing me a very posh-looking business card with just an address in a black glossy fine print. “This is the studio apartment I rent just for Senior Cuddly Whiskers. Start there. If you return him before the sun goes down today, there will be more cash waiting for you. ” And she silently turns once more, walking out, taking her hoity-toity airs with her.

What is the world coming to nowadays? Cats can have their studio apartments and in Belltown no less. I guess that is the Seattle elite for you. Sundown is only a few hours away. I grab the timetable for bus route #18 as I race through my cozy warehouse loft in Ballard. It is not much, but it is home. And because the cost of living will cost both your arms and legs, it is also my place of freelance investigations.

Lost your priceless family heirloom? Can’t get the proof that they are cheating? Are you being hexed? Well, look no further! Demi-Goddess for hire. Or at least that is what I am advertising on my back alley flyers floating around town. Ugh. And now I am literally about to herd a cat if I can find the Senior in time. Easiest money ever said no one.

Seattle weather. It does not rain as much as the tourists like to go on and on about. Not now, in the middle of June, anyway. It has been a hot minute without those misty mornings where it feels like the ocean is kissing everything. I look up from my lumpy bus seat to read the illuminated sign stating the next bus stop. The conductor comes on the overhead speaker to read the next stop. “3rd and Bell” That is me. The Senior’s apartment is still a couple of blocks away, but at least it is a nice day.

 “Onward,” I say, getting a few looks from other departing passengers.

About a block from the address, I reach into my messenger bag for the pre-made concoction I have just for these lost and found situations. Google. Who knew half that stuff worked when you can wield magic. The internet has mostly been my teacher since my dad never came back from that infamous cigarette run 31 years ago. My mom is still in the institute for the insane. Turns out, when humans are with magical beings, they can lose their minds. I like to think my dad was that good.

“Allioop!” I whisper to myself as I drop the cat hair into the bag holding my concoction and begin to shake it. I do not know if this kind of thing needs magic words, but it cannot hurt. A line of magenta smoke begins to appear. I am pretty sure humans cannot see this line of smoke as several people have walked through it and no one seems bothered. I can see it though. Fuzzy and clear at the same time if that makes any sense. I began to follow the line that is originating from the little bag in my hand. I realize that people can see me holding out this little bag as if it is leading me forward.

“Hey, I’m walking here,” I say to one businessman on his cell phone giving me the stink eye.  Muggles. They do not believe in anything.

The red hand appears on the traffic light across the street. Paused at the intersection, I think about how If I were amazing in my magical skills, no red hand would illuminate for me ever again. But Dad just did not get to the part where I was out of the womb before he could explain how my half-magical-self works. A green man walking appears and before I can start across the street, the smoke turns blue and makes a sharp turn to the left. Senior is on the move! I pick up the pace, getting more looks from the locals. I have now reached the posh part of Belltown headed directly for the Olympic Sculpture Park.  

I run up a set of long stairs. I need to start running again. I feel more out of breath than I should be at this age. The line of smoke stops as if it is thinking. “Hey man, think later, the sun waits for no one,” I say as if the smoke could hear or even respond. However, if smoke could shrug, then this is what the smoke did before settling on a weird combo of blue and magenta, shaping it to a question mark. Well, I broke the smoke. “Fudgesicles”, I say frustrated, wishing I had spent a little cash on a guaranteed finder spell versus digging through the ad-riddled websites in search of the free ones.  

“Oh, did you bring any?” a disembodied voice says to me. I turn around quickly as lightning. Up, down, all around. I cannot find the owner of that enchanting voice. I smell glamor.  

“Up here fool!” says a pair of eyes floating above a silver sculpture in the shape of a rather fancy but giant bench. Fool? I am the smartest Demi-Goddess I know.

“What did you say to me random floating eyes of despair?” I quip back at the seriously awesome pair of eyes just blinking down at me. I cannot let him know that though. Stay strong.  

“Ha! You would be in great despair as well if your human servant had tried to force clothes on you. I am taking a much-needed break.” His head and body begin to become visible and it is now clear that I am in the presence of a magical creature. A Cheshire cat. A beautiful all-white Cheshire cat adorned with a fancy diamond encrusted collar and a mini sideways affixed top hat. SCW is visibly written on a tag hanging from his collar.    

“Your human servant would not be called Escobar, by chance, would she?” I say with chagrin. Easy money after all.

“Maybe so, maybe not. It is not my business what humans refer to themselves. I simply require the comforts of life without the drama. Now keep me waiting no more. I heard you yell out food I know to be sweet. Hand it over now, human.” He unfurls a paw in my direction, nicely painted nails with diamond attachments on the tip of each claw.

