Weird

One year later and everything’s just as weird. Indeed, what a time to be human.

I sincerely hope that you and yours are hanging in there as best you can. Please know that you are so very loved.

A Donkumentary

It’s mid afternoon. I haven’t seen a cloud all day beyond the tree’s spring leaves which are in bright, juicy bloom. In a shady spot beneath the flitting birds and green-oh-so-green canopy of my backyard rainforest, I rock gently side to side on my hammock. I’ve been in this spot for nearly an hour staring either up into the blue patches between the leaves or past my feet into the green movements of fresh, sweet-smelling growth. Before this, I laid in bed with the window wide open and my laptop in my lap upon which there was a halfway composed email that I kept forgetting how to finish. There too I stared blankly either out the window or at the screen with a blinking cursor.

Everything is weird. Everything. And it occurs to me that in the overdrive of the weirded-out-ness, it’s easy to just overheat and shutdown. The ole…

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Brakes

“I [re]tell this story because panic attacks are real. They are real and I’ll say again, they are not a sign of weakness. Being in the storm is terrifying but you will get through it. You will, I promise, and when you do, instead of letting your mind fizz with self-deprecation for being someone who has these episodes, thank your body for doing what it’s wired to do. Your body is trying to protect you. Even if there’s an imbalance in your systems where the brakes have been cut, still, it happens because your body, even without your consciousness’ control, wants you safe.”

A year passed since I did a brave thing and posted about panic attacks. It still means a lot to me and I hope it means a lot to you, too. I love you.

A Donkumentary

I’ve no idea the time of day. Through the slits in the shutters it’s light, but dim. Maybe it’s cloudy or maybe we’re dipping towards the evening. I really have no idea. Although I can’t see them, I know my eyes are swollen because even that dusty blue light trickling in burns the backs of my eyeballs. I’m not a cinematically pretty crier. Blotches. Snot. Puffy eyes. Real-life, y’all. I let out a long sigh (something I haven’t been able to do for hours now), adjust the heavy comforter around my neck and close my eyes once more. My throat is sandpaper.

However many hours ago it was (more than 4, I know this much) my body snowballed into a full-blown panic attack. Snowball might not be the right term…more like instantly transported. Appeared then reappeared like a subatomic particle. Was not and then *poof!* was. Anyway, I say my…

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Polka-Dots

I wrote this story nearly a year ago, right at the end of the before times. Rereading it now, I realize it’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. It really does feel like it’s all burning down sometimes, doesn’t it?

Still, I think of that shore. Those birds. Infinite rocks and little time.

A Donkumentary

I know of a shore that harbors magic: an old, forgotten magic that lies dormant beneath the rocks and pebbles of all shades and sizes. They sit atop the sand at least two feet deep and two miles long. In my memory, I return there often. The Atlantic whips the coast with salty daggers and it’s no wonder the rocks are smooth and shiny like jewelry. I think my face would’ve become that too if I had stayed. I wanted to pocket a few of the rocks before I left as some sort of souvenir, but that’d be kidnapping. They belonged there. They belonged there like the birds that darted around in the tall grass behind the rocks—birds I’ve not seen anywhere else. Plus, I’d whispered to the rocks that I’d be back someday. I asked them to wait for me. 

I sometimes imagine that if the world were ending…

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Sweet Girl

Once again, rain is in the forecast for days and it reminded me of my ill-preparedness around this time last year. This time, I'll bring towels.

In other words, I think I understand what I'm dealing with now. It's still cold and dreary but with the right tools, it might just be manageable.

Of course, as I do, I'm writing in metaphor (for fun? out of habit? emotional inability to be fully transparent? Hesitancy of sharing too much on a public platform? I dunno) But I share and say to the extent in which I'm comfortable because chronic illness, rare disease, navigating the medical system as a woman who is also medicated for anxiety and OCD and being dismissed over and over and over and OVER again as "this is just your anxiety/stress/emotions" I so desperately want you -- you who might be struggling with some similar circumstance -- to know that someone out here gets it. And if you're desperately searching for answers and truths about yourself and why things might be happening the way they are, please don't stop. Don't give up. Take breaks and breathers when you need, but then keep exploring. If the road is blocked, find another path. Look for helpers along the way.

And always, always, bring your towels when it's pouring. That original post here
I love you.
Jess

A Donkumentary

For the third day in a row, it’s pouring. My grumpy donkeys huddle together in the barn as the rain batters the tin roof so loud that it rattles my bones—it must be deafening to their large ears. After piling their feeders with extra hay in lieu of typical grazing time, I pull the hood of my rain coat over my head and slide the barn door shut behind me. Like a million pellet guns, the drops strike my whole body.

The ducks scatter around the yard, rain wicking from their slick feathers. Like children in a ball pit, they bounce and play gleefully in the growing muddy puddles. The chickens on the other hand, band together in one of their coop’s nesting boxes even grumpier than the donkeys—wide, feathery, pissed off floofs. I make sure they’ve got dry food, then check to make sure none of my little infant…

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‘Twas the Night Before Donkmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Some small creature was stirring; could it be a mouse? There weren’t any stockings because I don’t care: Festive decor is not quite my affair. Two dogs were sprawled out all across the big couch While I couldn’t sleep, which made me a grouch. I... Continue Reading →

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