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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

Missing You

A few days ago I found the note you left me on my door, that night you came back. I remember wondering, am I strong enough to do this again?  Can I deal with this pain again? Because I knew, even then that losing you was going to be painful. 

About 5 years later, I can still say I miss you. I can still say I wish I was sharing my life with you. Maybe not as my life mate, but certainly as my friend. You were such a good friend, when you weren’t breaking my heart into 1000 pieces. 

But I miss you. As I’m going back to who I was before I met you.  As I’m exploring new boundaries, and trying to take these fantastic leaps of faith. Trusting complete strangers with my life’s goals and plans.  I wish you were here. To lay with me as I express my fears that most people don’t understand. 

I miss feeling so safe. Sometimes, I can be strong and say Thank YOU God that I even got to experience that feeling. So I know it can happen. But tonight, I just wish I had it back. I even called your number….even though I know you changed it. I just…..Do you remember that night we laid in bed, and planned out what our business would look like. All the ideas we had and how we actually prayed for it to happen. 

I kind of hate the fact that I’m doing it without you. Even as I’m afraid of what’s going to happen. Even as I know that I can do whatever I set my mind to, even as I look at what my life has become since you.

I miss you. And part of me always will.  I guess that will have to be enough. Writing you letters in my blog, because I know you will never read them. You didn’t read my blog when we were friends, I’m quite sure you don’t read it now.  But someone in Tucson misses you. 

And I hope that’s enough. I pray that’s enough. It kind of has to be enough. 

New Moon Free Write

I’ve been trying to get myself together for the last 6 months. Actively trying to be mindful of the consequences of my actions. It’s hard as fuck. Because, at least for me, when I’m intentional, it’s much harder to complain about the outcome. I like complaining. It’s kind of my thing. 

That’s not really what this post is about. It’s more about how hard this is for me. How I feel like I’m taking 3 steps forward and 7 steps back. It feels like when 1 thing is working, the other 168907 are not. I decided in June I was going to have weight loss surgery, only to have my company not allow us to do it with their insurance. 

I have finally gotten to the point where I want to do something permanently about my weight, as well as acknowledged that I can’t do it alone, and It was like that world was yelling at me, SIKE! GOTCHA BITCH! So now, I have to do something different. 

That seems to be the theme of 2016 for me: Do Something Different. And I’m trying, Lord knows I’m trying. But again this shit is HARD AS FUCK. Depression is a real thing for me. Therapy helps, I won’t deny that. But thanks to my high ass deductible, I can only do it 2x a month. I need like daily therapy sessions at this point in my life. 

I’m still angry. On June 2nd, when I thought my anger was going to kill me, I said okay girl, talk to somebody. And he’s great. But he’s not there at the local Fry’s at 10pm when I discover some asshole adult has taken wooden letters and spelled out KKK in the craft section on every shelf. He’s not there when I’m trying to not yell at random assholes with Trump stickers on their cars. 

This shit is HARD AS FUCK! By this shit, I mean life. It’s kicking my ass this year. Not to say that it’s been all bad, cuz it hasn’t.  But that’s not the hard part. The good stuff is easy. 

The hard part makes you feel like God doesn’t listen to you. Or maybe he’s just mad at you cuz you happen to be in love with someone you shouldn’t be. Or maybe God doesn’t care cuz there are people in Aleppo with a much harder life than you right now.  So stop being a selfish whiny bitch and deal with your shit. Cuz it could be worse. But this shit is HARD AS FUCK right now. 

So yeah….that’s where I’ve been for the last 2 weeks. Just needed to get all that off my chest. I’m better now, I think. 

These are My Confessions Part 3: Open Windows

I chose my Therapist. Purposefully. He had worked with a former client of mine, and he struck me during our interactions as a smart man. Who understood the dichotomy of being black in Tucson, and how it would affect a child in the foster care system. 

So when I made the decision to seek out some profeasional help, I called him first. I crossed my fingers, and hoped he was accepting new patients. I know it was God that opened up that spot, cuz the day before I called him he had closed out a case. 