“Human? Is your nose broken as well as your manners? Demi-goddess here to take you home safely to your human servant. Come down here now.” I say with more demand in my voice than I intended. Magical creatures are cute, but they are not whimsical. There are as dangerous as wondrous, even if this one appears to be tamed. I am going to need to bribe this one home. Lucky me.  

“Is that so?” His grin triples in size as his body begins to fade, leaving just those eyes and now, a very creepy grin. “May the odds be ever in your favor little Demi-Goddess.” And with a pop, there is nothing but air circulating the very spot where the Senior had been floating only seconds ago. The game is now afoot.

I conduct a quick google search on my phone. Sunset is scheduled for 9:01 pm. Thank you for the long summer days. It is 7:15 pm now. Curses. Why did Mrs. Escobar take so long to employ me? I do understand the need for a Cheshire cat to be indoors before sundown though. The darkness does something to their personality. What is once considered simply mischievous can turn quickly downright evil. And yet, being inside remedies this? “Magic,” I say shrugging. Well, this job is going to cost me money after all. “To the Belltown quickie mart”, I say to no one secretly hoping the Senior wants to follow out of curiosity. What is that saying about curiosity and cats?

“That will be $9.36, ma’am.” The very tired cashier drawls out to me while bagging my several very sweet selections. I do not know what is more offensive; the inflation on snacks in Seattle or calling my very young self a ma’am.

“Ah, thanks. Keep the change.” I say sheepishly knowing it is not much of a tip but I am not a fan of loose change at the bottom of my bag. I run out of the store, headed back to that bench statue, in case the Senior did not catch my hint to follow. Left. Right. Up. No sign of that pesky beast. I probably should not sit on the sculpture, but then again, why make a bench if you do not want sitters?

Plopped down on the not so comfy bench now, I reach into my bag of goods for a snickers bar. My phone’s screen suddenly comes to life and reveals that I have lost at least thirty minutes on that little trip to snacksville. Oh well. I look at the snickers in my hand and think, why wait? All the commercials tell me to just dig in. I tear into it ravenously. Pulling the wrapper out of my mouth, I realize, I have an audience.  

“Mmmmmm. Caramel-wrapped nugget covered in a layer of peanuts and surrounded by chocolate. mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. So heavenly.” I lick my fingers and from the corner of my eye, I see a diamond-clad claw swiping for the remainder of my candy bar. “Nut-hu Senior! You have to be faster than that.” I slide off the outlandishly large bench and make a run for it. I passed his studio Belltown apartment on the way here, so I know the direction I want him to follow. The trick is getting him there without him getting wise to my scheme. I turn left, the opposite direction of my goal, but I have time. I look over my shoulder. He is gone again. Or at least not visible.

“I guess you did not want any of my sweets then,” I say to the silent air surrounding me. I shake the bag and just his cat head pops back into existence, floating in front of me.

“I did not say that little Demi-goddess. But I would be interested in what else is in the bag before you so rudely depart again.” His paw appears once more and he is reaching for my bag, palm face up as if I am going to give in to his demand simply because he made one.

“I am not a human nor a servant. What do you offer me in exchange Senior? You can not get something for nothing, ya know.” I wink at him as pull out the king-sized Reese’s cup. Cheshire cats love games. Well, here we go.

“Peanut butter? Ugh. Do I look like a canine?” He rolls his eyes, but his gaze falls right back onto the Reese’s cup packaging. I think someone does like peanut butter.

“That is a shame. I guess I shall go find someone else who wants my candy.” I begin to turn. “Wait. What do you want?” He asks, adding a hint of a cat-like pur to the end.

“If you can catch me, I will tell you!” I click my heels together engaging a prepared speed spell on my shoes and I take off. Good. If I can keep him interested long enough to follow me to his place before sunset, the cat will be in the bag. So to speak. I am the smartest Demi-goddess I know after all.

He has vanished again, but this time I can see that my smoke has reactivated and appears to be chasing me from my own messenger bag. That has to be the Senior, hot on my trail. I turn right. I can see the Space Needle now. It always cracks me up when a tourist asks me how to find the Space Needle. Simply look up and walk towards it. Maybe he will think I am headed there.

“I hope you like water because I love running through the giant Seattle Center fountain”, I yell over my shoulder. The smoke slows a little. What? Cats do not like water? Shocker. “Guess we will find out if you like the fountain too”. I say laughing as I pick up speed. The smoke suddenly comes to a complete stop and dissipates. Now also stopped and catching my breath, I look to see if I can find any traces of the smoke. I know the Senior needs to become visible to grab anything. Then I see the horror. A giant slash mark on the cheap plastic grocery bag of candy. As well as the trail of candy I have just left on my effort to escape.

