This is the place where you can personalize your profile!
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"Why," you ask? Because we want profile pages to have freedom of customization, but also to have some consistency. This way, when anyone visits a deviant, they know they can always find the art in the top left, and personal info in the top right.
Don't forget, restraints can bring out the creativity in you!
Now go forth and astound us all with your devious profiles!
I awaken with you next to me, pressed close, but my eyes never open to the dark, quiet of night. Your sweet breath weighs heavy on me, eyelashes caressing my cheek while lips and tongue redefine my jawline, and I collect you in the hollow of my neck.
I inhale the 2am hour, drawing it and you deep within me, and I claim your shoulder blades and lower back, marking places I call home, while I profess my faith to a deity in whispers, then incise your upper arm with a reminder of my presence here.
No longer can I remain anonymous, just another girl checking in for her doctor's appointment. The moment I tell them the visit is to be billed to the state, and present this voucher, which might as well be painted in bright red blood, dripping and leaving a breadcrumb trail for all, with a neon sign that reads "sexual assault," I become that girl.
I see the way their eyes change. I see how they look at me. The hardness of the day, painted in the lines on their face, softens, just a bit. Their eyes, normally cold and focused, now try to melt my heart with their temporary concern.
I sit in the waiting room amongst the anonymous people. There's the elderly couple across from me; the Hispanic family: three kids occupied by the mom while the dad talks loudly on the phone, his bulbous body exceeding the chair he sits on; the blonde woman with her adorable blonde-headed daughter in the white linen dress; and all the other anonymous people I didn't care to pay attention to. I am no longer anonymous, though.
The lady who checked me in is now talking about me. I catch her glimpsing over at me as she speaks with the other receptionist. They both sneak not-so-subtle peeks at me. All the while, I find myself eyeing the door. All I want is to leave and be anonymous again.
The large door to the back offices swings open and my name is called. No longer am I just that girl, sitting there looking frightened. Now they will know me as Jennifer.
The nurse is kind in greeting me and I wonder if she already knows. She takes me back to get my weight and I see that yet again it is fluctuating wildly. It's been doing this ever since that night. I think that can't be healthy but really, this is the least of my concerns. She takes me back to the exam room and directs me to sit on the table. I follow her directions and immediately cross my legs, and then my arms. It's a comfort to not be so exposed and I feel as if maybe I can be anonymous in here, just for a moment.
"What are you here for today?" she asks. And there it is, the question that will make me expose myself.
"Just a follow up," I offer. But by the questioning look she gives me, I can tell she's not satisfied.
"I was here three weeks ago for sexual assault," I concede. Immediately I feel the tiny room fill with my shame and I'm drowning in it, gasping for air to fill my lifeless lungs. The nurse refuses to look at me now, and I wonder if she feels the shame too.
I continue sitting on the table, taking measured breaths, holding myself, and looking out the window. I focus on the baseball field across the way. There were children playing there just a moment ago, but they have disappeared and for some reason, this makes me feel even more alone. Still, I focus on it, because I need to focus on something other than the thoughts that threaten to fill my mind.
The nurse takes my blood pressure and says it's excellent. I must be getting really good at hiding behind my mask, concealing all my feelings, my fears, my drowning. My pulse is good too. Somehow I've managed to trick my body into believing everything's okay. Why then won't my mind listen too? Why can't I get it to just forget?
A few more questions and the nurse leaves me alone again in the tiny exam room while I wait for my doctor. We are acquaintances and so she has taken a special interest in me. I've always adored her as my doctor, but she feels like more of a friend now, especially as she enters the room with her warm smile and hugs me in the most genuine way. With her, I don't feel anonymous, but I also don't feel like that girl.
My doctor and I talk. When she looks at me, asking how I'm doing, there is genuine concern in her eyes, but I don't feel like she's trying to break through my shell. When she speaks to me, it is a conversation, and I'm not given only pity to chew on. When she hugs me again, she leaves me feeling like I will be okay, but if I'm not right away, that's okay too. She accepts me and the fact this will take time. Anonymous is not how I feel now, nor is it how I want to feel. In fact, I think I feel like myself again, just a little sadder.
But now I'm off down the hall to the lab to have more blood tests done. As I hand over the orders, I'm directed to sit in the special chair. I dig out that state voucher again, the one that screams "sexual assault." But when I try handing it over to the phlebotomist, explaining that they are not suppose to bill me or my insurance, I'm met with resistance. I don't understand why they are making this so hard on me. It says right here they are not to bill me. I look at the words, bolded, "Do not bill the sexual assault victim." I try getting them to listen to me, to read the words, but they don't. I don't want to say it. I don't want to come out of my anonymous shell. Not here. Not in front of everyone.
"It says right here you're not suppose to bill me!" I plead. But she doesn't listen. So I try again, reading right from the paper, "It says 'Do not bill the sexual assault victim!'"
Those words echo in the tiny room and out into the hallway. I am no longer anonymous. I am that girl. I'm the girl that was raped and now they all know.
I sit silent in my chair. I give up the fight and tell them to just bill my insurance and take my blood. Might as well take it all, I've got nothing left.
