The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

Hi. I’m Jen Christopherson.

I started writing stories when I was ten years old. I had read all the books I was allowed to read in both the school library and the city library.

I had no friends because I was beyond painfully shy. If the teacher called on me in class, I would vomit. If one of the students spoke to me, I would burst into tears and run away.

Today

I take anxiety medicine and bring my emotional support dog to grocery shop.

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You may be wondering how I managed before I started therapy. Well, this is rather humiliating, but I began drinking alcohol before school in the third grade. Would come home, drag mom to bed, then I would begin feeding and caring for the mini farm my mom insisted on having. My sister, who was two years older than me, would do her homework.

I’m not gonna go into all the drama of my childhood. You can imagine it after all the publicity these kinds of situations have received.

The only thing two things I do want to say about my childhood are :

  • The first thing I remember my mom saying to me is, “You were a mistake when you were conceived and you’ve been a mistake ever since.
  • The other thing I remember her saying is that my dad died while he was in the Navy. He showed up when I was twelve. He was never in the Navy, he was in the Air Force.

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Okay

That being said, let’s fast forward to the present. I’m going through a painful, dramatic, and drawn out break up. This isn’t my first go round. I’ve been divorced four times. The first and second one were the same one. I rampaged through his life like a tornado during an Earth quake. We have three awesome kids. They’re all adults now. The third divorce had me running for my life after he removed my four front teeth .Then, he stole my truck out of the parking lot where I worked and made the nursing home a drive through. The last one would steal my vehicle and go cash a bunch of hot checks on his way to another state.

I finally found a place to stay when I told my support group that God needed to choose. He was going to lose one in divorce or two in murder.

I was with a man for three years and ended up having a nervous breakdown when I found out he was back on drugs and we were three months behind on all the utilities.  The rent was six months behind.

Yeah .I’m used to abuse. 😱

 

I’ve been in therapy and recovery for eight years.

Eight years ago, I would tell someone I just met that I didn’t like people and I probably wouldn’t like them either. I was hard, blunt, and empty.

When I got with the one that caused my breakdown, I was described as sweet, kind, polite, and innocent.

This last one…

I don’t have any idea what happened.  He chased me for seven years. I, finally, got together with him. I fell so hard, so fast. I moved in with him a month later and a month after that I made my first night run to keep my body and soul together. Don’t let me fool you, I gave as good as I got. There was no punching or slapping. There was a ton of pushing and throwing. I didn’t get tackled that much playing smear the queer.

I didn’t make up the name, nor do I like it. I just have no idea what else to call it.

I bent and bowed down to the point where I let him chase off the few friends I did manage to let into my life, I threw all my writing, writing books, and notes in the dumpster.

In his defense, he retrieved it for me.

I would be on my phone, trying to work on my writing and marketing. He would decide he wanted my attention and would accuse me of lying, cheating, and scheming behind his back.

I am living in my own apartment. He has been staying with me for the last couple of months. I would kick him out when I couldn’t take anymore, but I still can’t seem to keep him out. I have made improvements. I kick him out for less and less damaging abuse.

Update: We are back together.

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