today

I really want to play guitar right now but I don't have access to one.

I can feel tears starting to come, but they can't seem to quite make it out. I don't know if it's me or them. Am I holding them back, or are they really just stuck, unable to unleash just one more time?

I'm dog sitting right now for a family in Naperville, so this whole next week I'll be staying at their house while they're out of town. I've looked all over the house for a guitar, but I couldn't find one. I found a drum set and a punching bag in the basement... both of which could be very theraputic right now... but my head already hurts so I couldn't handle the drums, and as for the punching bag, I gave it a quick jab to try it out, but forgot to take my rings off (nor did I conceal them with gloves) so I now have a tremendous amount of pain in my hand to go along with the pain in my head. loverly!

I so want to be cheesy right now and say something like "but it's nothing compared to the pain in my heart..." hah... but I don't feel that pathetic yet. That and I'm having a good day today and don't feel the need to focus on heartache. Maybe that's why I don't want to cry. Don't get me wrong, I think crying is great, infact, one could even say amazing, but I also think there comes a time when I don't have to cry in order to grieve. Crying is probably the easiest thing to do and the first thing to come to mind when grieving is involved, but it's not the only thing.

Today I took a walk in the park and I caught myself smiling. No one was around, which is good because if someone would have seen me just walking around and smiling to myself they would have probably thought I was a nut job. But I walked. And I smiled. And for a spilt second I was sad because I wanted to be walking with someone, but I smiled again at the thought of realizing that I didn't need to be with someone in order to smile.

It didn't last all day, but I felt it, and I have before, and it is very real.

And it makes me realize something. I realize there is a difference between want and need. Do I want someone to walk with? Yes. I want someone to smile with, and laugh with, and play guitar with, and dance with, and sing better than ;) ... but I don't need someone in order to do or even enjoy these things.

Today I smiled, and there was no one else to see it but God... and I'm OK with that... today.

safe

I'm sitting over at a friend's house while she packs up everything she owns to leave for the rest of the summer. She packs everything because she may not be coming back. And again I am faced with another unknown... how long is this friend going to stay gone?

I'm really tired. I know her leaving isn't all about me, but given my selfish nature I have ways of turning into that. I'm tired of facing loss. I didn't allow it to hit me until today that she was leaving. I'm horrible at goodbyes... I hate hate them... I'm more likely to avoid the whole process and just say "see you later!" I'd rather say "see you later" than "goodbye..." even if it does leave me with an unknown. I think in reality I'm more scared of the known than the unknown. If I don't know the answer, I still have hope for what I want the outcome to be. If that answer is not what I want and I know that's the answer, I'm pretty much devastated... and somewhere along the journey I've started to think that life is about avoiding devastation... but it's not.

So today, I decided to live life... and not avoid the devastation. I decided to take part in the whole goodbye process and hang out here with her for the rest of the evening. It's harder than it sounds. I laid on the floor for a while and cried while she loaded up her car. I'm sure it was a combination of reasons for why I was crying as hard as I was, but there was definitely a theme of loss, and I knew that come 5:00am tomorrow morning I was going to lose a very close friend. A friend who has seen me through the losses of other friends... who will see me through this one?

I knew from the very beginning that her stay here was temporary... not only in Illinois, but in the United States... she wants to be a missionary overseas. I knew that to develop a friendship with her was to one day face the loss of a friend. To befriend her meant to face hurt, and even some pain... so I kept my distance. I played it safe.

If there's one thing I've learned it's that safety is no fun.

And her friendship has been everything that safety is not.

Not only is safety not fun, it's not unpredictable, it's not amazing or inspirational, it's not challenging or hard, it's not daring or outspoken, it doesn't spark growth or encourage passion... safety is not an instrumental tool when it comes to experiencing abundant life within the context of a relationship.

Time passed, and so did my need for safety. The potential friendship that God was placing before me was too amazing to not accept. I knew I could avoid the loss, and the hurt, and the pain, but I also knew that if that's what I chose to avoid, I would also be choosing to avoid an amazing friendship... a powerful friendship... a life giving friendship. So... I chose life... over the avoidance of pain.