Today, was the first time I laughed and smiled during a session. Last week was 30 minutes of tears, because the world is so scary. But today, I laughed so loud and long. Because I’m figuring shit out, finally. My emotions are no longer taking over my rational mind. Which is beautiful. 

I laughed because he is so quick to call me on my shit. Sometimes he can just do it with a look. He doesn’t allow me to be ashamed of anything, he makes me address shit. I’ve been living in survival mode for so long, I’d forgotten how good mental clarity felt. 

Today, I smiled and laughed and talked about my feelings without fear. I caught myself speaking some truth I wasn’t expecting. I’m changing the way I interact with people. I’m letting people in, and it doesn’t terrify me….as much. It’s progress. 

Therapy is frequently my favorite part of the week. For an hour, it’s all about me unpacking my life. It’s dedicated time each week to do the work. Part of me still thinks it’s hella selfish. That I could be spending that money on something else. But that’s a VERY small part of me. Because I’m finally starting to see the results of the work. 

Confession #3: I leave windows open for those people I’m hoping will come back into my life. 

I don’t usually announce I’m leaving the window open, but it’s there. Cuz I’m quick to block people I no longer want to have access to my life. Be it via Social Media, or by blocking their phone number and/or email addresses. When I’m done, I’m done. 

My laughter in today’s session came from the realization that I blocked my family on social media….but I didn’t block the Unicorn. Cuz I’m hoping he comes back. I’m not done with that yet. I’m not done with him yet.  Do I want to just tell him off, or am I hoping there is another chance somewhere in there? I don’t know. I know, up until he started liking my pics on Instagram recently, he wasn’t on my radar. But I hadn’t denied him access, I just took away MY access to him. 

Truth be told, he hurt my feelings. Deeply. Until I get to say that to his face, I’m going to always feel a way. And that’s okay. Maybe next week, I’ll unpack that a little bit more. But I’m still smiling, cuz everything for a reason and in its own time.  

Truth Is . . . . I’m Tired

I used to tell everyone what was going on with me.  My Facebook used to be a minute by minute detailing of every emotion, action, and life event.  I didn’t expect people to wonder where I was, I told them . . .often.

Slowly, I’ve become the opposite.  With every Black Child/Man/Woman who has been killed at the hands of the “authorities,” I’ve slowly shut down. I’ve kept my problems to myself, because they seem quite trivial in the face of Systematic Racism and Murder.  No one told me to stop talking, I just don’t.

With every new hashtag, and every new addition to the “Dangerous to do While Black” list, I’ve become more and more reclusive.  I seem to have collapsed inside myself, and I’m not even sure if I want to come out at this point.  It’s hard at this point, when every single time I open my FB or my Twitter, I’m seeing pictures of people being killed by police, or videos of the aftermath of someone being killed.  Or watching a press conference where a family member breaks down.

Black Pain has become fodder for all to consume.  Even when you try to ignore it, someone is tagging you in a post, or sending you a link.  I tried to escape to Instagram today, and all the Black Celebs that were a day late, and several dollars were posting the videos, or even still pics of crime scenes.  That shit HURTS.  It causes my body to cease up in pain, because I feel every bullet.  I can feel the pain of every mother crying out for their lost child.

This . . . situation . . . has been weighing on me since the Trayvon Martin Trial (We don’t say his killer’s name). I thought about all the children I’ve taught, and the smiles on their faces, and just felt lost. Because I can’t save them.  I can’t hold them close, and make sure they are going to live forever.  I can’t even guarantee that a trip to the pool won’t end in abuse.  I can’t tell them walking to the store won’t end their death.  My crew is driving now, I can’t guarantee they won’t get pulled over and killed during a “routine” traffic stop.

That existence, the fact that I live in a world where this is the Norm, TERRIFIES me.  Since my seizure, my emotions have started to work differently.  I don’t understand them.  In addition to that, and I know this sounds crazy, I’ve been having prophetic dreams.  Nothing normal like, “so and so is pregnant,” or “you should play these numbers tomorrow.”  No, I wake up in tears, trying to stop screams from escaping my mouth so my mom doesn’t hear me.

