Hello.
My name is Jennifer Michael. But that's not what people call me. I'm called a plethora of things in day to day life: Ginny, Jen, Jennifer, Mikey, and sometimes even Jenny by Christine's father interrogating me on what I plan to do with my life, or sometimes even an especially concerned Christine herself. I do that a lot, concern people. Not far off into the future though, I image all of their concern for me will be used up. I'm an emotional masochist and I feed off of guidance and care. Self-help books are like crack to me. Obviously, my need for emotional pain and my need for care are connected, I'm just not sure which is a product of the other. Perhaps, I'm craving the maternal support that I don't have anymore so I hurt myself to seek that kind of affection. Maybe I'm just afraid that it would be to selfish to go up to say, Brenda, and be all "Hey, I need a motherly figure and you're a really strong woman and a good mother. Will you be my mommy?" I have this innate fear of being selfish and not hurting others, but that's pretty much all I do. I'm a wave of destruction; I am Draco, causing pain because I'm too prideful to admit that I need and crave protection. What's completely odd though, is that despite my desperate longing for love, I have major intimacy issues. I didn't realize it until a few days ago, but it's clear that I've had intimacy issues for years and years. If I had known that before, maybe I could have fixed problems with Jeff, or even saved us both the trouble from the start. I'm the epitome of hypocrisy. I seek for and speak the bohemian way of love and beauty everywhere, being vulnerable and open to everyone, simply being free. I consider myself an open book, ask my a question and it will be answered honestly and completely 99% of the time. But that's all just words. To quote Shangnon, words are basically empty vessels that we use to carry human emotion. Vessels. Empty containers waiting to be filled. And I don't fill them. I ship them out with nothing to carry. Actions though, essentially always have meaning. That's where my issues lie. Confess you love me, I'll be thrilled. Get me alone and try to kiss me to show your love? I'll freak out. I wont show it, but oh, it will feel like spiders crawling along my body. I'll still be happy, but it will be a happy that I inject myself with. I'll genuinely feel the elation, it just wont have occurred naturally. And this totally sucks, because it is rooted to my core, that to feel that I have truly lived my life to the fullest, I will have needed to give myself to someone completely. I'm setting myself up for a miserable unsatisfied future. I'm so worried that this will stop me from having a normal relationship, instead of one where everything was simply words. I hit the closest thing I think that I can come to in regards to love and I believe it could happen again, but I and certainly the guy deserve more than that.Real love is possible. I truly believe that in every cell in my body. I'm just very uncertain that I'll be able to reach that point. It kills me. Its actually one of my favorite ways to hurt myself emotionally. It definitely ironic that love, the one thing I'm totally obsessed with, is the one thing that is unobtainable to me. I am so self-destructive. Its crazy, and stupid, and totally and utterly disappointing. My mom was the closest thing that I can think of to living perfection. She did it all: had a successful career that she loved, was a loving wife, was an impeccable mother, was a caring and compassionate friend, was close to her entire family and kept the peace, was very intelligent and talented, was humble and always acknowledged those who helped her, was an incredible cook and loved to share her amazing food with loved ones, and was gorgeous and had incredible taste in shoes. In short, she was amazing and perfect. She invested so much in me. And I've practically thrown it all away. After she died, my Aunt Debbie in a loving heartfelt moment, confessed that my mom has asked her worriedly, "Do you think that I've instilled enough in Jennifer? Have I taught her enough?". She told me that her answer was, "Yes. Of course. You've instilled enough in Jennifer to get her anywhere she wants to go." I hate that I lied. While she was alive, I was practically a mini version of her, I even looked exactly like she did when she was little. I had everyone, especially her, believing that I was strong and going to get stronger. That I was going to be able to do anything and handle any obstacle. I wasn't strong though. I was loyal. Everything good that I did, was under the instruction of my mom. I wasn't a young lady going places, I was a loving puppet. Without that beloved call of "JENNIFER" cascading down the hallways, I have no direction, no motive. Its almost become a game with my family. I try to see how far I can fall while still convincing my family that I'm rock solid. Ashley and TJ are barely in on it. They know that I have issues, but they don't know how deep they run. The rest of them think I'm still Sandra Marie Jr. with a perfectly organized bedroom, a 4.0, a regular yoga routine, and a future teaching choir. Even before my slip and the creation of this game, my Nana would cry every time I would leave after a visit. She still does. Out of a huge family of 15+ people, only 4 of them give me an identity past being "Sandy's little girl". That's how I'm introduced at church functions over the holidays. Its never "This is my niece, Jennifer" its always "This is my late-sister Sandy's little girl" and I smile and shake their hand and say "Jennifer. Nice to meet you." But I want to scream at the top of my lungs "I DON'T WANT TO BE SANDY'S LITTLE GIRL. THAT'S NOT WHO I AM ANYMORE. I DON'T DESERVE IT. I CAN'T LET HER DOWN ANYMORE THAN I ALREADY HAVE , SO JUST STOP. DON'T MAKE ME DISAPPOINT HER EVEN MORE. LET ME CUT THE DAMN CORD." I can't do this anymore. But there's no not doing it. There's no way out. I have no idea what I'm going to do.
So that's me, Jennifer Michael. The girl of self-deprecation, self-loathing, and self-pity.
Cheers.