This is where the pain sets in. She's leaving tomorrow and my friend will be gone. I will be sad, I will cry, and I will feel very hurt... something I know I could have avoided... but I will not regret for a single second the last 6 months that God has blessed me with this friend. I will not regret because I will not forget. I will not forget the truth she has spoken into my life. I will not forget the love she has shown me. And I will not forget how I have been changed for having known her.



Goodbye my friend! Don't be safe... live the life you were meant to live!

I love you moon!

all of us

I'm getting ready to go to Africa in a few weeks.

We've been preparing physically with shots, spiritually with prayer, emotionally and mentally with stories and visuals of the lives we will face over there... lives that are very different from ours here in America. In reviewing some of the very sad stories, it became easy for me to separate myself from the people we were going to meet in Africa... I saw myself going over as the helper, and them being the ones in need. Seeing yourself this way makes it easy to see yourself as better... the role of the provider is more important, right?

Wrong.

While, yes, I know there is a need in the villages we will be going to, and I am more than willing to take part in helping, it does not define me as superior. Just because our physical needs may be different does not mean that our emotional needs are not exactly the same. I think at the center of every human heart... EVERY... not just the American human heart, EVERY human heart, is the desire to be loved.

Yes... they need water, and food, and medicine, and clothes, and you name it, they need it... but one thing that, regardless of what we give them physically, they cannot live without is love.

I hope to not just meet the needs of people physically, but emotionally. I hope to love on some child who has never been held. I hope to hug a sick woman who hasn't been touched in years. I hope to talk with the girls about the boys they like and relate to them as if they were my friends here and not just some villagers in a third world country.

I hope to never again think that my need for love is greater simply because all of my physical needs are met.

This short clip is just for laughs, but yet so very powerful... at least for me. When I watched these girls I saw my group of friends just sitting around talking about boys and laughing. I saw the human heart. I saw a girl with a crush (even if it is on Michael Jackson). I saw us. All of us. You, me, him, her, they, them, us, and we... I saw all of us.

known

I performed in an improv show a few weeks back. It was fun... tons of people... lots of laughter... it was good...

I wasn't happy.

People told me afterward that it was great and I did a great job, but I felt like they were lying. I knew I didn't do well... but that's when I realized... they didn't know that, but I did.

You see, I pulled it off, but I didn't perform to my potential, and nobody would have know that but me... unless they really knew me.

I was so in my head and I couldn't get out.

You know how life comes in waves? Like, someone hurts you, or someone dies, or someone leaves you... or even in recovery... sometimes you can be fine and totally good, and then before you know it, BAM, out of nowhere the pain strikes, almost catching you off guard and knocking the wind right out of you... you know what I mean?

The BAM hit me right before I was supposed to go onstage.

"No, Lord, PLEASE, please not right now... anytime but PLEASE not right now..."

I remember repeating that over and over, thinking if I just repeated it long enough and hard enough it would just go away... it didn't. It was to the point where I almost freaked myself out from even going onstage. I had this image of them calling my name and me not showing up. I thought that would be pretty funny... actually I didn't, but I thought it would be safe. Safety sounded good at that point. Safety is sooo appealing when in pain. I wanted to cry... the last thing I felt like I could do was make people laugh.

I sucked it up and I dared myself to go onstage. I reminded myself to "have the courage to fail!" It takes a lot more courage to fail than it does to succeed. The thought of having courage lasted a whole 2 seconds before I started getting scared again... I felt so attacked. "Just pretend like this isn't happening," I tell myself. The thing is, after experiencing the freedom of recovery, I realize how hard it is to pretend... to pretend like I'm fine when I'm not... but I knew it was my only option... at least when it comes to the stage.

Maybe it was knowing I was pretending that was distracting me, maybe it was the pain I felt before getting onstage, maybe it was the loneliness I was experiencing even though I knew many of the people in the audience were there for me... I don't know specifically what it was, but it kept me from being me.

