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Protected: Autumn Leaves
Protected: Rock Candy Free Write . . .
Pick Me! Choose Me! Love Me!
(This Blog’s Soundtrack is located below)
I remember this episode so clearly, and how it made me feel. I knew that feeling, begging some dude to pay attention to me. To be in public, what he said you were to him in private. To acknowledge my existence in some real way, instead of just via text or phone call or inside a hotel room. Meredith was basically saying . . . ‘I’M RIGHT HERE, THE FUCK????‘ It felt like every conversation I’ve ever had with men I was genuinely interested in.
Things have already started happening to me that are brand the fuck new. Random dudes asking for my number, people actually acknowledging my existence instead of ignoring me. It’s a heady experience, being seen for the 1st time in a long time. I’m still trying to rap my head around it, and how to properly react to it. Personal trainers at the gym commenting on my progress, people I haven’t seen in years hitting me up to hang out. Lil’ Ole’ Me.
I’ve started talking to people I’ve always wanted to talk to. Just shooting my shot all in folks DM’s. Racking up numbers and Peen Pics. Reopened my OKCupid account, and updated the pictures with my new slimmer face and body. Walking with the switch in my hips my brother told me NO ONE is ready for. Put out some feelers to some old Beauxs, and lined up my #Summer2018Heauxtation.
JUST as I was already feeling myself, enter the Man of 16 Y/O MJ’s DREAMS, LightBright.
TWINS
I’m not bragging, I’m just setting a scene. All 16 year old MJ wanted was a light skinned boy to like her (This is a whole nother blog. Save your comments for that one.) I just wanted somebody cute to hold my hand in public, and make other people jealous. Yes I USED TO BE petty . . . SO.
Below is 16 Y/O MJ’s Boyfriend Wishlist:
- Taller than me
- Skinny
- Have Light eyes, and
- Have a cool car.
Don’t this negro fit all my shallow ass criteria to a got damn T. Where the hell did HE come from, and how long is he staying? Because YES PLEASE. For some reason, this fine ass man asked me for my number, then actually called!!!!!! HE SAW ME, and wants to keep doing it. What is my Detroit Life?!?!?
LightBright makes me feel a way when I see him. I giggle. Anyone who knows me, knows this makes no sense, because I don’t do that lame shit. Stupid girly shit … that ain’t me. But it is when LB is around. Just . . . hands in front of my face, stop looking at me type shit. I would be ashamed, but that shit is FUN.
Simultaneously, ENTER THAT nigga.
The great thing about THAT nigga, I can be myself. I don’t have to dumb shit down. I can be me, and 85% of the time, it’s just fine. 10% of the time, I’m in my feelings and/or horny so I say and feel dumb shit. That last 5% . . that’s when we are both too intoxicated to function and the entire conversation is just us laughing at each other.
WHY DON’T I DESERVE THIS?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!???
Why can’t I have this be my everyday?!?!?!
Why do I get to find these fucking people who make me want to spend every fucking second of my life with them? Then they are like . . . “I mean, U cool and whatever . . . but you ain’t good enough for me. Maybe some other nigga, just not me.
Some Facts that should be now stated:
- The most important thing I need to remind myself, is THAT nigga came out of nowhere. I didn’t expect him to be who he is. I didn’t expect him to be able to hold a fucking conversation. Let alone, turn me on, or know all my kink without me telling him. Shit like that . . . knowing my private shames without me telling you. I feel like there HAS TO BE a reason we connected.
- LB is younger than me. He’s not supposed to be anything other than what he is . . . I’m fine with that for right now.
- A bitch is . . maybe was . . . all up in her feelings for THAT nigga. I really can’t even be mad, because he told me what he was doing, did it, and then reminded me he did it. It’s my own damn fault for thinking I was different
- I like giving men power in most relationships, it’s prolly the submissive in me. Then I met THAT nigga. And he was like, “Thanx Simple Bitch, Imma use this to fuck you all the way up. You’re Welcome!”
Who did I call to cry about it???
#Him . . . the one THAT nigga was supposed to help me replace.
Because #Him is the Prototype, and has probably always been. I’d murder someone for #Him, like plead guilty and er’thing. Spend the rest of my life in jail, knowing that he is with his family and safe and happy. That’s the reason I know it might actually be some real shit. . .cuz I can MAYBE count 8 other people in my life I would do that for, and he’s attached to 4 of them.
Talking to #Him is like being held . . then choked while being dicked down . . . then held again.
Talking to LB is like being caressed . . . then dicked down . . . then caressed again.
Talking to THAT nigga is like being part of a whole . . . then ripped apart . . . then held . . . then choked within an inch of my life . . . then caressed . . . then dicked down. . . then patched back together with some of the pieces missing . . . then told its my fault for losing the pieces.
