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Learning Patience . . . or (Damn Heaux, CHILL!)

You ever see a person, from afar and just feel like. . . FINALLY!

On January 16, 2016, a voice, clear as day, said That’s Your Husband.” In the core of my soul, I believed that voice. I still do. Waiting for it is teaching me PATIENCE. I had a whole ass ‘nother relationship, got engaged, had 3 kids . . . all with someone who WASN’T My Husband.

Why?!?!? Because I wanted attention. I needed someone who was willing to pay attention to, and validate, me. I’d spent most of my life wishing people saw me. Wishing I fit in, thinking that I was . . . less than . . . ugly . . . fat . . . boring . . . all the other words that sit in the heads of Black Women who are constantly told by the outside world they aren’t enough. So I went looking for someone to tell me I was enough . . . good enough . . . fine enough . . .cute enough . . .to be “accepted” by others. All I really wanted was everyone else to know I had the best life, I deserved the best life, and I was worthy of everyone else’s envy/awe/support.

We live in a society (read: simulation because NOTHING IS REAL) that seems to have been built on tearing down the core of Black & Brown women. Especially Black Women. Every part of this world tears us down. Tells us every other person is better than us, every other type of body is the best, every other type of hair is better. Or they say to us: your best attributes only look good on light/bright/damn near white skin, your NATURAL body composition should only be obtained via surgery (which could kill you) or an impossible diet.

THEN, they tell you: Your Life doesn’t Matter, not really, if you don’t have all the things that equal Success. Perfect Job, Perfect Home, Perfect Income, Perfect Relationship, Perfect Children. We have to see it to believe that you are good enough. You aren’t enough, not until other people can see and acknowledge you are enough. It doesn’t even matter if attaining these things make you feel better. HAVE THEM. If it doesn’t make you better, you don’t have everything yet. Try Harder.

So you start working HARD to get those things. You spend all your time volunteering in church youth groups . . . working at summer camps . . . join snatch-back boot camps with your girls . . . and join all the social media apps so you can show off all the things you worked so hard to attain.

Giving birth to 3 girls has me realizing what part I’ve had in making my life an unhappy place. My part is trying to obtain something (attention) . . . just so other people thought I was important. The question I had to ask myself was, “Is this Person working as hard to impress me, as I am to impress them?” Usually, the answer was no. At least not that I could see.

I don’t care about impressing anyone, I care about being happy. I’ve become a PROUD Auntie. I care about living a stress free life. Stress can LITERALLY kill me. I got high blood pressure. My ankles are swollen at the end of the work day when I’m worrying about bullshit. I’m too cute for Swollen Ankles Yall. Plus, I FINALLY Understand . . . I’m That Bitch!

  • I’m the Teacher every kid says Hi to, while I’m walking to my classroom
  • I’m the Mom kids want to know their name at my daughters’ daycare
  • I’m a Big Fucking Deal

I fully believe, the seizure I had on January 25th, 2016, was the start of the path I am on right now. EVERYTHING that has happened since then seems to have been leading to this specific moment of time in my life. Things are falling into place when they shouldn’t, just because of the connections/relationships I have built since my 1st Seizure.

When I had my seizure, I had a flash of the life that is happening right now. I could never remember easily identifiable things. No names . . . no locations . . . no clear faces . . . just random flashes that made no sense. I saw myself at home, at work, with my children, having specific moments with my Family Unit. There were people I didn’t know, and the people I knew and was closest to at that time weren’t a part of that flash. It didn’t look like what I had been told my “Ideal Life” should look like. I remember the confusion in those forward flashes. The feelings being felt in that moment, didn’t make any sense. My life was something impossible to understand, and yet I wholeheartedly believed that everything I saw was real, and would come to fruition.

I don’t know how long my 1st seizure actually lasted, but (Because Time is an Illusion) I think I saw about 12-15 years into the future. Since then, I will have a random moment of Deja Vu, and it will click to me . . . you’ve seen this before. Even though I sometimes feel my need for attention caused me to veer away from that person I still hope I get to call My Huuuuuuuusband, these Deja Vu flashes remind me that all of this was going to happen anyway.