Sure, I made people laugh, I did what I was supposed to do... but only you can know the disappointment in yourself when you know your potential and you hold back instead of trying to give it all that you've got.

I knew what I was capable of, and I knew I didn't do it... so I felt pretty disappointed. I was frustrated because I couldn't get into character, but even more frustrated at the thought of people actually thinking that I was getting into character. Once again, I'm more worried about what people think then what I actually do.

I didn't know if I should have felt better or worse when people told me that I did a great job afterward. I realize that sounds selfish... I should just accept the compliment... but I'm still working on being OK with not being the best... all the time. Yes, I want to be the best. I admit that... and knowing that I didn't perform my best, I wasn't pleased.

I realize this is just a simple improv show held in a theater at a church... it's not big time, it's not even close to big time... but it affected me in a big way. And it made me grateful for being known and being loved anyway...

Here's what I mean...

When I talked to a close friend after the show she said I did good, but she could tell I was having an off night. "You seemed like you were somewhere else..." That statement meant the world to me. It may not sound like a compliment on my performance, but to me, it meant that she knew me. She really knew me. I didn't fool her... she knew me! It's like she was saying "you did good, JJ, but what's up? Why were you holding back?" It was so freeing to realize I had someone, even if it was only one person, that I didn't have to pretend with. I've done a fairly good job at pretending even when I'm not onstage, and to have someone see through that is... hard, don't get me wrong, but very freeing... "I know you, JJ, and I love you!"

Do you know what that's like?

Wow!

Another friend prayed with me after the show. I told her I didn't understand why I felt the way that I did and asked why it wouldn't just go away. "How very appropiate " she said, "that the enemy would attack you while you are doing something that you were created to do."

And that's when I realized... maybe she knows me too... and maybe my other friend isn't crazy for loving me... and maybe I really am loveable... even when known for who I really am.

It's the very people that know me that I am sometimes afraid of. "They know too much," I think to myself, "they'll leave me at any minute!" So in an attempt to protect myself, I keep my distance. I'm still learning how to allow myself to be loved without the fear of being left, but I'm starting to realize that there are no guarantees... at least not when it comes to people. I'm going to be let down, so to live my life in fear of being hurt is to not live at all.

I'm hurt right now even as I write this... but I am alive. I am feeling. And I have hope... that this too shall pass, and life will go on!

held

I went home last weekend. It was amazing. It was probably the best time I have ever had at home... which is huge considering I'm at a hard place in my life right. Going home during a hard time is down right ballsy. I'll say it... it was ballsy. To be experiencing heartache and pain and just down right tough stuff in life and then to go home... to the place where I used to numb out from the pain, the place where I used my eating disorder to get by, the place where I isolated from those who loved me because that's all I knew... that was down right ballsy. I had a choice as to how I was going to deal with that pain. I could go back to the comforts of home... the comforts of being numb and not feeling hurt by dealing with life the way I used to... or I could go back and experience a new life in the same old place... the life that I experience up here, in Chicago, a life of recovery...


... because after all, my recovery doesn't take up residence just here in Chicago, it takes up residence within me.


My mom picked me up from the airport around 6pm. My dad, grandma, and older sister had no clue I was coming. We had planned for it to be a surprise for the whole family, but my brother had to help my mom get me a plane ticket and my little sister has ways of getting the truth out of mom... consequences of being a Proverbs 31 woman... you can't lie... therefor you can't surprise.


My older sister had just had a baby two weeks before and kept asking when I was going to get to come home and see my new little nephew, Jackson. I would tell her I would try to as soon as I could, but between work and preparing to go to Africa and moving I probably wouldn't be able to make it down there until the middle of the summer... I have accepted the fact that I'm not a Proverbs 31 woman... and I'm OK with that... I can lie, therefor I can surprise.


When we got to the house the rest of the fam had already sat down to dinner. Mom went in to join them and I snuck around back. I came in through the laundry room really quiet, tip toed through the kitchen, and just as they were all raising their glasses about to give a family toast, I walked in as if I had been there all along and said "hey, where's mine?"