So the real question is . . . How long is it going to take me to get out of my feelings for THAT nigga. Because it’s not even worth being mad at him. Like not at ALL.
I feel unstable right now. Spotify isn’t helping me at ALL. They keep hipping me to all these emo ass rapper/singer groups and artists. Like the hell. Can I NOT be in my feelings for a day? Like is that a thing???
Dear White People . . . I Have the Right to Be Angry
*If you are my friend and you are White, – if this offends you, contact me. Have the difficult conservation with me. If you aren’t willing to have a conversation with me about this, we aren’t really friends.*
I’ve started to see every white person I don’t know as the enemy/a threat. I’m not exactly sure when it first started, but it was probably around the time that Mike Brown was murdered. I didn’t grow up afraid of White people. Even though my mother made sure I knew the history of the United States, I lived the first 32 years of my life believing in the goodness of all people, regardless of their skin color.
I THOUGHT I understood racism. I thought racism was dying out, and racism was just based on old ideals, in the south. I thought as we spent more time conversing and getting to know each other, racism would die. After all, “Some of my BEST FRIENDS ARE WHITE.” They love me and I love them. They’ve never treated me any differently because I was Black*.
Racism is the herpes of -isms. Sometimes you forget it’s even there. But then, there is a flare up that very lewdly reminds you, “Oh Bitch, I NEVER Left.” It’s been there, lurking under the surface just waiting to ruin your whole got damn day. Be it the random white dude who won’t let you over on the freeway, to the lady checking your math, right after you give her the total, about money She Owes You. Or even, The News.
Before Mike Brown, I felt like the bad apples would eventually see the error in their ways, and we would all live together in harmony. Post-Ferguson, when people I’ve known my whole life wouldn’t stand up and speak up, I was . . . lost/hurt/angry/frustrated/devastated/other words that mean angry.
Why aren’t you fighting for me and my people? Why aren’t you in the streets, and talking to your family members about what is going on in the news? How could you even let the words come out of your mouth, “Well if he wouldn’t have . . . “
Strangers were livid about the collective rage coming from Black Millennials. They were livid that we were standing up for ourselves and being vocal about injustice. I’d never seen such ugly comments on internet articles. The wave of unarmed children, women, and men, killed by police officers, that followed Mike Brown’s murder has done nothing to illicit rage in some my White Counterparts.
They keep killing my people! Even children in the park aren’t safe! My skin color puts me in immediate danger every hour of every day! I’m afraid when I drive at night to get pulled over by a cop. Help Me! Speak Up for Me! Can’t you see my pain! HELP ME!
It was at this point I realized the real issue. The ROOT of Racism, is WHITE. PRIVILEGE. {a term for societal privileges that benefit people identified as white in Western countries, beyond what is commonly experienced by non-white people under the same social, political, or economic circumstances.}
Add to that a sense of Entitlement, and we are all pretty much fucked. Because YOU don’t want the status quo to change. You are safe, comfortable, and happy with the way YOU are treated in the world we currently live in. In your bubble, nothing is wrong. Because you don’t worry about your children when they go out to play, why should you notice/protest that I have to have that worry?
Enter All Consuming Rage.
I am WORTH your concern. How DARE you live a life of blissful ignorance, with my people’s blood running in the street?!?!?!?! My Life Matters.
BLACK. LIVES. MATTER.
That’s not a fucking Slogan. It’s a truth. And the fact that your response is, “All Lives Matter,” is not only insulting, but Bullshit. The correct phrase should be, “All Lives that Mimic My Own Matter.”
I’ve started to re-evaluate everything I ever knew about the people around me. I’ve started to look at certain situations, and ask new questions. I find myself assuming motivations, before I start a conversation to actually understand motivations.
Then I’m pissed again, because that’s what YOU do. It’s why I’m angry in the first place. The difference between me and YOU, I catch myself.
I do the FUCKING WORK. I take the next step, acknowledge my hurt/pain/fear and it’s affect on the situation, and try to make sure I’ve done everything to understand your point of view and/or educate you.
I’m tired. I’m FUCKING Exhausted.
Because I have to do my work, your work, and extra work. I’m So Damn Tired. Why won’t you do the work? Why won’t you talk to the people in your life that refuse to listen to me? Help Me Please!!! I’m so tried of carrying this burden on my own.
{I went to the doctor because I was feeling off last week. My blood pressure was 200/148. That’s no hyperbole. This is why I’m tired. It’s a miracle I haven’t stroked out yet.}
And this has caused my current mindset to be, “If you aren’t For Us, you’re Against Us.”
I have the right to be angry. The fact that I haven’t started fighting people in the street is a testament to my fairly decent upbringing, and my need to keep my job. Stop telling me why I should turn the other cheek. Stop telling me it’s going to get better, especially if you aren’t actively working to make it better.
I’m done trying to be nice, and quiet, and calm. I’m Fucking Angry.