Things done in haste, RARELY yield positive results in my life now. I have to plan . . . I have to make a list. I have to consult more than one person/place/thing/idea before I make a decision.

The Good News: These things that are falling into place are bringing so much JOY into my life. My Girls laugh . . . dance . . . giggle . . . scream . . . run . . . jump . . .play . . . LIVE THEIR BEST LIFE all day long. I’ve never been happier in my Whole Ass Life. I stand in the sun every day, and Thank God that he sat my ass DOWN on August 6th, 2023.

Also, Kendrick won the Beef.

Thanx for Reading.

….and now, I got these Fucking Staples in the Back of My Head . . .

I have Mommy Issues. I knew I had them before, but after a 3 hour conversation with my Fiancé, I’m starting to realize they are coming to a head. These Mommy Issues are leading me down a path I never saw coming. Too much of the weight I’ve been carrying . . . seems to be shoving itself off of me. Except . . . Its coming out as Rage.

Blinding Rage. Unadulterated, All-Encompassing, Whole Body Consuming RAGE.

The 1st time I remember breaking something for the sole purpose of wanting to, I was maybe 8 or 9. I destroyed my entire bedroom, because I had been told I couldn’t do something. I lost a privilege because of my report card. It was something I had been looking forward to for MONTHS. But I got a C or D on my report card. That was evidently deserving of the loss of that Birthday Party.

Now, as an Adult, I understand that more than likely . . . my mother frequently used my report card {The Winter Quarter one, that always came out the weekend before Feb 4th} as a reason why things she had promised me, couldn’t happen or didn’t come to fruition. Because she couldn’t afford the things she promised me. Because she was POOR and struggling to raise me. The 8/9 year old in me, who was told that the ONLY acceptable thing to bring home was Perfection, didn’t know/understand that.

She internalized every one of those losses, as a testament to what happens when she wasn’t perfect. And suppressed that RAGE at having lost out on so many events, trips, parties. RAGE at being held to Impossible Standards. RAGE at seeing how Fucked up the Adults around me were, but not being able to express discontent with the Bullshit.

Breaking Dishes is my Favorite. Something about hearing glass shatter just . . . takes me there. But anything can be thrown. Any door can be slammed, any chair thrown. Anything will break, if you throw it enough. Something about completely destroying a room is so calming to me.

And That’s Fucked Up.

Recently, LIFE, had taken me to a Breaking Point and the only way I could respond was RAGE. Cuz once again, some White Woman had put my job in jeopardy because my “tone” made her feel uncomfortable. RAGE, because once again I had to delay something I wanted/needed to do because I didn’t have the Money to do it. RAGE, because why is it SOFA KING HARD to be an Adult!!!!

Why didn’t they tell us how to do this shit? Why am I, 41 Years old, and STRUGGLING right now?!?! All that damn lecturing about Education, and Holiness, and Organizational Skills . . . ya’ll couldn’t be honest about how HARD this shit was. Ya’ll couldn’t talk to your Got Damn Kids?!?! Be Real?!?!? Respect us as Adults. See us as Equals.

I can’t even use the same coping mechanisms YA’LL did. THAT’S WHY I’M FUCKED UP!! I know what having an alcoholic parent does to a kid. I know what having an emotionally detached parent does to a kid. If I didn’t see it growing up, I’ve seen it in my role as an Educator. RAGE at the fact that I can’t even numb the pain anymore because I have children of my own.

I have to be present after work. I have to wash dishes. I’m expected to do laundry weekly. I BE FUCKING TIRED. I don’t get to zone out, call my friends and gossip on the phone for the rest of the night, and leave my kid(s) to fend for themselves. I MISS talking on the phone with my friends. Everyone has a fully functioning LIFE now.

Breaking these generational curses means losing contact with the people you know who are trying to do the same thing.

I brought all that Rage into this New Life I’m trying to create for myself. Unknowingly . . . So Now, I got these fucking Staples in the back of my head, and a Broken Finger. CUZ I WAS FUCKING WILDIN’! But that’s another story.

