A Remedy For The Unwell...

"I remember all of the things that I thought I wanted to be; So desperate to find a way out of my world and finally breathe. Right before my eyes I saw, my heart it came to life...This ain't easy, it's not meant to be. Every story has its scars; When the pain cuts you deep, when the night keeps you from sleeping just look and you will see that I will be your remedy. When the world seems so cruel and your heart makes you feel like a fool, I promise you will see that I will be, I will be your remedy..." [-Adele]

Dear Dairy, My head is a mess. My heart is literally sick. And I am at the end of myself. Oh and I did eat that entire container of Ben and Jerry's, I lied to you 3 pages back when I said I only ate half but you know I'm working an honest program these days so there you go, I ate the whole damn thing while watching Beaches because reasons....

Wednesday: I am tired. And quite frankly I do not feel like playing nice with the other kids tonight. But here I am nonetheless, armed with baked goods and a plastic smile. Sometimes I think that a smile can hide a thousand deaths...In the ebb and flow of these nights, rarely do I ever find my hand raised in surrender or confession but before I register the movement, my hand is up and words are marching resolute from my mouth. I don't offer any context but it is quite enough that I finally say it out loud that I am knee deep in a strangely obsessed obsession with heroin. And I know exactly why that is. Even if I don't say it. I know. In the wake of my confession, I am embarrassed by myself. And I firmly resolve that as soon as we pray out, I'm out. Only it doesn't quite happen that way- of course it doesn't.... I turn for my purse and Christopher who has been next to me for the entirety of the meeting immediately reaches out for my hand- I can tell that he wants to say something so I sit back down and he follows suite. "J, heroin is a bitch. I get it, I do..." I close my eyes because there is this knee-jerk reaction inside of me that wants to snap back, 'No, no I don't think you do...' as if he has never stood where I'm standing but I know him, and I know damn well that he knows exactly what this feels like. So I inhale and I exhale and I look into his eyes and I say "Do you know that I can still taste it. I can close my eyes and still feel it. And it's so fucking real." Christopher takes my hand in his and holds it tight and says in earnest, "J, I know, I know." We talk for a few minutes and he hugs me tight and says "Remember, to thine own self be true. You know who you are, and this right here, this is who you are. Don't forget that." He turns to leave and pauses and looks back at me and says, "See you next Wednesday." I smile weakly and nod, "Yeah." His eyes holds my gaze, concern laced in his stare and I hear it, that question mark laced with doubt, "Promise?" And it's almost a whisper when I say it, "Promise."....

Thursday: I am done. I am done running. I am done running from the elephant in the room. Elephant: Around April, I was diagnosed with a fairly serious heart condition. In time and with different tests, the initial diagnosis may change but as it stands, I have a faulty heart. Am I dying? Yes. But to that point, no one gets out of this thing alive, we're all dying. Thank you very much and have a nice day....The unknown remains exactly how bad is this heart thing? How bad indeed? I've kept this in for so long and let it build up inside of me, breeding a hailstorm of fear and sickness. The whole lot of it begging for a long overdue breakdown...Normally, I pencil in my breakdowns every Friday between the hours 5:00 and 6:00 P.M. - However, on this week it so happens that I am unable to attend my normal brown couch session so earlier in the day, like 3 A.M. early, I emailed Lisa, my former Solmar Recovery counselor and asked if I could drop by. Fast forward to Jillian sitting on a substitute brown couch, words, fury, heartbreak, tears, and f-bombs (not much has changed, right Lisa?...) There are not many people that I let into this window of my soul, this messy, broken, desperate for solace, frightened kind of little girl - Call it self preservation or something like that but Lisa as it stands is one of the few people that I trust with my life. I respect her too much to engage in bullshit. Sitting across from her, I let it all out, all of this fear and anger and ugly and pain and longing. I let it break and I let it bleed and I finally let myself let someone else help me to not carry it alone. She listens and she cries with me and she hugs me and she speaks a gentle wisdom into my chaos. But it's her presence that I feel the most, her strong, unwavering presence. And maybe for the first time in months, I know that come what may, I'm going to be okay. Because it doesn't have to be worse case scenario, it could be best case scenario. And in either instance, it doesn't have to alone. It doesn't have to be alone. Because I am not alone...

