Into the Mysterious Dark

There have been three people in the course of my life that have ever called me "Jenni" (for the sake of consistency to my new nickname, I'll be spelling it with an "i"): my uncle, a REALLY cute guy I knew at school, and a guy very recently introduced into my life who took me by surprise in calling me Jenni. I've been known as Jenn since first grade. You want to know why? My first recollection of being called by that name was while I was being bullied on the playground during recess. This boy (I was always bullied by boys; girls too, although they were meaner about it) was calling me names, and called me Jenn when, up until that point, I had only ever been known as Jennifer. Being that young, nicknames hadn't really made any sort of impact on me. I can remember so vividly going home with my carpool family that afternoon and telling the carpool mom about this boy, and that he'd called me Jenn even after I asked him not to, and told him outright t

Listen. You may think you know me. But you really don't. And I don't know if you'll want to. --I have a confession to make. You don't want to get mixed up with the likes of me. I'm messy. And filthy. ...I can't handle myself. I curse more than I should. I put myself down to avoid facing the wounds of my past. And I'm terrified of anything new or beautiful, unless it's on my terms. Do you still want me? After all this time, I'm still afraid of anything beautiful or alive or bearing any semblance of true reality. ...I really do have a confession to make. I honestly do. I'm loud. I'm the girl that sits in the corner because everyone is too afraid to talk to her. So she stopped saying what she really thought. Until the Light touched her. And now she's free to speak, free to love, free to smile... but she still is silent and afraid Have you ever met a dog that's been hit too many times? How t

I've had a journal entry pulsating in my thoughts like breath through lungs for weeks now: What is wrong with me?  ...I'm such a hypocrite.  Like a starved and travel-worn beggar, I was given the food and shelter I so desperately longed and called for, and the second such comfort, companionship, and safety is known, all I want to do is flee.  Like a cave-exiled creature so bereft of the light of the sun that its eyes have glossed over with blindness. This lack of sight is so intense that once sunlight, the warmth of what is truly good and true and beautiful, reaches those seeking pupils, the creature shrieks in agony and scurries back into its hole.  I've tried to journal about this for weeks, but I can never get past the greeting of the entry. I always freeze up, and throw the blank pages across the room.  Hypocrisy in one of its truest and most acute forms is that hypocrisy which lends itself to questioning that life we begged to receive, but once