For anyone paying attention, I haven't really been around this past week. If you know me, then you may know that my daughter is bipolar and unfortunately, the past week or so has been a very difficult one. It'll be her 10th birthday this coming Tuesday and she always puts a ton of pressure on herself to "be good." I hate that she does that because it's counterproductive. Besides, she's been sooo great lately. But, this is typical twice a year around her birthday and Christmas, and so, we muddle our way through it. All the extra stress with this caught up with me, and that's why I haven't been around. I may have missed a few days of my #Glory-Be-Project writing, too. Oops.
Despite a few things that make wanting to hide out in a cave for a little while sound very appealing, there are a lot of things giving me reasons to smile:
Valentine's Day. While I'm not typically a fan of the day, we should remember that it's not just a holiday for romance-type love. (I have a whole myriad of thoughts on the need for a day like this, but I'll spare you.) Everyone needs the occasional reminder that they're loved. So, tonight I visited my mom and made her a special Valentine's dinner to show her how much I love her. I see her all the time, but she was lonely on this day and it was great to bring a smile to her beautiful face. I also gave my kids extra hugs and kisses today and thanked them for being my valentine. More smiles all around! And then I find some very lovely people—some known, some anonymous—took the time to send me some very touching valentine's cards. They definitely brought many smiles to my face and I appreciate the lovely thoughts and kindness shown.
I've had some other pretty decent stuff going on, too. Last weekend I went snowboarding with my ex. We had so much fun and it was really great to just be able to hang out and be friends again without any awkwardness. We even had a couple great heart-to-hearts. Plus, it was the first time I've hit the slopes in three years. Three years!! Gah, it felt great.
There's more I could update you on, but it's probably only interesting to me, and so, I will spare you. Besides, my insomnia has be waning and I'm finding myself sleepy at normal-ish times. I hardly know how to handle this. (I know, it's 1am but I normally fall asleep around 3am!) So, I'm going to leave you with a video that seems to make sense to me in this moment, and a list of the little things that mean a lot.
that mean a lot
Cuddling with my kids.
A good chiropractor that gives giant hugs after you haven't seen him in a couple months.
An ex-husband that brings you lunch.
Friends that text and ask how your weekend was, just because they wanna talk to ya.
An ex that truly gives a damn about your happiness.
A 70lb dog that cuddles up in your lap because he can't stand to be anywhere else.
A new plan to move forward with a couple items already checked off!
Minoring in innocent-ish rebellion, majoring in single mom-dom, and dabbling in a little bit of everything in-between, Jen Fowler is the quintessential Gemini, putting little faith in celestial alignments and erring on the side of danger in favor of run-on sentences and a little thing called happiness. Jen also writes for the love of the words and her twitterpation over em dashes and semicolons. If you were of the stalking variety, you'd find her somewhere in the Chicago area; however, her Doberman highly discourages such activities.
I'm me: a mother, a lover, a sometimes fighter (but never a bully), a friend, a goofball, a rebel of the best kind, a daredevil, a caretaker (no, not of the dead), an idling cliché, a glowing billboard for my heart with available advertising space, and there was something else...oh right, a wannabe writer.
The things I need in life can be summed up neatly with the following: family and friends, love (of all kinds), honesty and trust, the warmth of sunshine, exposure to nature, coffee and tea, music -- it's my drug, poetry -- it's my peace, and the companionship of furry 4-legged creatures.
Favorite TV showsThe Big Bang Theory. Grey's Anatomy.Favorite bands / musical artistsPearl Jam, The Beatles, Nirvana, The Doors, Bob Dylan, The Black Keys, The Civil Wars, Norah Jones, The Weepies, Arcade Fire, Airborne Toxic Event, and a bunch others. Mostly Alternative/Indie/Folk, but I listen to nearly everything with good words.Favorite booksFrom my childhood, "A Penny for the Pauper"Favorite writersEmily Dickinson, Oscar Wilde, Robert Frost, Henry David Thoreau, Pablo Neruda, E.E. Cummings, Walt Whitman, Maya Angelou, and a few lovely people on dAFavorite gamesScrabble and Marco Polo! "Marcoooooo"Favorite gaming platformCoffee table & the outdoors.Tools of the TradeMy heart...on my sleeve, a notebook, and pencil.Other InterestsMusic. Poetry. Life. Adventure. Love.
What's your preferred alcoholic drink for gettin' tipsy while writing?
11 deviants saidCoffee, tea, or me water! Because you're a purist and your writing should reflect that.
5 deviants saidBourbon! Who couldn't use a little sophistication in their writing?
4 deviants saidWine! Because "wine is bottled poetry" and you wanna uncork that shizz.
3 deviants saidRum! The best way to spice things up is with a lil' Captain in you your writing!
3 deviants saidSomething else... (Comment!)
2 deviants saidTequila! It has a reputation for assisting in clothing removal so what better way to write something sexy?
2 deviants saidVodka! It's made from potatoes and you're pretty sure that means you could write something wholesome and starchy, possibly with a Russian accent!
2 deviants saidBeer! What better way to achieve interesting imagery than with beer goggles?!