I like walking in the woods. I like walking along trails. I like being near any body of water that I possibly can. I like exploring new places and taking spontaneous road trips. I like women. More than I like men.
Resiliency, spiritual journey, confusion, anger, and pain. 90% of it self inflicted. Finding self. Loving self? I’m almost there, but definitely more than I did this time last year. Or the year before that. Or the year before that.
Fun fact: it is not fun cutting off toxic people. Rejection sensitivity, chronic over thinking, and then seemingly searching for your place now that you are a “new you,” is intense.
Even more fucked up fact: sometimes birds of a feather do flock together. Sometimes you are the company you keep. And sometimes misery loves company. Cliche? Yeah. But true.
I was toxic as hell because I chose to only operate out of trauma. I was a manipulator. A liar. A drug user. A firecracker. A shape shifter. A mask wearer. Probably even a sex addict. I was lost. I was hurt. I was negative and very pessimistic about life in general.
My last relationship was no healthier than the one before that. And the one before that. And the one before that.
No more blame game truthfully I learned first hand the spectrum of cluster B personality disorders and how entangled they can become. Empath vs Narcissist, Borderline Personality Disorder vs Narcissist Personality Disorder. Male, female, non-binary, transgender. No matter who is who and who is “what,” it comes down to a choice of wanting better.
But in keeping up gratitude, I must be thankful for the lessons learned in every choice that I have made. The good ones. The horrible ones. The fun ones. The rewarding ones. The dumb ones. And the wonderful ones to come.
I made this cute little graphic after my appointment with an occupational therapist. Well to be honest, I made it while “attending” the 30 minute virtual appointment. I’m a work in progress.
I have just recently returned to using Instagram as social media was previously one of my biggest triggers. I am affirming my purpose as a writer, and there are always going to be moments of questioning self. Even if it’s just to gauge your message.
I just so happened to join a small group of poets who are immensely talented. Yes, me quirky Jessica trying to be a little more social and confidently goal driven.
(Fun fact, if you don’t know what to say during certain moments and conversations, it may be best to sit still, and every moment isn’t the moment to act. )
This group has been sharing poetry prompts and inspirational chats in a way to keep us all motivated to keep writing during national poetry month.
Disclaimer, I kind of sort of always correlate my hometown with negative experiences, as if there’s not one positive to good ole Winston-Salem, North Carolina.
Any location is what you make it, I’ve learned, because I have run from state to state habitually instead of facing my problems.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a journalist. I wanted to write about social causes and feed my humanitarian spirit. It was just something that I knew since age 11. I always knew I was a writer.
I want to pay homage to this group and to the immense talent that I’ve seen within it. Naturally, after several odd and impulsive regurgitations of blabbering messages and a few moments of “unsending,” I felt the need to revisit the topic of things I love about my hometown. Rather than allow a forced and reckless ego driven spew of “wanna be gangster chick,” or whatever that was… I actually do have some good things to say.
James White , my late paternal grandfather
Stingy old man?
Living in the south but occasionally questioning motives of church offerings
Collections of cars
Rings on each finger
Wads of cash secured by rubber bands.
School bells rings. “I wonder what Papa is driving today.”
It wasn’t so much a flashy one but rather a deeper message:
Work hard.
Seed.
Honor roll.
Award.
Award.
Award.
Papa’s proud.
Seed.
McDonalds. Chicken nuggets. With the dark meat, too.
Sweet & sour sauce.
Dr. Pepper.
Fries.
Better make sure they’re fresh.
Speak up for what you want.
Seed.
Lectures about jail, drugs, boys, but what young teen retains all that!!? Warnings of what takes place at wild parties. Eh, I was already doing the worst.
North Carolina School of the Arts –
Dressing rooms.
Seed.
Beautiful campus, worlds of art.
Seed. Seed.
And then we went from house to house and I saw him cleaning, scrubbing, telling me the value of work ethic.
“Are these all his houses?”
Seed.
Stubborn old man, refusing to walk with a cane.
Save money.
Seed.
But look at what you can instantly get with it!
Shallow absorption.
I joined the Navy, just like him,
But what a wonder it would have been if I simply understood
Why he taught me to hide a little money in my socks, and tell no one about it.
The top video shows imagery with effects and the words to the poem “Intentional,” which can also be found below. The second video I just wanted to share as it was a beautiful cloud gazing day form my patio yesterday.
Thank you for viewing this blog post. Admittedly I have been a bit “scatterbrained” lately, but I am working hard to narrow my focus as it pertains to my daily functioning.
I have thoroughly enjoyed reading the works and posts of so many wonderful people. It is my intention to get back into browsing the blogs and amazing works of art and poetry and inspiration that have helped me keep my love for writing alive.
