My Life as the Jones House

Viewing my life through the windows of the Jones House.

Several weeks ago, I joined a small crowd to watch as the was on the move to its new location. On the surface, it was quite an event for those of us who braved the cold and wind that Saturday morning to watch. But deeper and more personally, I came to view this day as a crossing of new beginnings: one for the Jones House, the other for me.

For the next few days, I found myself thinking about the house—how it had once been new, maintained, cared for, and full of life. How the years had taken their toll on the house; how it fell into disrepair and was left for dead, abandoned, and nearly wasted away and disappeared into the emptiness of history. But someone came along to bring hope back to the house, to save it from crumbling upon itself, to give it new life, and to commit to restoring it to its former glory.

That cold March day saw the house perched on wheels and headed to a new home—the place where the real restoration work will take place. And a lot of work it will take to get the gutted old house back into proper shape when it can be called home again.

That day also marked a big milestone in my own struggles to rebuild myself. I can easily identify with and draw personal similarities to the Jones House. I, myself, had once been full of life, but the last few years have definitely left me feeling empty, abandoned, and struggling to simply survive the harshness of life. I had been close to disappearing and becoming a memory, but there .

My being there to witness the big move was more than just curiosity. It was a therapy session, and the first time in probably eight to nine months that I was outside of my house for any extended period of time (other than a few visits to my brother’s house). I’ve been struggling with severe anxiety and enough agoraphobia that leaving my house without being on Xanax was very difficult on the good days.

That's why I feel that connection to the Jones House. The day it was headed to its new home, I was enjoying my first major success in my own recovery. The house had a long journey ahead to get it back in shape; I still have a lot of therapy and work ahead of me before I’m back to normal. The house will one day be a home again; I will one day be myself again.

There are many stigmas attached to mental disabilities like mine. But in this dusty corner of the Internet, on this local Patch site, and in my humble little blog post, I want people to know that this stuff can happen to anyone. You never know—it could be the guy standing next to you while you are watching a house roll down the street.

This post is contributed by a community member. The views expressed in this blog are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of Patch Media Corporation. Everyone is welcome to submit a post to Patch. If you'd like to post a blog, go here to get started.

Valerie Frances March 27, 2012 at 11:41 AM
Hi Jason, I am so glad that you were inspired by the relocation of the Jones House! I have often had house-inspired night dreams: cleaning house, finding treasures in houses in forgotten chests, attics, basements, meetings with or past memories with family members that have passed on... The church now across from the house was hosting a spiritual retreat that actual day and the pastor and i discussed the house relocation on a number of real time and metaphorical levels in advance of and on the day of the relocation. The Epiphany church has gone through its own historic renovation due to its place in history tending to veterans of world war I. Thank you for sharing your introspective journey with "all of us". Please feel free to stop by and say hello to chad and I as we work to restore the house. Peace and blessings to you on your journey! Valerie
Jason Humm March 28, 2012 at 01:07 PM
Thanks for the offer/invite. I will be sure to take you up on it as both me and the house continue our renovations!
Valerie Frances March 28, 2012 at 09:54 PM
"Someone" June 16, 2012 at 02:02 PM
Saviour: You found me there in my electric chair Waiting for my time to pass Waiting for the end to come You freed me from the shackles Lifted me from my comfortable misery Now I want time to stop We have so much left to do Old memories to share New memories to make A changed life, a new beginning One girl to thank One girl to love One girl for life *Repeat every 2 years with new girl.
"Someone" June 16, 2012 at 02:03 PM
Inspired: She found me washed up on the shore Not quite dead, but not really alive either Lying there, clinging on to a scrap of hope The one thing that kept me afloat for so long She rushed to my side and breathed life back into me I'm still a little battered, tattered, tired But with her help, I will use that hope to start over Start over with the girl who saved me, who inspired me


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