My sister screamed and jumped out of her chair, my dad's eyes popped like corn and he dropped his jaw on the floor, and my grandma... "mommom" we call her... I'm pretty sure she stopped breathing for a second. I forgot we have to be careful about surprises with mommom's heart... definitely didn't want it to stop on account of me.


We all exchanged hugs, smiles, and laughs and then sat down to dinner... I was finally home... and this time... it felt good. For a moment, life's hardships disappeared and I enjoyed a really nice dinner with my entire family.


The next few days were amazing as well... I spent time with my mom, time at the beach, time with my sisters, my brother, and little nephew, time with old friends, and time with new ones...


One of the new friends I met was Justin, the father of my sister's baby. I say that very proud... her baby daddy! I realize to the church and even to some of our distant relatives that's not a proud statement to make... "baby daddy" seeing as how that is his title instead of "husband," but if people could learn to look beyond titles and beyond brokenness that lies within each one of us, they would see neither a baby daddy nor a potential husband. They would see a man named Justin, who loves his son just as much as any legally binding husband loves his own child.


I got to hold my nephew the longest since my stay was limited. I pulled the "I'm going back to Chicago and won't see him" card, and that made who ever was holding him fork him right over. It worked like a charm.


My mom and I took a bike ride through quite a bit of Pawleys Island, stopping along the way to pick up souvenirs from little mom and pop beach shops. I never thought I would buy a souvenir from Pawleys Island, but part of me wanted to take a piece of home back home with me. I wanted a memory not only of Pawleys Island, but of that specific trip, maybe even of that specific bike ride with my mom.


I went to visit my brother at work and enjoyed some coffee, along with some amazing southern pastries... ones that I at one point in my life thought I would never be able to enjoy.


Betsy, my younger sister, and I spend most of our time quoting movies... a favorite past time of mine. The most recent one we had seen was Father of the Bride with Steve Martin... it is one of a select few family favorites. She had recently watched the sequel where as I had seen the first one, so the timing of my trip worked out perfectly for quoting movies. "Don't bulldoze my memories, man," she would repeat over and over, just like Steve Martin who begged the guy he sold his house to not to tear it down. We laughed. Sitting here now, looking back on the time I spent with my family, I can sympathize with George Stanley Banks (Martin)... "Don't bulldoze my memories, man."


My favorite memory was a hurtful, yet beautiful one. Hurtful because I allowed myself to feel the hurt I had inside, but beautiful because of who I got to share it with.


We were all up watching TV one night and my dad said he was going to go read for a while and get ready for bed. I sat with everyone else in the living room watching TV but I kept thinking about how I wanted to go talk to my dad. I debated whether I should or not, but instead of thinking about it too hard I got up, went into his room, and sat at the end of his bed. I sat there very quiet. He smiled and asked how my visit was going. I said it was going really well and that I was really enjoying my time with the family... and then I sat there silent, and just looked down. He sat in silence with me. I think he knew I wanted to tell him something, but he was waiting until I was ready to say it. He wasn't trying to avoid the silence or repeatedly ask me what was wrong... he just waited.

Finally I looked at him... I tried hard not to tear up, but I failed miserably... "This may sound weird, but I was wondering if... well... you see, I cry myself to sleep a lot... and I'm always alone when I cry... and part of what I have really been looking forward to about coming home is you just holding me while I cry... I was wondering if..." and before I could even finish he stretched his arms out, pulled me close and said "Ohhhhh Darlin'... that's not weird at all... not even close!" And he just held me... and I just cried. I buried my head in my dad's chest and I just cried.

It really hurt to feel what I was feeling, but at the same time I felt so at peace because of where I was in that exact moment... I was exactly where I wanted to be... in my dad's arms. It made the hurt seem not so hard, the pain not so bad, and the loneliness completely non-existent. In a way, it kinda made me appreciate the pain, because that pain is exactly what lead me to curl up and rest in my dad's arms.