Grief, Anxiety, and Control

So I have a new therapist. (Shout out to TalkSpace and The Read for the hook-up). After all the emotional, mental, and physical toll my last pregnancy took on me (and my relationship) I decided I probably had some work to do. I didn’t know what kind of work I needed to do . . . but I was determined to do it.

I started therapy when I became a caregiver for my mother. That shit was stressful. Having to deal with the changes in the dynamics of our relationship, plus the realization that I had given up a life I was really starting to look forward to. I don’t DO . . . Grief. At least, not when it has to do with the loss of a person or family member. I’m not the sit around and cry type person. I worked so hard to avoid my grief when My Mother died, I had a mental breakdown 1 week into COVID. COVID made me sit . . and think . . and grieve . . . and think. I couldn’t handle it. All the memories and feelings and thoughts and sadness and guilt. Escape seemed the only out.

I didn’t have the kind of breakdown where recovery is ice cream. I had a “I took myself to the ER because killing myself while 4 months pregnant with Karma was sounding like something smart to do, ” type breakdown. I had to attend a mandatory 3 week, all-day, In-Person Group Therapy.

THAT was pregnancy hormones. They can literally drive you crazy. With Karma, I only dealt with it from March 2020 until about October 2020. Almost nothing crazy happened while I was pregnant with Dallas (unless it did, and I forgot because pregnancy brain and memory loss is REAL.). This last pregnancy tho . . . wrecked HAVOC on my life. I knew I was pregnant less than a week after I got pregnant. Morning Sickness all day long, having seizures because of my high blood pressure, back aches, migraines, literally every symptom they say can happen . . . did.

I was DIRT BROKE, after having been told by my last surviving parent that my children needing lights was not his problem . . . and to not ask for help again. I found a job I thought was going to take me to the next level . . . got fired after being off a week because I had another seizure. (That was the 3rd one in 2 months). Found ANOTHER job, thought it was going to be a piece of cake. WRONG!

I lost the last 2 elders on my Mother’s side . . . and I wasn’t even able to grieve their deaths with my ‘family’ because . . . I had to work. My inability to do things created chasms in my relationships with friends and family. I was at the end of my rope emotionally, mentally, and financially. And I still had a toddler and an infant to take care of . . . and in a whole ass relationship.

I’ve spent so long faking the funk.

Pretending things don’t bother me, pretending that I have everything together. The need to control what it looks like on the outside is something left over from my Mother. Our lives were in constant crisis, but I had to keep that shit to myself. It was no one else’s business that the light were out for 2-3 days until payday. Nobody needed to know we ate Baked Beans every day for an entire summer. Nobody needed to know what the house looked like on the inside, we lived in West Bloomfield. That was enough.

Needing to solve every problem has caused an enormous amount of anxiety in my life. I am constantly figuring out several ways to solve problems. Well if this happens, then I’m going to have to do this. I’m always in my head, planning out the steps to everything. I do it so much, I started doing it to my Person.

I started trying to solve his problems too. To run his life too. To criticize the way he chose to handle his life, because it wasn’t the most efficiently solution. Without talking to him, without explaining my thinking or rationale. Just making all the decisions. Because I had to solve the problems. It had to be perfect. It must look as good on the outside as it can.

Controlling the outcome/results of everything is impossible. I’ve been working on accepting this year. I can’t control how my cousins feel about me. I can’t control how my father feels about me . . . or whether he even give a damn about me at this point. I can’t control unforeseen expenses. I really can’t control much of anything. Realizing that was SUPER painful. But letting go of the reins . . . might be even harder.

The Burden of: Being an Orphan

I’m sure this is going to be all over the place . . but meh. I never write anymore, so I’m going to try to get this out and be done with it. I also just wanna say, My Life Partner is/was/will always be the Greatest Choice I’ve ever made. Okay, now lets go.

Please note: I’m referring to BOTH sides of my family.

