Rent

A Story by Jenni Bailey

 

When I was growing up, I lived in a house that wasn’t made into a home.  I had food on the table, clothes on my back, and somewhere to rest my head, but where could I rest my head when I was emotionally tired?  Nowhere!  Not even on Daddy’s shoulder.  I had to grow up fast!  In order for me to be cared about, I had to pay my Dad ‘’emotional’’ rent.  This ‘’rent’’ was much more expensive!  I’d much rather pay physical rent, because it’s cheaper and the amount is on paper.  I’m now an adult, but I feel I owe my Dad back pay in ‘’emotional’’ rent.  To people who are struggling with the same thing, be careful, because ‘’emotional’’ rent doesn’t have a specific amount, that’s what makes it so expensive.  It has left me emotionally broke!  My Dad hasn’t had to pay anything in emotional damages…His costs are $0.00, while mine was, and still is…well, I’m still figuring it out!

 

 

My Soul

Story by Jenni Bailey

My soul gets saturated by my tears before they even reach my eyes and roll down my cheeks to saturate my face. My soul gets the brunt of the trauma, and my body gets left behind.  My soul is the true being, not my body…I can’t say ‘’goodbye’’ to my soul, but I can say it to my body 

'Jenni''

A Story by Jenni Bailey

When I say ‘’Jennifer,’’ I bleed out of my mouth.  So, if you ever see ‘’Jennifer’’ again, I’ll use my blood as the ink, and write out JENNIFER on the cold floor I'm sitting on. I would roll around in it after, like a pig in the mud…Oh, God, yes!  NOW, you can ask, ‘’where’d my Jennifer go?’’ Well, she’s written in the blood!

 

The Military: My Story

A Story by Jenni Bailey

 

People go into the military to fight for their country.  I admire their bravery and courage they have, but that’s not all that goes into being in the military.  When troops are told to go overseas, they express their sadness, love for their families, etc… This is where my story begins: Growing up in the military was hard and also very heartbreaking.  My Dad was in The Air Force for 20 years, he was on deployment a lot, and was gone for a significant amount of time.  It affected me a great deal, I just wanted my Daddy.  My Dad and I were one soul.  The daddy-daughter bond was unbreakable.  When seeing him off at the airport, I didn’t want to let him go.  I stood frozen, to watch him walk towards the gate, until I couldn’t see him anymore, then bawled to the point I couldn’t see through my tears.  My Dad missed birthdays, holidays, important events, the good, the bad, and the ugly!  

 

I could talk to him, but it was limited, I could email him, but I feared he wouldn't respond.  I didn’t know whether he was okay, or not.  The-not-knowing was so scary!  My siblings and I counted down on the calendar for his homecoming every night.  I didn’t want to participate anymore because I just wanted my Daddy home now!   I was too emotionally fragile to be without him.  After a while, I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t care the way I used to, and most of all, I couldn’t be my Daddy’s daughter!  

 

The military is much more than just dressing into a uniform, and getting ready to protect our country.  It’s also about the families and their children that get left behind to just DEAL with the absence.  There is also the mental and emotional absence:No hugs, No kisses, No tucking into bed, No spending the holidays with them, etc…

 

Sympathy And Staying Strong

A Story by Jenni Bailey

I am an adult with Cerebral Palsy, and when I was growing up, my Father told me ''stop feeling sorry for your yourself''. I guess, in his mind , it made a person weak, and make it look like the person was ''looking'' for sympathy. All through my childhood and in parts of adulthood, I was made to believe sympathy towards yourself was not a good way to live life.

To my surprise, I slowly realized, that ''feeling sorry'' for myself wasn't unhealthy at all. Staying strong was actually harming how I looked at my life situation, not making it better! I've learned, if I feel I'm going to breakdown, do it for 15-20 minutes, have ''my moment'', get it out. Then when I feel calm enough, wipe my tears, take a few deep breaths, and pick up where I left off. Giving myself permission to breakdown has helped me so much!

I cannot ''stay strong'' ALL THE TIME. I believe it makes me weak, I will eventually, fizzle like pop, and explode. It's okay to allow myself to say ''I have a hard life.'' Breaking down and feeling sorry for myself allows myself to understand ME. When I have the correct support, AND I DO, it also helps the level of my breakdown. I will no longer listen to people telling to not feel sorry for yourself, because they don't know what's best for me...I DO!

 

 

 

The Fourth Grader

A Story by Jenni Bailey

I remember it like it was just yesterday
As I write this, I have a lot to say
It was my Fourth Grade Class picture day
I really hope my tears don't get in the way!

My floral tan dress made up for my short hair
I wore my dress with such pride and care
The weather for my dress was fair
Getting my dress dirty? I did not dare!

When it was time to show my smile
My class was lined up in single file
I was ready to show off my style
I knew that I'd have hold in place for a short while

I was ready to get my picture done
The second take was the better one
Sitting still wasn't fun
I was hoping my picture would stun

But...It didn't...

