Three Hail Marys

Alone with my thoughts
While fingers work over
Those delicately carved wooden beads
I’ve never been one to believe
And I find myself wanting to believe
Frozen in this moment, I’m here.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee;
Blessed art thou among women,
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”

When can we go home?
She asks desperately
And I know that the answer, soon.
She calls out to him frantically in the night
Someone who’s already made it there
But her journey, it’s coming too soon.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Pray for us sinners,
Now and at the hour of our death..."

I hold selfishly onto beads,
Bargaining for more
Never one for prayer,
My fingers lace through,
“God give me the strength and courage,
To face what I don’t want too.”

"Amen."

- Jennifer Marie
- March 24, 2008

Consider this Your Warning.

I am never the strong one. Ever.

I say this because people often look at me because I do not “break down” the way that they do. And they are right, I rarely break down in public and if I do, I am ashamed of myself. I like to keep my break downs in the privacy of my own car/room/house/space-where-no-one-can-see.

I avoid situations where my “break downs” will prevail themselves.

Case in point, my grandma is very ill. I should know more about it but I refuse to let myself know more. I have spent quite a bit of time at her house in the past week but rarely in the room with her. Usually I scurry myself off into the TV room where I root myself to the couch and attempt to absorb myself in television shows. For those of you who know me, TV is not one of my regular vices…at all.

I haven’t forgiven myself.

In the heat of stressful situations I tend to think of everything wrong I have ever done. Mostly, things that occurred almost 2 years ago: I have accepted that I got in trouble for what I did, but I have not accepted the fact that I could so such a thing.

My whole childhood and a good percent of my teenage years were rebelling against being like my mother, which inadvertently made me do things she did. “A spitting image.” My grandma would often say. Which stung more than the needles at the doctor’s office. And cut deeper than any knife.

I give too much.

I allow myself to be hurt by people I consider close, constantly – I can’t let go. I need to let go.

I’m heading for a harsh breakdown

I can feel it welling up inside of me and I’m trying my hardest to put on the breaks and bring this break down to a screeching halt.

I am Broken.

I refuse to let people (especially guys) get close to me. I have so much emotional baggage that I am afraid to let anyone “see me.”

I feel like sometimes I’m Bi-Polar.

Maybe to a lesser degree and I can still function… somewhat.