Friday: Driving home in the darkness, Gilligan and I are talking about life. Recovery. And where I'm at on the map. He's known me for years. He's good people. I like the comfort of him, the knowing that he knows me, that I don't have to be someone different with him- he it doesn't expect it from me- I just get to be Jillian. The Jillian that loves driving and music and slam poetry and tacos and ice cream and cupcakes (Gilligan, if you're reading this, I'm sad that we didn't end up getting the cupcakes) ...I get to be Jillian who can talk freely about addiction and alcoholism. I get to be the Jillian that curses like a fucking sailor but still loves Jesus, earnestly but imperfectly. I get to be Jillian who has more questions than answers, who is full of doubt but filled with faith, who laughs at stupid jokes and loves taking Instagram pics- Jillian who is forever anchored by the solace of sitting in the quiet of a familiar friend, knowing that words are optional...As I finish my thought, Gilligan is quiet for a moment and then he says, "You're doing good J, you're doing good." I let out a laugh and I meet him in the middle with, "Well, I'm doing." Matchbox Twenty's 'Unwell' plays in the background and Gilligan laughs, "This song is literally perfect for this moment..." And it is quite perfect- ['I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell; I know right now you can't tell but stay awhile and maybe then you'll see a different side of me...'] For a few moments we sit there in my car, singing along to the chorus and as it fades into the next song, I sit there thinking about the words, stay awhile, and he has, through the years, he has stayed; And maybe then you'll see a different side of me, and he has, he has seen all my sides. I drop Gilligan off at his house and he hugs me good night and as he reaches his front step, he calls out, "I love you J." And I call back, "Love you." And I drive back home on empty streets with a full albeit faulty heart...

*****

In the days that follow, I keep coming back to these moments and I wonder if the remedy for the unwell is found in being known? Because as it stands, the common denominator in these moments, is that I am authentically known to each of these people. It has very much been a year where I am coming back to life. And I forget that it is okay to be known, in fact more than okay. I forget that I can be Jillian, unfiltered, uncensored, and unscripted- and it's not too much. It's not a burden. It's not an inconvenience. It's not a sin or a tragedy or a crime- Rather, it's good and right and true- and it's okay, it's truly okay. I wonder how often I will have to remind myself of this in the years to come? I'm not quite sure but perhaps tonight it is enough to know that I know that the remedy for the unwell is in part found by being known- 

And I am, I am beautifully known...

-Jillian Nichole, a little unwell but beautifully known~

An Introduction: AKA The Incomplete & Under Caffeinated Biography of Jillian Nichole

Getting to know me, getting to know all about me….

If you didn’t immediately hear Julie Andrews ala The Sound of Music, I’m very disappointed in you...

Seeing as how I’ve officially started this writing thing, I thought that perhaps a proper introduction is in order- so here you go, in no particular order, an incomplete and under caffeinated biography of me…

{A parade of fluff, a fantastic yarn of cotton candy facts..}

I am obsessed with all things Hello Kitty- And yes, I did make an appearance at the inaugural Hello Kitty Con in 2014, in costume I might add, it was only fitting after all.

I am solely devoted to my Barbie heels, well shoes in general, the taller the better- anything that gives you the impression that I have the height of a runway model…

I am a collector of keys, but not of the car variety.

My Instagram game is strong. I love capturing the still frames of life. And if not Instagram, I run a photography business called JillianNichole Photography. Have camera, will travel…

I love coffee cups so much so that I have a very large, eclectic collection of said cups, one for every occasion, because Boxing Day is a thing you know...

Books are my happy place.

And coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. If you know, you know.

And pajamas. Seriously so many pajamas, my neighbor appreciates this, although of late he has been somewhat disappointed- our oh-so-delightful awkward neighbor encounters in which Jillian has inevitably forgotten something in her car that absolutely must be retrieved *right now* because clearly whatever it is cannot wait for neither a robe nor daylight (don’t judge, Peanut M&M’s are a life emergency…) I digress, after our 3^rd awkward neighbor encounter, Jillian invested in outdoor pajamas, because one cannot have enough pajamas, outdoor or otherwise, I should know, I have a ridiculous amount of both…

I speak in memes. So many memes. Memes upon memes. Because reasons…

I still send postcards.

Music is my passion. Amoeba Records has a permanent piece of my heart.

I write letters that I never send.

On most days, my hands are almost always covered in ink stains.

Ink on skin is a beautiful thing to me.

I measure the weight of words, spoken and unspoken because the greatest lesson that life has taught me is that a wise woman knows when to speak and when not to speak.

My grandmother was my most favorite person. I can still smell her perfume that I dabbed onto my skin the day that she passed from this earth. I miss her fiercely.