I’ve never liked my family. Even as a young child, I thought the adults were unnecessarily mean, and often times it felt like they didn’t really want me around. My cousins were bullies for the most part. Some of them let their friends and other family members make fun of me on a regular basis, some of them joined in sometimes. Around 12, I realized my maternal cousins were living a completely different childhood than me. They were having sleepovers, and birthday parties, and I wasn’t ever invited. When we would get together for major holidays, they would be referring to events I never knew existed.

When I met my Best Friend, I started taking her with me to family events. At least then, I would have someone to talk to. Because most conversations between my family and I consisted of them teasing me about my clothes, or my weight, or my hair, or the way I talked, or the music I listened to, or the fact that I lived in West Bloomfield. She was around so much one of my cousins fell in love with her . . . because she constantly acted as a buffer between me and them. As we got older, a FEW cousins made an effort to get to know the college educated version of me. I was declared fake, and thought I was white, and thought I was better than everyone else. When my mom got sick the 1st time. . . most of them were MIA. So I handled that pretty much alone, except for my friends and co-workers who were there for me. It was around that time, I decided to fall back. I stopped attending family gatherings, unless I was asked to by my mother.

The DAY after my mother died, I found out I had 2 cousins I didn’t know existed. The man I’d looked up to my entire life, purposefully hid children because their mother’s . . .offended him? Got pregnant at the end of a relationship? He died in my eyes that day, I was never able to look at him the same way again. All my life, I’d been dealing with the consequences of FEELING rejected by my family, and now I know that you are ACTIVIELY rejecting a child. Morally, I just couldn’t do it. Because I knew the consequences of those actions he’d taken. I knew how that felt, knew what it looked like. That anger and grief and everything else . . . I shared with my friends. Because I trusted them with my feelings. I never brought it up to anyone else, not even the cousin who was sitting next to me the day I found out. 3 years later, when he died, my ONLY thought was . . .Am I ever going to meet those other cousins?

My father didn’t call me when my mother died. I waited, and waited, and waited. But I also wasn’t surprised, because my Father isn’t the greatest. He never has been. Most of that is his fault, some of it is because he was raised by a horrible person. My Grandfather told me I was ugly almost every day I was around him. He called me fat, told me I was lazy and dumb. In front of people, he said these things to me and it was just . . . . okay. No one ever said, hey that’s not nice. I wasn’t around my father’s side of the family much, but those memories stuck.

My father was constantly trying to get me to lose weight when I went to visit him before I was 18. I had to walk 4 miles a day, in the Arizona Sun as part of his exercise plan for me. If I didn’t make that walk by 8am in the morning, I wasn’t allowed to leave my room for that day. Meals were portioned out by calorie, and I wasn’t allowed to eat anything other than what was set out for me. It felt so restrictive I stopped going to visit my father.

My entire adult life, I’ve tried to get my father to just . . be my Parent. At least my understanding of what a parent is supposed to be. Now that I am a mother, it’s doubly hard to understand how my father as treated me in my life. I look just like you. Everything you do and say to me, makes me feel like I’m not okay, I’m not good enough, I’m a disappointment to you. When I’ve ever said anything, it’s been ignored. I’ve seen the way my father treats my other siblings . . . it’s different, at least in adulthood. Their childhood with him was nothing like mine because he was there for theirs. So they feel a way . . . that I feel a way about how he treats me.

Maybe it is me. Maybe my expectations for people in general are too high. But it’s always seemed strange to me, that friends I’ve meet on the internet have done more for me than some of my family members. Strangers have made me feel welcome, made me feel important, made me feel heard, made me feel like I wasn’t’ crazy for wanting to just be accepted as myself.

September 24, 2021 changed my relationship with MOST people. I was in a car accident and no one gave a fuck. My friends were there. My Mom’s FRIENDS were there. My Facebook friends were there. I sent a mass text to my family, telling them what happened, and asking if anyone could come get me and my child from Ohio where the accident happened.

No. One. Responded.

Later I was told maybe it didn’t go through. I recently sent another mass text from that same text thread and there was again no response, so I thought okay . . that’s why they never acknowledged my text, this thread must not work. Then I got a response in the thread . . . oh. It did work. Ya’ll just . . . ignored my text then. Cool.