Hanging it on the living room wall didn't last
My stepmother made my picture the outcast
From then on, I cried to myself as I walked passed
My stepmother had something against my teeth-I wanted it down fast!


She said I had ''buck teeth''
Hearing that, hurt me so deep
It was a picture of me, she didn't want to keep
I didn't tell her that I would weep

What happened to it when taken down?
Do they still have it around?
Did they trash my picture, because shame was too loud?
I don't know....I just know, it may be lost and never found

Did my stepmother regret it later?
She took many pictures with the family, but I never did grade her
She said awful things about my appearance in my picture, but what made her?
She didn't even care that girl in the picture was only a fourth grader

 

Now My Smile Is Fake?

A Story by Jenni Bailey

 

My Fourth with Grade Class picture was, already, not in my stepmother's vocabulary. What's wrong with my this one? It was my fifth grade school picture. My Dad told me: ''Your smile is fake!'' This time, it was my Dad that said something about my school pictures! What was going on? My smile wasn't ''fake''. My Dad believed this so much, that he took that picture of me, down from the wall. Nothing of mine belonged on that wall, unless it was approved by my Dad and Stepmother. I already felt like an outcast, but my picture being bashed twice, just confirmed what I already felt. I was a child, what did my Dad, and my stepmother want from me? I gave them ME, in a picture! That had to be enough, right? Nope!

 

Angel Eyes

A former staff, now BFF called me ''Angel Eyes'' one Morning, and put her words into a story that I hold dear,

A Story by Jenni Bailey
One morning, I'd gotten woken up with a sweet, calm voice saying ''good morning!'' I was bundled up in my blankets, as I was slowly waking up to her voice. When I finally could open up my sleepy eyes, My staff smiled and lightly giggled and said, ''the way you opened your eyes, made you look like you have Angel eyes.''

In that moment, I felt very much cared about, and that she meant to say those words. I took those words in like oxygen. With me living a trauma-based life, I feel like a person of much value and purpose. I matter in my staff member's life. It's rewarding to hear this.

I know for most people, someone saying they have Angel eyes, might not seem like a big deal, but for me, it impacted me in a positive way. It made me smile, and have that calmness about me that I sometimes, struggle to have and regulate it! Saying that I have angel eyes, I will always cherish these spoken words and hold it close to my heart.

Something as simple as ''Angel eyes'' has changed the way I want to live my life...I know it's impossible to be perfect like an angel, but I want to live my life as a caring, compassionate, understanding person. It also has pushed me to be the ''best version of me'' every day.... I also like to ''milk'' the compliments I've given, in a funny way. It's also part of my personality to be silly about compliments!

I have rough days and all through that, my staff members still see the good side in me. My staff members remind me each day, it's okay to have rough days, because they know I'm still that same great person.

 

 

Let's Meet Daddy At The Window

A Story by Jenni Bailey

It's morning time and everyone's up: All of us kids get ready for school, Daddy is all ready for work. Daddy has to just get his stuff into his truck. He leaves at 6:00 am, but he doesn't leave without saying ''goodbye''. My siblings would give hugs and kisses to Daddy, but...me? I would say nothing. Not because I didn't love or care about Daddy, but because I was going through hardships with Daddy. I don't think I would look at Daddy! When Daddy was ready to leave for work, I was still eating my breakfast before getting ready for the school bus.

 

The Family Tradition was to way at Daddy from the Dining Room window...My siblings and stepmother would scurry to the window, open the drapes, to blow kisses and hugs to Daddy thru the window. My stepmother would say ''let's meet Daddy at the window.'' I did for long while because then, I felt loved. After that, I stopped meeting Daddy at the window.

 

My and Daddy's communication style? No healthy communication...I had to have myself go numb from all feelings. I felt it was safer for me to not wave to him at the window. I love my Daddy, ALWAYS, but I felt safer away from him, because I didn't feel the love from him. My Daddy saw me thru the window, but I wouldn't wave at him...I just continued to sit at the table, or wherever I was at the time, and be inside of myself.

My World

A Story by Jenni Bailey

I’m the kind of girl who can’t be present all the time. I’ve had to create another world to help me feel safer from this one, and there are times where I only can put so much energy into this world, I retreat into my world. This world is so demanding! I have a hard time catching up, and being ready for whatever life throws at me. I find myself disconnecting, even zoning out that looks as though I’m comatose in a way, which means my body is functioning, but my mind is deep into my world. It's forced me not to respond to my environment; I can hear people, but I cannot put my attention on them, and I’ve reached my limit emotionally in this world…all of the attention is on my world.

 

It’s not to be rude. It’s my way of unplugging for a while so I can refocus, and get my thoughts back on track. My trauma demands attention, I know it sounds weird, but it’s true…it is in my face every day. There are times that I can push it down deep, and worry about it later, then there are times that I can’t worry about it later…it’s heavy.