Do something, or shut-up. Point. Blank. Period.
Talk to Me Nice . . .
6 weeks ago, my whole world turned upside down. Not as a euphemism, but like actually turned upside down. I left Arizona, headed to MI on a plane on March 30th, with a job and a home. 10 days later, I was going to be homeless because the house I was renting was going on the market. “But we will of course honor your lease,” said the white woman. My lease was up for renewal at the end of June.
So I flew back to AZ, and packed up my entire life in less than a week. Followed by DRIVING 2167 miles from Tucson, AZ to West Bloomfield, MI. Because, why not? Did I forget to mention my 70 Lb dog . . . whose favorite thing in LIFE is to be in a car with me. I had to drug him . . . because just NO.
This is just here to set the scene for the actual point of this blog, because it’s important to know my mindset on this journey from AZ to MI. I was doing what I HAD to do, not what I wanted to do. My life was in AZ. I started a business, I had friends (well like 10 of them, but still), my life wasn’t great but it wasn’t bad either.
Or so I thought.
I’ve been a Social Worker for 6 years. Which means I understand things like “Survivor Mode,” and “Secondary Trauma,” but some kind of way, I didn’t know I was dealing with that, and in all honesty probably had been for at least 2 years. Basically after my seizure, I just went into survivor mode and I haven’t stopped.
So much shit – good, bad, and horrible – has happened to me since I had that seizure. Gained and lost friends, gained and lost family members, discovered Medicinal Marijuana, fell in and out of love with several people, dealt with my mother’s illnesses, got a dog, etc.
But I’d just been going full force. Working 12 – 18 hour days, with one off day during the weekend, and usually I had stuff to do so I didn’t get the chance to just de-stress. I’m actually slightly surprised I managed to function that long without having a serious mental breakdown.
Looking back, I was in a rut of my own making. I wasn’t very social. But then again, Arizona is NOT very social. There is nothing to do that doesn’t require hiking or swimming in extreme heat. Which is bullshit, because FAT. Thus leading to the theme of my 2000+ mile journey: “Why the FUCK did I ever think I was Happy in Arizona?!?”
Click here for my definition of Happy
I was miserable. I was irritable all the time, and I put up with bullshit because it was the best I could get. I put up with a nigga (and the sex was garbage) because at least he was a Black Man in Arizona that liked me. I ignored my feelings for the only otha Black Man in Arizona that liked me, because I didn’t want to ruin it. I lost myself in AZ. I forgot I was cute. I forgot I was sexy, I forgot that I was a GOT DAMN UNICORN.
I”m a 36 year old Black Woman. I have 1 degree, and enough professional knowledge to have 2 more. In multiple disciplines. I’m the GOT DAMN Autism Whisperer. My Vagina is a got damn miracle. It could change your life, if you let it. I’m smart, capable of doing anything, and a cunning linguist. Driving cross country I realized several things about my life going forward.
- You never know how people view you. You can have this thought, that the way you present yourself to someone lands the same exact way, every single time. It doesn’t. One of the men I love {or am In love with, depends on the day}, (because I’m allowed to love more than one person at a time, SOCIETY) he sees this strong and resilient person, who never gives up and always perseveres. He thinks I’m a strong person, even though I feel like I call him and cry like once every 3 months. About completely different things, and I always feel so damn stupid for crying about it, because I’m supposed to be an adult at all times. So I feel weak, and less than for being vulnerable to him. And his take, “You may feel you’re not where you wanna be in life, but you’re right where you are supposed to be.” *thug tears*
- Love is Love is Love is Love. It doesn’t have to look like anything other than something that makes you happy every single GOT DAMN day of your life. You don’t have to choose between the person who makes you laugh, and the person who makes your lady parts tingle. No one has the right to tell you what your love HAS to look like. Talk to the people, tell them your preferences. If they aren’t down with the Get Down, that’s okay. But don’t compromise yourself, to settle with what other people think is good for you. We are living in Trump’s whole ass ‘Murica. The world could end tomorrow, don’t waste it being sad because your needs aren’t being met.
- I’m done apologizing for the way I’ve lived my life thus far. I’m done feeling ashamed for the missteps I’ve taken. I’m done trying to make up for the fact that I didn’t feel like I was an adult until a week ago. I’m over anyone who tries to tell me how I should live my life, and navigate the world. Be they Family, Friend or Foe – GTFOH with your rules and expectations. I get to walk through the world in this new body I’m creating for myself. I get to eat whatever the hell I want, and also RUN A FUCKING MILE for the first time in my life. The only people in this world who get to dictate how I live my life, are the people I choose to listen to. I’m in charge of this ship now. No more letting the wind take me wherethefuckever.