I’m done . . trying to be loved by Family. I’m done . . . caring more than people have ever cared about me. I’m building a Family with my Life Partner, and it’s gonna be one that is accepting, nonjudgmental, and Gentle. Helpful and nurturing. I will make sure my children never feel rejected because of how other people treat me or them. I’m not bringing that bullshit into their lives.

If you happen to find this on the internet, and you are related to me – I’m probably talking about you. This is the last time I use the phrase, “My Family” and refer to people biologically related to me. I don’t like ya’ll – AS PEOPLE. I don’t care that I’m related to you, If I don’t agree with the way you treat me, my child, or people in general I don’t have to be around you. Or be connected to you in anyway.

Shouts to My Tribe!

The Parnell’s, and Kelly’s and Brown’s and Cotton’s and Jenkin’s and Jones’ and Anderson’s and Robinson’s and more. The Tribe my Mother created for me. Her Friends, who have never left my side and were just always there my whole life. (Sometimes, it makes me think she didn’t really like her family either, cuz I call WAY more people Auntie than she had biological sisters.) My UD Alums, my Zeta Phi Beta Sigma Family, my Mercy Girls, my Arizona Friends, my #FGSSUM07, my FB Friends who have HELD ME DOWN. Who pick up calls in the middle of the night, who send you wine by the case when you are going through shit, who give you a year’s worth of clothes for your newborns, who send gift cards when they couldn’t send anything else, who hold you when you cry then laugh with you when you’re high.

Thank you for being there. Thank you for being my True Family. If it wasn’t for ya’ll, I wouldn’t be here.

And that’s the truth.

The Burden of Being a Daugther

This is a test. Can I still write a blog that actually makes sense .. . as opposed to a disjointed ranting of thoughts? I haven’t really written anything since my Mother died. So it totally makes sense that the blog I’m attempting to write is about her . . . kinda.

My Mother’s death changed my life. Not in the whole . . .everything is different and I am lost and broken sense (though all of that was there too). But in a way I never thought could be possible . . . it came with a sense of freedom I didnt’ know I needed.

Joyce had a plan for my life. I think she spent the entire time she was pregnant with me planning out my life. She knew what elementary schools, middle schools, and high schools she wanted me to attend. At seven, I told anyone who would listen my college choices {Spellman and Harvard} mostly because of the looks of awe on their faces. I couldn’t have told you one thing about those schools , except that they were good schools my mom wanted me to attend.

Joyce did not care whether or not her plan . . and my plan . . . were in agreeance. Because she had a PLAN. A Lot of who I am, got lost in that plan. Because free spirits don’t always get straight A’s. Socializing was always more important than grades for me. I don’t think Joyce ever expected me not to follow her plan, becuase she knew the outcome would be a life of financial and personal freedom.

But she didn’t tell me that. She never explained the motivations behind the plan, not until it was too late. Her plan was to make sure I never experienced any of the hardships she did. Joyce knew Education was the Key to that. Education and Access to White America. “Elite” White America to be exact. It really was a good plan, it just wasn’t for me.

Looking at Karma, I get it. I want so many things for her, and I want to guide {push} her down the right paths in life. Whenever I pictured having a daughter, she was just going to be a mini me. I never thought about my daughter’s father and his infleunce on her . .. because I’d never really seen that. An everyday Father, in the house all the time. My mom did everything on her own, for the most part, without much outside influence.

That is NOT Karma’s existence. Karma has mom and dad everyday. I had to throw out my “Plan” for Karma at like 6 months. My child is a THUG. She is not dainty, or soft. She is something I don’t understand. She’s 85% Dad and mybe 15% me. So I have to learn who she is.

We have to come up with her Life Plan together. I wish my mom had done that with me. Talked about the world and why we even needed to have a plan in the 1st place. I would have listened, I think. I would have understood WHY the straight A’s were important, cuz scholarships were gonna be needed to meet those goals in her Plan.

Back to that whole “Freedom” thing I was talking about.