I could get all spiritual and relate all this to God and how He is our father and longs to hold us when we are hurting, and I do believe that to be true, but it does not minimize how much it means to me to have my earthly father just hold me and tell me how much he loves me.


************************************************************************************



the dad... my dad


















the neph... my neph


















the fam... my fam!

slow me down

book 1

I finally made the move.

I'm stoked to be sitting where I am writing this entry.

I'm in my room... my new one... the one with windows... 3 of them actually. A room with character and decoration that screams "JJ." It's not fancy, but it's me, and I like it. Mostly I keep my bed made, a default characteristic I picked up at my former residence, but sometimes I take the Beatles advice and just let it be. Music is every where, Dean Martin is on the wall, and I have more books than shoes pretty much on every side of the room. I like that people may walk in and think I am an incredible intellect who basically reads for a living, but the sight of all the books on my shelves doesn't tell you that I haven't finished over half of them. Many of them I have started, but it's hard to stay committed to the end.

The way I read books could be compared to the way many people do relationships. At first the book is exciting and new, especially the ones with cool covers cause you feel cool carrying it around... but after a while you see a newer one and think it looks more exciting, so instead of staying commited to the original book you once thought so exciting, you try out the next... and again, these new, exciting feelings start all over... until you get tired of that one too. And by you, I mean me. I have abanonded a good book for the shiny appeal on the cover of another. And yes... I judge books by their covers...

For example... I loved carrying around the book "Blue Like Jazz" ( I read it 2 and a half times) because it's trendy dark blue and black cover with yellow writing is very appealing. Not only that, but it's a title you wouldn't necessarily get unless you read the book or ask the person who's reading it... which opens the door for a cool conversation... "oh, it's non-religious thoughts on Christian Spirituality... This guy loves Jesus... along with the gays and liberals and other people and things much of 'the Church' tells us not to love... even though it's 'the Church' who's got it wrong when it comes loving people." Interesting.

Now, take for example a book that was sent to me while I was in treatment. Most of you have heard of Beth Moore... a fiery bible teacher who loves the lord, big bangs, and saying "AMEN" in her Texan accent. She's written bookoos of books and bible studies and has done videos and teachings all over the country. I started a few of her studies when I was in high school and college. Anyway, so I get this book with big bold capital letters that say "GET OUT OF THAT PIT!" with the word "PIT" in bright red. As if that doesn't scream "self-help" there's a huge picture of Beth Moore plastered across the front of it. Everyone knows that any book that has a picture of the author splashed across the front is some form of a self-help book, weather it be "co-dependent no more," or "you are not what you weigh," or "learning to love yourself." Books that many people love to read, but probably don't want to be seen reading them.

I am one of those people... sort of...

Carrying around "GET OUT OF THAT PIT!" screams "she's got issues!"

I say all this jokingly, but half true. Even though I myself have read many self-help books, I find it interesting when I see other people carrying them around. I find myself wondering what their story is and how they got to where they are in that exact moment... needing the words of some stranger to tell them why life is worth living, or that size is not beauty, or that he's just not that into you... or her... or even himself for that matter because he's got so many issues he couldn't see a good thing coming if it were 3 inches in front of him. A self help book would probably say something like that... "it's him, it's not you." Well if it's not you, then why are you the one reading the self help book? Shouldn't you give it to him?

Anyway... so yea, the "PIT" book, as I call it... I cracked it open. I read the paragraph I was asked to read about Moore's daughter who struggled with an eating disorder... but that's about it. After that I shelved it with the rest. I think I was kinda frustrated. I think I still am when it comes to the whole book giving thing... especially while going through treatment. It's like as soon as people find out you have a problem, the key is a good self-help book. That'll make it all better. I realize that most people have no clue what to do, say, or give when they find out you have a problem like an eating disorder that no one knew about because you were so good at pretending everything was fine and then all of a sudden one day you end up in treatment. Honestly, I don't even know if I would know what to do, say, or give... but I know what I would not give... a self-help book. That person is WELL AWARE that they have a problem... especially if they are actually in treatment... they've figured it out by now. Not only do treatment people (that's what I call us) have loved ones, doctors, and therapists constantly trying to help them, I mean us, now strangers are too through the words of their self-help books. Where's the escape? When do we get to rest from therapy? If it's our world that's crumbling, why can't we just escape to another one? Sometimes I realize that is not healthy... the whole idea of escape... but sometimes I think you should take that opportunity to escape to another world when it's in between the pages of a good book... not one that is constantly reminding us of our issues.