“Hey! That’s cheating.” I scream to the sky. A woman grabs her child closer as they pass me on the sidewalk. I sigh in frustration. I raise my phone and the happy ocean background shows me that I am now down to forty-five minutes left before sunset. There is no incentive to follow me now. The Senior has the goods. As if to prove my suspicion, cat claws appear floating in front of me, holding half of an eaten Reese’s cup.

“I suppose this is more delicious since I got something for nothing, little Demi-goddess”, he says while two large eyes appear, staring down into my soul.

I reach into my candy bag hoping for some ace in the hole. The only hole is right there though. At the bottom of the flimsy grocery bag, revealing that it holds nothing now that it has lost its ability to hold anything. Think. What else could he want?

“Well, I guess I should head home then. The place where my freezer holds my collection of fudge pops.” I say casually as I begin to walk straight to the Senior's studio apartment. I see his now visible body floating behind me.

“Collection you say? Do not keep me waiting little Demi-goddess. Lead the..” I cut him off. “No cat. Stay here. I have grown tired of your demands.” I snap, trying not to grin. I must look upset that he has cheated me. Plus, it is the only way a defiant magical creature is going to follow me now. I doubt he hears no very frequently. I pick up the pace because I can now see the sun moving closer to the horizon. I look around to see only a darkening sky but no cat, or cat parts. I hope this works.

I race into his building, taking two stair steps at a time. I do not have time for the elevator. The magic must have run out on my smoke because I was hoping to at least see if he was following. There is nothing. I reach his door, quickly turning the knob. I let myself inside. Mrs. Escobar is standing in the living room near a coffee table. Oh look, President Franklin’s face is staring up at me again, in triplicate. But before I can say anything, an enchanting voice from my shoulder grabs my attention.

“Silly Demi-goddess. This is my place. Not yours.” Chagrin painted on the grin of a very satisfied Cheshire Cat.

“Senior Cuddly Whiskers, darling, did you enjoy today’s game?” Mrs. Escobar says to the smile floating above my shoulder. What is going on here? My jaw has hit the floor as I realize that I was hired to entertain a bored cat.

“Yes. Quite the energetic one today Sylvia.” The bored cat says as his body becomes completely visible creating a slight weight on my shoulder. I begin to shake him off of me but he has already started to float to Mrs. Escobar. “This little Demi-Goddess was well worth the money.”

I reach for the remaining cash. I am not even sure what I want to say, so I point to the door like, hey, exit is this way. Mrs. Escobar nods at me and I turn to leave.

“Bye Felisha”, the Senior quips at me one last time before I depart this crazy scene. I turn to them both and say, “No. it’s Amber. Amber Morgan. Demi-Goddess for hire”.

The End

Day 29: Dear James, Alexa, add Non-Dairy Milk to the list

Seems silly to keep up the dear James letters but something can be said about closure. Almost like those ads they make you run in the newspaper when you are trying to divorce someone you can't find. Yea. That's a thing. Turns out ghosting is neither new nor does level of commitment even matter. One day, you are happily with your forever person and then bam, no person. 

I think a lot of us know the pain from being ghosted, but what goes through the mind of the ghoster? Who hurt you? Why pass that hurt on? I don't think I was ghosted this last time. I think I said some things in anger. Things you don't get to take back. I can hear Wesley's words now, if only as a whisper on the wind. As you wish.... moral of the story is, be careful what you wish for because you might get it. 

Regret is such a weird concept. It implies that if you could change something/someone/some moment - you would, but also means admitting to disliking something/someone as that/theycurrently are/etc. So, we are shaped by our experiences, all experiences, good and bad. Some things have little impact while others roar like the tsunami created from the flutter of butterfly wings. That's the tricky part about relationships. What becomes the mountains and vice versa for the mole holes? 

I have a friend, that got into a fight with her SO and in a moment of anger,words were said. Just a mention of hygiene pet peeves while living in shared areas. Now my friend takes out the bathroom trash, daily. Daily. Over one comment made, over 10 years ago, in the middle of a small dispute. 

This brings me back to James. Words were said. Things that won't ever be forgotten, on both sides. This is the real reason I won't send the text. Why relive that trauma only to eventually end up here because we caused too much regret...  Maybe pride plays a part too. Maybe he's waiting for me to send that text. Or better yet, he has moved on. Living his life, hoping to find a more compatible forever person. That's what I truly want. That's all I have ever wanted. Did I want that for me with him? Yes. But I'll take second best which is his happiness. Remember that loving someone means wishing that they are happy, even if that does not include you. Let them fly free. If they wanted it, they would fly home. As of today, o notifications. 