After my Mother died, I no longer had to get approval for my choices. In theory, I never had to after I left her house. Even after I moved out, I was following Joyce’s plan. Working HARD to finding certain types of jobs, striving toward certain types of goals. Trying to stay on that path my mom laid out for me. I made choices I knew Joyce would approve of, because she had always been the voice in my head.

Making my own choices . . . has led me to the happiest time in my life. Trusting my own instincts, insteadof thinking, “What Would Joyce Think?” first. I’m living MY best life. Not Her’s.

Please Note: This realization has caused me great guilt and grief and shame at points in these last 2 years. Because my mom sacrificed her own happiness to raise me in a certain way. People talk about “Jewish Mom Guilt,” they should really be talking about “Black Mom Guilt.” That can put a hold on your life for your whole life, if you let it.

The Freedom comes in recognizing you are your own Person, not JUST [Enter your Mom’s name here]’s daughter. You are allowed to create a life completely separate of the one you were told you should live.

Live the Life that makes you Grateful for it. Live the Life that helps you deal with all your past hurts and traumas. Live the life others wish they could. Live whatever like YOU want. That’s how you can be Free.

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.

Fuck Thanos So Much

Dangerously In Love….. a Forever #Mood

Soundtrack to this Blog:

It seemingly takes very little for me to fall for someone.

The Convict: His lightskinnedness (It was the 90’s! JUDGE👏🏾ME👏🏾NOT👏🏾

TBTLNY: His voice/accent

MM: Our friendship

TOTGA: His hood ass mentality

Bono: Conversation

The Unicorn: Conversation/His accent.

I share this NOT to call people out, but to say it’s never something exceptionally deep at first. It’s usually simple conversation or likemindedness. (Is that a word?) But after I sat on my best friends couch stressed as all the hells this weekend, I realized I’ve never had an issue falling for people. I have an issue letting them go.

If I’ve looked at you as a potential mate, if ive seen that vision in my mind’s eye, I will hold on for much longer than I probably should. To my own detriment, in most instances.

The Convict was my first real crush. The first time my lady parts reacted to a dude. I was 12, he was 17, and I was IN LOVE. Fast forward to 2010, I sho nuff satisfied THAT curiosity. Even though I knew it wasn’t a good look for me.

I was in love with TBTLNY for like 10 years. We ‘met’ June of 2000 and I was attached until August of 2010, when he acted a complete ass and I gave up. Only for me to almost IMMEDIATELY fall for MM (formerly known as HotNeighborGuy).

MM was 2010…he broke my heart. Like DEVASTATED me, and I didn’t know if I was ever going to be okay. But when he showed back up 6 months later….I just took my happy ass right on back. Only for it to fall apart 6 months later. To the point that I left Tucson. And yet……I’m 36.87% sure if he called me today, I’d answer. And smile. (Becuz I’m an idiot.)

TOTGA were college…….and yet. If ever they would like to roll on back in my life…I’d probably let them. (Yes, there are 2 of them)

This brings me to my point. I’m FIERCELY loyal, even to people who’ve hurt me on multiple occasions. For most of my life, I’ve just accepted that. That’s who I am, I’m always there. Part of it has been attributable to my zodiac sign…the other I’ve just assumed was Daddy Issues. I’ve just…….lived with this character flaw.

Because that’s what it is, a flaw. I can cut off a female in a heartbeat if she does anything that violates my personal code of ethics. I’ve cut off family members, CLOSE family members when I felt they’ve violated my trust. I stopped talking to my mom for like a month when I started college, just because we got on each others nerves on the drive up.

But I always seem to leave a window open and a light in that window for the men in my life that mattered. There is always a part of me who knows I’m going to let them back in, if they want to. This knowledge makes me feel weak. Because I’m a strong independent black woman, so I shouldn’t have these issues at all. But I do…and some of those listed above have been let back in.

TBTLNY and I….he’s still around. We figured everything out, and he’s still one of my best friends. I’ve known him half my life. We’ve matured together, laughed together, cried together, and everything in between. But that wasn’t because I stayed….its because we both wanted to do the work to fix everything.

MM changed my life, and I miss the intimacy of our relationship. I think I was so open and free with him because I KNEW we weren’t going to end up together. I risked my heart, 3 times, because I wanted to experience him. I don’t regret it, even though most of my friends would probably say I should.