My Shadow

A Story by Jenni Bailey

Everyone has a shadow. A shadow is the outline of the body, and it shows in the sunlight, and sometimes in the darkest of places. I feel that my shadow holds more than just an outline of my body. My trauma lives within my shadow. Along with my shadow, my trauma goes wherever I go. It shapes how I live my life. The things with shadows are, you can’t see the broken heart, the tears, the eyes that are tired, the mouth that lashes out, a smile that’s questioned and the hurt feelings and emotions that penetrate the soul. My shadow holds a story, but I’m the only one who can tell that story.

 

''Daddy's Home!''

A Story by Jenni Bailey

 

Once a upon a time, I loved hearing ''Daddy's Home!" But there came point in my life, where I got scared that Daddy was home.  When Daddy was home, it meant I was going to get disciplined by him because my stepmother used his presence to scare me.  My stepmother would start to talk with me about issues, but then, she would say ''let just wait for your dad to get home'', she would say this when, I feel, she didn't like the answers I was giving her.
Daddy brought the discipline, but the reality was my stepmother ''wore the pants'' in the family.  I don't know who or what was worse?  Both were equal.  The issues that were brought to attention, didn't need such discipline, they needed care and love.  Daddy didn't provide this!  I was so relieved to not see Daddy's truck in the driveway, but the threat of him coming home to discipline me, was always there!  
When his truck was in the driveway, it brought up fear.  I felt I had to ''prepare myself'' for anything.  Why should a daughter fear her Daddy's presence?  A parent is suppose to provide love and care in the home.( Discipline is okay, but not to the point children are scared of the parent.)  Ever since the estrangement Daddy and I has taken place, I've wanted be to the person not coming home.  That day came at age 18.

 

What About Heaven?

A Story by Jenni Bailey

I'm an ''ugly angel'', meaning, I don't follow the rules of Heaven, or read the bible, to '''just get into Heaven''.  I just focus on what's important to me, not God.  I'm not God, and I'm not going to live in his image, if I'm not him.  I'm a human, which means, if I was made in his image, I would be perfect.  I'm kind, compassionate, I care, but I'm also very outspoken, real person which makes me a ''beautiful demon''.  I do right in my life, but I also don't bow down and kiss God's feet.

 

 

The Caterpillar

A Story by Jenni Bailey

 

In life, I'm slowly learning to be a caterpillar, and trying not worry about needing to grow my wings to be a butterfly.  It's okay for me to be caterpillar because I need help to fly, so therefore, I don't need my own wings. I'm being taken under other butterflys' wings...and I'm learning to be okay with that.  I still feel like I'm in my cocoon some days, but I'm slowly learning that, and that is totally okay.

 

I feel I don't owe him!  I didn't make him, he made me, according to the bible. So, it makes it so he owes me.  With all the stuff I've been through, he needs answer to the trauma I suffered.  In my eyes, he doesn't even deserve a capital ''H'' when addressing him because I feel he abandoned me.  I am supposed to be his child.  God has made me cry 

 

Why is that I have to prove myself worthy of Heaven?  I'm his child...supposedly!  Shouldn't that be enough?  I shouldn't have to work so hard to get through the Pearly Gates.  Why do have to repent and/or confession on our knees, when you already know we aren't perfect?  You're suppose to know everything already!  You made us not to be perfect, but do you know we have to be perfect to enter Heaven?   It doesn't make any sense, God!

 

I'm not going to live my life to make YOU comfortable, what matters, is whether I'm comfortable...and I am.  I give love others, and I receive it, so don't shut the Pearly Gates, just because my definition of Heavenly is different from yours.  Making me worship you to get into Heaven, or telling me ''you can only get into Heaven thru me'', is not very good advice or very good rules.  This sounds very conditional, even tho, you, God, your love should be unconditional.

Come here, Grandma and Grandpa

A Story by Jenni Bailey

When I want to talk to you, I look up at my ceiling!  I always hope you can see me, and you'll come down to join me in conversation.  I know you're with with me, I just want to see your angelic spirits.  I don't want to talk about things that no longer hold meaning, grandpa and grandma...I just want you and the lip gloss kisses and the warm hugs.  I hope you've been watching over me: my growth, the love I give others, and I hope you hear my silliness, and the words and tears reaching out to you.  

My Dad's Heartbeart and Warmth

A Story by Jenni Bailey

I miss your hugs.  They were so warm, I closed my eyes and I felt I could fall asleep.  I did not care if there was a possibility of me falling from a standing position.  Your warmth was a lullaby, even for me as an adult.  Your heartbeat, as well, provided connection that I didn't have with any other family members, not even Mom.
Through the ''discipline'', constant nagging and insults, I still needed and wanted the warmth your hugs provided, and the connection your heartbeat gave me.  You weren't the same Dad when we'd embrace:  You were my Dad in those moments.  I miss you, Dad!