That being said, this will conclude the dear James letters, but will not discontinue the blog. I enjoy writing. Crazy concept, yes. But I also think people who love math are weird. What ever floats your boat. I started a fictional paranormal noir with a modern take a few years ago for a college class I took for fun. Creative Writting 101. Maybe I'll post it. Could be fun. Note that this class did nothing for the progress of my degree. I literally took it for fun. 0 regrets on that $500. 

Here's to a new year, old me 🍻🍻🍻

Day 27: Dear James, Grocery Lists?

 

I am feeling a lot more rested and a lot less hopeless. Holidays just have a way of bringing childhood traumas or whatever, to the surface. Like we need to be reminded of our inner most secret pains. Although the intensity has lessened, it doesn’t mean the hole there is gone. Honestly, it just means that I can think a little clearer, now that my thoughts aren’t clouded with complete and utter despair. Why do emotions control us like that? Women hysteria. It is such a sexist diagnosis and yet I chuckle every time I hear it because is it wrong? I often feel hysteric and then bam, food. Endorphins don’t make any sense.

Anger though. That one baffles me the most. I heard recently in the dialogue of a movie, that sometimes anger is our way of subconsciously trying to say something that has been ignored. That we are ignoring, about ourselves. Think about that. Your body, your mind, your everything is projecting this unresolved issue and yet, you still cannot hear it. Can other people hear it? Do people know why other people are really angry? Is there subtext in every situation or is that just a “me” thing? It has me really thinking though, back on many past events. Events that we will hashtag JenActsLikeaKaren, and I wonder what that was really about.  

I open this Dear James letter with my thoughts on emotions because I tend to only write when I am riding a wave of extreme emotion. Something I have covered in nauseating detail throughout the journey of this blog. Noticing the large gap in years since my last post to my most recent, it would appear that I lost inspiration for a few years. Maybe blogging just wasn’t trending anymore. Either way, I am back, ready to therapeutically heal my recent wounds and stretch some mind muscles. You should hear the new slang. Kids say things like that’s cap = untrue statement. Say less = keep talking because we are vibing. Vibing, like being on the same page. It’s cool beans I guess, but I still miss saying “Right On” all the time. Maybe I will throw it into some conversations and gauge reactions.

Yes, I did think about sending that text today. I didn’t type it out because what if I accidentally sent it and how do you explain that? “Yes hello, ignore this accidentally sent and perfectly typed out text that I have been obsessing over for weeks”. It is funny to me, because he probably has me blocked by now. The smart thing to do, in my opinion. I read another blog where this girl mentions sending random texts to an ex who had blocked her. She did it so often, that it became habit. The funny part is that her texts turned into things she needed to add to her shopping list. So, one day, 7 years later, her ex responds and says, why do you keep texting me random words? And she confesses what she has been doing for the last 7 years and that’s it. They say goodbye and she stops using his text for her grocery lists. The story seems unbelievable. But also, kind of believable. Don’t worry, I am not on that level of despair. But it’s a thought, knowing that I could send things that the other person might never see, until they did. Might be a new way to get over someone. That should be the thing that happens at every breakup. “Just a little reminder, to block my number on your cell phone, for no reason of course”.

So yea, Day 27: Jen needs tortillas.

Day 25: Dear James, Break- up Notes?

Day 25 of the end of my happiness. I thought about sending a text several times. I never typed it out, but I imagined typing it out, a thousand times. Something so simple, like “Merry Christmas!”, no explanation, no follow up. Just those simple words. Then I would talk myself out of it. He doesn’t want to hear from me. I think I am more emotional because I just watched an animated movie (Elemental) that reminded me of us. And I thought, why aren’t we together again? And then I re-read the last messages he sent me. Where he gets mad at me and tells me that I have ruined his life. All I can think is, no, I can’t have done that. But it doesn’t matter how I feel or what I think. That is his reality of me. He really feels like I am his enemy. I am now dead to him, and it hurts more today than it did in that moment. I think the anger has subsided. All I have now is realization that I lost my forever person. All I have now is forever alone. I am trying to bottle up the pain and hide it. Maybe it just feels more intense today because holidays are for the people we care about the most. I still care about him. I don’t know if he thinks about me. Or if he cares. Or worse, that he ever cared. Even if he came back now, it still wouldn’t matter because the seeds of mistrust have been planted. The fear of abandonment will always flitter on the unspoken words between us. So, yes, I could reach out to him and face possible rejection. But what if he didn’t reject me and we spent years trying to repair this thing that broke between us. I don’t know whether it was a miscommunication, or we just finally learned all we needed to know about one another. It is not clear. The only thing that is clear is that it is over. No back and forth. No checking up on one another. I died to him. I think I died to myself too. 