New York is my favorite city thus far. From Brooklyn to the Bronx, that city is imprinted in my bones.

Were I ever to have disposable funds, I would buy a pair of Converse in every color and pattern because aside from my Barbie heels, I live in my Converse.

I went to Africa, cliché as it might be, it changed my life. I still have the red stains of Kenyan soil on my Converse, I carry Kenya with me every day.

When I need to untangle my thoughts, I turn up my stereo and drive for hours. On one such night, I made it halfway to Vegas…

I still look for constellations but the only one that I can actually identify is the Big Dipper, thank you Mr. Snyder for that one, I'm still sorry that I blew up the chem lab (yes you read that correctly, I blew up the chem lab…)

I will never best you at a game of Scrabble or Words With Friends because I lack strategy, however, I will create words that upon occasion you will applaud me for.

***

{Notes of substance, beware the elephants in the room, noisy lot, those ones...}

I am both a sexual abuse and multiple rape survivor.

Both domestic violence and stalking are a part of my story.

These acts were perpetrated by several men over several years.

I never reported any of these events. Not. Ever.

I swallowed secrets and silence for decades.

It nearly destroyed me.

I began using drugs at 13.

I started drinking at 16.

I was a cutter. I still struggle with sharp objects…

At 21, I was diagnosed with manic depression (Bipolar disorder) and post traumatic stress disorder.

I swam through 15 years of anorexia and bulimia.

I’ve weathered 13 suicide attempts.

I did 8 stints in dual diagnosis rehab/ hospitalizations.

On May 22, 2017, after 14 years of trying to get sober, I celebrated my first consecutive year of sobriety.

I lost almost everything in the process.

But I gained the integrity of living an honest brokenness.

Sometimes it’s a bittersweet trade off.

And yet, in the wreckage of loss, I began to uncover what was true.

And after years of silence, I began to speak.

And I decided that I will not stay silent any more because if no one is going to talk about it than I will.

If I could tell you anything, what I would want you to know about me is that even on my worst day, the aim of my heart is to fight with all my life for what is true.

***

Cliff Notes...

Once upon a time, long ago and far away, I met a boy who asked me a question: “So what kind of girl are you anyway?” After a brief pause, I looked into his emerald eyes and I offered up the most firm and unapologetic answer that I have ever given- “I’m the kind of girl that will surprise you in the end.”

And so there you go, I hope you like surprises and plot twists as much as I do because in this story anything can happen…

[Insert witty ending statement...]

-Jillian Nichole, a very inept biographer...

Preface: Coffee & Ink Stains...

Monday, July 17th, 2017

"Say what you need to say and let the words fall out honestly, I want to see you be brave..."

[-Sara Bareilles]

I am sitting in a Starbucks because coffee, of course. Of late, all of my thoughts seem to be endlessly tangled, an incomplete solar system of scattered and fragmented moments. It’s been a strange season, this past year, and all of it has built up inside of me this Lego house of moments, because mine is a heart that does not empty; I am a collector. My therapist Heather, god bless her heart, is forever telling me, that ‘there’s a book in there somewhere.’ And my sister keeps asking when the copy is coming to her Kindle…It’s an idea that I’ve played around with, this book, letters on pages spilling the contents of ink and blood. Because as it has been said to me, mine is seemingly a life stranger than fiction. Certainly, a life built by extreme parallels- how do you even begin to write that? And even still, who would read it? But as I sit here, drinking down my third cup off coffee, it occurs to me that long before the question was ever asked, it seems to me that I have always been in the process of writing it; I’ve years’ worth of journals and raw Facebook posts, you’re welcome Facebook…It’s all there in jagged little pieces. Because after all, I am a collector. And a storyteller. It’s in my DNA. At present, I am not quite sure what this is, perhaps simply little vignettes of a book in process. Or maybe just a place to explore the four corners of my mind. Whatever this is, be it a collection of moments, a place of confession, musings of the mundane, the profound, and the infinite in-between, I vow that it will be an honest, beautiful mess; And so it should be established that inside these pages, my heart will bleed through my hands unfiltered. Curse words. Prayers. 3am conversations. Doubts. Questions. Longing. Etc. Etc. Ect.  A narrative unraveled…

And so here I go, coffee and ink stains….Welcome to the bravest thing that I have ever done, sit back, drink coffee, take what fits and leave the rest…

 

All my love,

Jillian Nichole~