On  the morning of June 12th, I had the scariest dream to date.  My mom and I had gone to a club to see someone perform, and we were having a great time.  All of a sudden people were running and screaming, “There is an Arabic Guy coming to kill us!” We guided everyone into the bathroom, and we were all huddled in one stall.  As he walked in the bathroom, I turned to my mom and told her I loved her, because I knew we were going to die.  Then I woke up.

I checked my phone to see news of the Pulse nightclub shooting.  I haven’t been right since.  Because, What the FUCK?!?! If that’s a Gift from God, I’m not sure how he expects me to use it.  Since that dream, I’ve only been able to remember parts of.  But I’m still afraid of where my mind will take me some nights. This World . . . This World is stressing me OUT.

I haven’t even talked about what’s been going on in my LIFE this year.  I probably won’t. Because my burdens are small compared to those of others.  Problems have come up, I’ve solved them, the best way I know how.  Maybe, when I’m famous, I’ll talk about how my life changed in 2016.  ‘Cuz it surely has.

This post is all over the place. It’s not very coherent (in my opinion). But I promised my Therapist (yes, I have one of those now) I would take at least 15 minutes to write. And I try to keep my promises, especially when they are basically homework toward healing.

30 Day Writing Challenge: Your Current Relationship

So this might cause a few phone calls . . . But you know. In for a penny and all that . . .

My Ideal Relationship: Emo, Sex, and a Lil Bit of Both

Emo:
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I need an emotional connection with someone.  I need to have someone in my life that I can trust with my deepest, darkest, fears and dreams.  I’ve only had that with two people, TBTLNY and MM.  Because I didn’t know how powerful a true emotional connection  was, I confused those feelings with being In Love with them. I thought all those feelings were supposed to lead to marriage and babies and forever.  I wasn’t sexually attracted to either of them.  Not because they weren’t unattractive, because both of them are beautiful actually.  You saw TBTLNY in my “First Love” blog.  I won’t post one of MM . . .because feelings. Anyway, it wasn’t strange to me that I didn’t want to have sex with them, I figured hey, maybe we will get there in time.

But we never did, and I really didn’t care about that we didn’t. I was completely with the intimacy we had. It wasn’t until recently that I started questioning why that was.  The only two people I’ve considered myself “In Love” with were not sexual partners. It’s because I don’t think emotions and sex should or can be combined.  I’ve never felt a pure emotional connection during sex. This probably mean’s i’ve been doing it wrong.  And that’s okay. But I think I want to keep them separate, for now any way.

Sex:
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I need a sex partner.  Someone who understands – and doesn’t judge me for – my sexual needs.  I need someone who makes me want to lick my lips when I think about them, or grin at inappropriate text messages, or send naughty pictures.  Sex is a release of sorts for me, always has been.  A way to deal with the stress in my life at the time, or just to get rid of pent up energy.  This fabled sexual partner, doesn’t just have to be one person.  I’d prefer a roster.  Like 3 people with different skill level or set.

I want a Giver of Monster Head that actually lives in the same state I’m in. Maybe I can find a Big Daddy Long Stroke to keep me on my toes.  I need someone that’s always down for a good full body massge. I also need for Emo and Sex to get along with each other.  It sounds Poly-Amorus . . . Which is like a really white word for “I want my cake and wanna eat it too.  And I want it to be Calorie free, and good for me.  Also i want a very specific buttercream icing.” And that’s fine too.

Lil Bit of Both
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I also want a girlfriend.  A nice brown-skinned Soft Stud.  With curly hair, or a short hair cut, or maybe dreads.  Who presents as masculine, likes to wear bowties, and is #ExtremelyWoke.  Maybe her major in college was African American Studies, or the African Disporia.  She goes to poetry readings, and coffee houses in her free time.  But she is rarely free, becaue she spends most of her time attending protests, sometimes leading them.  My girlfriend will be my little bit of both.  She will get along with Emo, be friends with Sex, and complete me.  Filling that space the other two can’t.