I’m sure I’ve written in the past that today is the day my life is different. I’m sure at the time I wholeheartedly believed it. Maybe things did change, in a way. But this version of MJ, the one writing this blog has already won. She is living in her GOT DAMN truth. And it’s Sofa King Fabulous.
Please, join me.
Let’s live our Best Whole Ass Lives for the rest of 2018.
I Can’t Drink You Away….
This blog MIGHT be all over the place (kinda like my emotions right now) but I promise there is a central theme.
*******Avengers: Infinity War Spoilers********
We all said, nothing can ever be better than Black Panther. I THINK we were wrong. This movie is just….. So first off, FUCK THANOS. His entire existence just ruined my life. For a myriad of reasons. The last 20 mins of that movie are 1000000000 times worse than the Red Wedding episode of GOT.
But what has me awake at 4:30am like I don’t have shit to do in 3 hours, is the relationship between Thanos & Gamora.
He stole her, after he destroyed half of her planet’s inhabitants. He killed her mother, and told her it had to happen that way. He then trained her to be a deadly assassin who traveled the world killing for him. Because he’s an ASSHOLE.
Even though Gamora swore she hated him, when she *thought* she had actually killed him it tore her apart. Like broke her all the way down. Because even after all the abuse, and hate, and self-loathing, that was her FATHER. Every girl just wants a Daddy.
My life is in chaos right now. I reached out to my father, who has more than enough money to help me deal with this situation. It’s an unexpected life altering event, right as I took 2 months (unpaid) FMLA off to help my mom.
I knew he was going to say no. I knew it in my soul. I told my mom he was going to say no. He did. I wasn’t even shocked. I had already been working on another solution to the problem. He has never helped me out in a crisis. He has actually caused the last 2. And yet…..I asked. At 36, I still held an impossibly small piece of hope he would come through for me.
Because that’s what parents are supposed to fucking do – Help their children in times of need. That’s what our relationship was until I was around 12. The spoiled girl who was pampered and NEVER told no until she started gaining weight……she didn’t understand why the relationship just changed. It went from fun to weight control and walking 4 miles a day in the Arizona heat. I didn’t handle the transition well, because I wasn’t prepared for it.
My Hero. That’s who and what I used to think my father was. You couldn’t tell me shit bad about him. And due to his “strict religious and moral beliefs,” he would of course never lie to me or hurt me. Because that’s what the Bible says. But not the Good Reverend. That nigga worked 50 years to push his kids out the house at 18, and tell them to fend for themselves. Because that’s HIS moral obligation. Now, where this supposed code came from, I don’t know.
It took me way too long to understand this code of ethics even existed. [Partially due to my mother’s parenting style, because she’s the best mom ever] I was used to having a need, telling my primary parent at the moment, and getting what I needed. Some people called it spoiled…not sure why. Some part of me still felt, even after all the times he had disappointed me – if I can just explain why it’s so urgent that I need his help, he won’t say no then. I keep banging my head up against this emotional wall.
Always leaving a door open, or a window slightly cracked hoping he will be different this time. Because I never felt more loved and appreciated than when I used to go visit my father in Tucson and Pittsburgh. I still crave that….feeling. I write about wanting that all the time. Thanks to therapy, I know the root of that. But this blog isn’t REALLY about my daddy issues.
I know, insanity. The kid inside of me always feels so less than when dealing with him, because I’m still trying to get him to:
- Acknowledge that parenthood doesn’t end when your children reach 18.
- HELP ME GOT DAMMIT
Back briefly to Avengers.
In order for Thanos to reach one of his final goals, he LITERALLY threw Gamora over a cliff, and killed her. I started crying right then. Because GOTDAMN! Gamora’s face as she was falling, throwing out her hands and hoping by some miracle he would save her in the last minutes…….
It was like seeing myself on screen. (This conclusion is why I’m still awake right now) Every time I call my father specifically for his help, I’m hanging off the cliff holding on for dear life. He reaches down, and lifts each finger off, while telling me something about budgeting for unexpected events.
That’s how I see my dad. I paid the mortgage on a house that was in his name for 4 years, for him to tell me if I didn’t let my DEADBEAT ASS SISTER move in (and pay no rent or contribute to the household….did I mention shes is 22 years older than me) he would sell the house, and I would be homeless. This was of course about a WEEK after I had a Grand Mal Seizure at the gym and dislocated my shoulder. And my mom was already staying there to help me recover FROM A FUCKING SEIZURE.
Did Thanos love Gamora, yes? But he – and by extension his agenda – was still more important to himself than his child. I just don’t understand how that is. I try really hard to look at everything from both sides. But my dad….
Seriously tho, Fuck that Nigga Thanos.
I just…. I can’t wait for the day when I can not have “daddy issues” flare ups. This shit is worse than herpes. I might be done tho…because exhausted. Also, I might have already said too much. I had to edit like 4 times before I could post this. Because feelings.