Bono is so much of everything! Straightforward, no guess work, just fun. Weekly dining experiences and amazing conversation. No want/need to label anything or answer to each other for what we do outside of the time we spend together. It’s basically the best relationship ever…..that’s NOT a relationship!

Both TOTGA……yup they are still around, yay #Friendship.

Usually I try to give people advice about how I’ve coped and the steps I had to take to get there. I can’t give that advice today. Cuz ain’t shit changed. I’m still making dumb ass decisions about dudes. Because when I love, I Love HARD.

Because Stubborn & Aquarian Daddy Issues.

2 Day Free Write: I miss the Old Kanye

After I cried for an hour at work, I started making a plan. . . .

This is a Free Write, I’m just jotting down thoughts, because the Woman I realized is my mentor, told me to.  And sometimes I obey commands . . . but only sometimes.

  1. My best friend lost her mom at the end of last year.  She had to see her mother become this thing she wasn’t ready for.  She had to see her mother in pain and hurting, because cancer was ravaging her body.  At about the same time, my mother was going through Chemo for Cancer.  And I was in Arizona.  2096 miles away from her.  I have the greatest Best Friends, and my OTHER Best Friend stepped up and kept my mom together.  She drove her to appointments, helped run errands, basically everything.  I don’t know what I would be, without her.  I’m so grateful for what she’s done for my mother.  But it’s getting to me today.  Being away from her, is getting to me.  I’ve been in Arizona for 9 years, and this is the 2nd time I’m seriously considering leaving.  Because THAT’S MY MOTHER. And when I was sick, she dropped everything and came here for me.  I should have done the same for her.  I know all the practical reasons why I didn’t, but I should have.  I think, I feel guilty that I didn’t come home.  I know most of my family judges me because of it.  I had already assumed it, but it was confirmed over the holidays.  I just . . . hate having to acknowledge that my mother is going to die.  I can’t even IMAGINE my life without her in it.  I’ve been her life, since I was born.  I have so many hopes and dreams for my mother.  I want her to live a carefree life, at least 5 years.  So i can see my mother without the struggle.  Cuz it’s been a struggle much more often than it’s not.  My mother DESERVES better life.  I want to give that to her.  Because i couldn’t thank her enough for everything she’s done for me.  IF i wrote it a million times a day, it wouldn’t be enough. I’m almost at the point where I want to beg God, Please Please Please let me have this option.  And that’s selfish.  I understand that.  Everything has a reason, everything happens for a reason.  But Please Please Please God, help me help my mom to live her best life.  Please.
  2. I think I’ve met the person who is going to be my male companion for the rest of my life. Or rather, one of them.  That’s weird.  But he’s . . . . stable. That’s all I’m gonna say about that.  Because . . . . NO.
  3. Drugs are amazing.  LEGAL Drugs are amazing.  They make life easier to handle.  Everything in moderation tho.  I’m low-key worried about my . . . dependence on sleep helpers.  Like, am I going to live the rest of my life unable to sleep without some type of medicinal help?
  4. BIG K.R.I.T. is Life.  If you don’t know . . . now you do.
  5. Have this innate fear of talking about my personal life on this blog and/or social media now.  I feel like there were, in the past, people I thought were friends who saw me happy and wished unhappiness on me.  I know this may slightly appear to be irrational, but it is what the FUCK it is.  I’ve felt like there was someone in my life, who pretended to be my friend, but hated me.  I think they had access to my personal life, and details about it, then very specifically plotted against me.  And because I was just walking around clueless, I didn’t protect myself like I should have.  I didn’t know I needed to pray about people trying to cause me harm.
  6. I miss #TheHim. I miss how he felt, and smelled, and looked at me.  I know I shouldn’t, and my pride won’t let me contact him.  But I miss him sofa king much lately.
  7. I’ve self diagnosed myself as being Bi-Polar with symptoms of Hypomania. This is because of an article I read on Facebook. I’m probably right about this.  Google it, and see if it doesn’t describe me almost perfectly.
  8. I just saw the FINEST black man at the Club House Gym.  Guess who’s going to start working out here. New stalkee’s always bring me joy.
  9. I’m not a stalker . . . . anymore.  I miss that side of me.
  10. IRRRRRRRRRRRNADIMM. INAOTNE. IAEAVFT, ATHTTAFMBASPHHEAUX . . . . I’ll never forgive that bitch.
  11. I miss college, or rather the music of college.  If I had known that I would regret not making up diss trolls to every song that plays these days, I would have probably been in better shape back then.
  12. People keep calling me skinny.  It’s annoying. (This is in response to my recent weight loss.  I’m smaller, but I ain’t nowhere NEAR skinny and never will be.)
  13. This took me 2 days to write, cuz I got distracted by a guy at Starbucks.  I mean, he was there to see me . . . so there is that.
  14. Edibles are AMAZING.  Anyone who tells you different is a Lying Ass Liar.
  15. Thanx for reading!