You don’t realize how much someone matters to you until they are not there. Kind of the reason I try not to value the greenness of other grass because you just can't see what you have until it is gone. All I can see is everything I have lost. I sit and think, because apparently all I have is an endless amount of time now. Forever truly feels that way. I think about his words. Mine. Was I wrong. Was he? Does it matter if we aren’t even together anymore? It is all really confusing because I want to move on, but everything reminds me of us. Smells. Moments. Items for sale. I think, wow, he is going to love this stupid item at the store, and then I remember that he is never going to see it. I haven’t experienced much death in my life. I say those words out loud and I think, that’s kind of true. I have never been to a funeral. That doesn’t necessarily mean that I haven’t experienced death. Am I not going through a type of mourning right now? Death of a potential relationship. It was not perfect, but it was mine. And now it is gone. 

I have tried the dating aps again. Maybe it is a combination of the time of year and the fact that I am still in mourning, but everything that everyone says is shit. Worse than before. What starts out as a cute icebreaker just looks like the worst offense you could place on my entire existence. I am not your sweetheart or your gorgeous inset some fluffy animal. I am just a stranger, online, trying to forget her ex. Trying not to compare every sentence, word by word. Why aren’t you funny like him? Why aren’t you so smart, like him? Why do your compliments feel so empty, unlike his. That’s the problem. None of you are like him. None of you ARE him. Could EVER be him. And maybe I am glorifying a memory of someone. Maybe he was not the G.O.A.T. of my unwritten autobiography. I don’t know, because love is blind. I am starting to see again, and the world is just pain. Pure PAIN. I want to be blind again. And I don’t want blindness with the first guy who throws a smile my way. I struggled with the concept that I was in love with the idea of being in love. I want to be in love so badly. But now I struggle with what to do when I don’t want anyone else? Will I be one of those people who loved once and that was it? Do you only get one chance with your forever person? 

My mind wanders, even now, and I think about the memories not made and the moments uncelebrated. About afternoons where soft music might be playing so we could both enjoy reading our books. Or listening to him read to me in his voice that was soothing to my soul. Short walks around bodies of water where we try to snap photos of the local wildlife. Well, I try to snap the photos because he likes to live in the moment. So many lessons not learned. I think I was learning to listen better. To love deeper. To be more patient. Now I am 4 steps back from square 1. Worse now than before because they say it is better to lost and have loved than to never have loved, but is it?  That doesn’t feel correct. 

The tears flow the more I type this out, knowing I will never send it. What would it achieve? I thought I was handling the separation like an adult. Not feeling anything and moving on with my life. I started focusing on my job again and joined a new gym. Then I heard a song that just opened every flood gate inside my head. Three Day’s Grace sung a remix of "Somebody I used To Know". It’s hard to explain the epiphany that hit me. Hearing that song hundred times before and now, hearing it with new experiences. Every word felt true. Like one long drawn-out stabbing to my heart. I don’t know whether it feels better to know that I am not alone in my pain or worse that others feel this too. That really sucks. The world really sucks. But talking about the lack of fairness in the world seems pointless. I digress.

Update to last post

I know it looks bad when I post these dire despair posts about my extreme sadness and or thoughts of suicide but my inspiration comes from my extreme emotion. My voice lies in my experience. I am who I've been. I know sadness. And because I am not the most stable sandwich in the basket, my any given experience can go from one extreme to the next. I often find my mighty pen when I'm in a low so below sea level, I'm drowning. But honestly,  I taking the time to write this even without the emotion to back up my creativity because my public needs to know that in this given moment, I am not the same person who wrote "hurt", the post a few days ago. That was one moment however many million seconds ago when I was not my best version and I had succumbed to my own self doubt. But feel safe in knowing that I am a talker not a walker. I could never take my own life because of my past and how it has helped to shape me. I cannot go into too many details without revealing more than I care to, but there was a time when I was ready to take that walk. Thankfully I had an epiphany and was shown the error in my selfish perspective. An epiphany that has kept me safe all these years later. So while you might read my post and think, man, we need to institutionalize this one... take a step back to think that maybe it's very therapeutic for me to share my insides with the outsides, even if it scares you. What scares you, frees me. Think before you act.