I felt this the other day. I've been reading my bible a lot lately, and I tend to start to read too many spiritual books, but the other day I was just tired and didn't want to think anymore... I wanted to hear about someone else's life and their adventure... I wanted to get lost, I wanted to go to another world, I wanted a good book.




There are 3 books that stick out to me as I have been on this journey of recovery... none of which are self help books.

They are as follows...

1) Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Loooking Glass by Lewis Carroll.
2) Imagine by Steve Turner
3)The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd

The first is Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll. This book was given to me by a man named Charles back in April of last year right before I was discharged from inpatient. Charles, an older, African-American man, was a nurse who worked the night shift at Timberline Knolls. Every other morning he came in to take our vitals... blood pressure, heart rate, weight... all that good stuff. Every other morning I would lie in bed, barely awake and talk to him about life. As soon as he walked in the room I'd holler in my deep manly morning voice "CHARLES!" He'd answer back in his deep manly regular voice "Good morning Jennie." He would usually take the vitals of the other girls in my room first so that way we could chat for a bit while he took mine. I realize this may sound weird... but it wasn't. He was a caring old man with the most peaceful voice you ever heard. As I got to know him I found out he wasn't just a nurse, but a therapist too. This made so much sense to me as he seemed so wise... too wise to just be a nurse.

I always looked forward to those mornings. One of my last mornings there Charles was taking my vitals and said he had gotten me a going away gift... something to encourage me... "oh no" I thought "another self-help book." Actually no, he pulls out Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass. When he handed it to me he told me to never let my imagination die, and this book would help keep it alive. He made analogies about life in the book and how amazing, yet hard life can be. In fact, when I opened it he had written in the back cover "To: Jenny" (he spelt my name wrong, but that's OK, we never talked about that) "Life is a wonderful and strange place to be. Take Care, Charles."

I thought about how true that one statement was... "life is a wonderful and strange place to be." Even though I had seen the movie a bazillion times as a kid, this book meant more to me than any book I had ever gotten. Maybe it was because of the timing it was given to me... I was 23 years old and in treatment for an eating disorder and depression and this person gives me a book about Alice in Wonderland... WHAT?? I know it doesn't make sense to most people... but it does to me. He didn't see a girl with an eating disorder when he talked to me... he saw a girl with an imagination and creativity buried somewhere below all the crap. I was a patient, but he saw who I really was. He knew I was more than an eating disorder and that if I could just tap into my imagination again, instead of another self-help book with a bunch of facts, I could find my excitement for life again... like the one I had as a child. A child who watched Alice in Wonderland, and built forts in her yard, and created her own TV shows with her siblings. That child had a wild imagination... and somewhere along the way, lost sight of it...

But all it took was one older, African-American man... a nurse who worked the night shift at Timberline Knolls, to take my blood pressure a few times and see that my imagination was not lost... and that my eating disorder was not my future.

Thank you, Charles.

BLAGH!

I know if I could just write I would feel better... but I don't know what to write about. I feel like I am swimming in a pool of my own thoughts and I don't know how to sort through them all. Actually, I'm not even swimming... I'm drowning. I can't keep up. I want to express them but I don't know how to get them out of me... or me out of them.

BLAGH! I feel like that's all that will come out. And it feels good for a second, because at least something came out, but it's not enough. It's enough to catch my breath... but that's as far as it goes. With that one breath I muster up the energy to keep trying to sort through it all, but never really making any progress, I think I'm just prolonging the process.

And now I feel numb, and I think I will leave it at that. I'm too tired to write. I'm too tired to think. I'm just too tired.