 

No More Mediocre 

I’m tired of mediocre people. I’m tired of mediocre people in power. I’m tired of mediocre people with power and privilege. I’m tired of mediocre people with power and privilege having any sort of say in the everyday workings of my life. 
I’ve spent most of my adulthood, being forced to deal with mediocre people in positions of power. There was a time when I didn’t really care. But it seems that since around January 20th, 2009…this shit has really come to the forefront. My contemporaries elected the first black President, and folks lost their gotdamn minds. 

The people who voted for the Only President I will ever claim, all of a sudden felt all their years of benefiting from their privilege no longer mattered. They felt they should be rewarded for their charity, and race should no longer be a part of any dialogue. 
You shouldn’t be rewarded. No one is going to clap for you. No one cares about your political act of charity. The movie Get Out just solidified some things I’ve been thinking out for the past year. I’m tired of mediocre people in positions of power (both minute and great) demanding respect they haven’t earned. 

I don’t have to respect, like, or care about you (or your feelings) just because you are a liberal (white) woman. I have the right to deny you that respect. Because, my people are free. I am notafraid of you, and in truth never have been. Because you didn’t earn your power, it was handed to you. 
The anger that comes, from knowing I’m better than people and yet I’m not afforded the same access and privilege they are. Some of this I can’t control….but there is a reason I have a therapist. Cuz sometimes that anger can be overwhelming. The difference between them and me…my knowing I’m better than you doesn’t make me address you differently. 

I don’t want your power. I don’t even want your privilege (I mean the good credit yes, but other than that….) I’m good.  
Being black is beautiful. It’s a blessing. At 35 I can say that and understand that phrase. There is nothing better in this world than an intelligent black American woman. Because we have carried the burdens of this country since it’s inception. 

The difference between “Us and Them”, we don’t want your power or your privleges. We just want to be able to create our own, without you trying to take it and make it yours. 

I don’t want your job. I know I can do your job better than you can. So do you, and that’s why you hate me.  I’m starting to believe that it’s some times in the very nature of mediocre people, to ruin any semblance of greatness. LET ME BE GREAT! My greatness doesn’t block your shine…its not meant to. 

I’m great at everything. This country created me to be a jack of all trades. I have to master everything, because survival is key. That’s why I can adapt to everything, because genetically I’m here because my ancestors did the same thing. The strong and resilient ones were the ones that lived. They killed the rest of them. 


I’m so tired of having to dim my light to make mediocre people feel comfortable. I’m so tired of code switching to keep my attitude in check. I’m so fucking tired of being told to stay in my place, because some sensitive ass mediocre bitch is sensitive and feels challenged. 
Wanna know why everyone likes me, cuz I’m honest. I know exactly who and what I am. When I say to them, “We dont judge,” its not empty words. I actually mean that shit. People gravitate towards truth, and those who try to destory it will never win. 

Call this a manifesto of sorts, if you will. My light is finna blind (but not block) these mediocre ass people. 

I am Amazing. I am Beautiful, I am a Genius, and I am indeed Better Than You. This is my truth. I’m living in it. 

Sorry, Not Sorry.