Is that too much to ask? How come we have to find everything we want in just one person? Why can’t we pick and choose what we want/need/desire and not hold every person to the various standards we have.  Your needs change, you grow with each life experience.  So what worked in 2011, might not be what you need for 2015.  I’m really tired of setting myself up for failure, because I keep wanting my life to look like what i’ve been told it should.

I am the Master of My Fate, I am the Owner of My Destiny.

And my Fate/Destiny may just happen to be, Two Boys and a Girl. 

30 Day Writing Challenge: Catch Up Post (Place to Live & Someone who Fascinates Me)

So Like, LIFE has been taking up a lot of my time lately. So I had to double up today in order to catch up . . .

London

A Place to Live that I Haven’t Visited.

London! I love British everything! The accents, the countryside, the TV Shows.  Plus, if i move there, I won’t have to learn another language.  Also, it’s a metropolitan place with access to lots of different countries.  I could head to Rome for the weekend, or hop on a train to Paris like it’s NOTHING.

I always wanted to backpack through Europe when I was in high school, then my mom reminded me that I was Black, and poor, and I couldn’t do everything my white friends did.

That’s okay though, cuz the summer after I turn 40 . . . this is the plan. Not to move there, but to at least spend a month exploring Europe.

Someone who Fascinates Me

Honestly, all people fascinate me.  I can’t really pick just one person.  My Top Five: Jill Scott, Dave Chappelle, Bill Gates, Oprah, and Jesus.

Jill Scott – Because her music has always spoken to me, but her life views have been off putting in the past.  I’d love to pick her brain.

Dave Chappelle – Cuz I think he’s a genius.  I love the way he thinks about the world, and we have the same taste in music.

Bill Gates – I just wanna talk him into giving me money.  That’s it.

Oprah – Yeah, I gots some bones to pick with her.  Cuz she can educate African Girls, but she can’t answer all the letters i sent her in high school about helping me building a child care center in the hood.

Jesus – I just need to know his stance on Homosexuality, Poly Amory, and Racism. That’s it. I need him to verify that the Bible is JUST  a book, not a way to govern our life.  Yeah, that’s all I would need from him 🙂

The Possibility of Us . . .

In my 20’s, I used to make playlists for everything.  Even before the Great Spotify, I needed a soundtrack for whatever my life was at that moment.  They all had super emo names, like “The Living Struggle,”  or “Why do I still Love Him?” etc. It was my way of singing out my problems.  It was a good catharsis for me.  I could instantly go to the song I needed to hear, sing and cry on my porch or balcony, write 7 blogs, send 3 or 4 passive-aggressive emails or texts, and I could move on with life.

In my 30’s, the loss of music has let me know I’m going through something.  When I would rather listen to NPR in car, or Old Podcasts I’ve listened to 1000 times, I know I’m due to have some sort of emotional breakdown.  Living with Depression has taught me everything isn’t sadness.  It isn’t “OMG my life falling apart,” it’s instead I have something I need to.  I have to find the music again.  Find the song, or the playlist, or the lyric that is going to express EXACTLY where I am.  I’ve gotten to the point where I am too busy with everyday life to wallow in my emotions.

That’s probably a good thing, especially for my friends who have been with me through my adult life so far. Because I KNOW they were tired of all the emo ass texts, and phone calls crying over the same person, or the same situation, or some conversation over and over again.  I’m trying to be a better friend.  My last relationship ended just as it began, with little to no fanfare.  No one knew it was over, it just was. That’s the adult way to do it, right? However, tonight, while driving home from my last tutoring session, a random Spotify Playlist lead me all up in my feelings.

I Present to you: Selections from The Possibility of Us.

Poision & Wine – The Civil Wars

I miss MM.  I’ve accepted the fact I miss the intimacy we had.  I can acknowledge that it was unhealthy to a great extent, but also wish I was that naive again.  I trusted every word that came out of his mouth.  I gave every single part of me, gladly, and without Fear.  I’m so cynical and untrusting these days.  I cut people off when I feel they are about to hit me with a bullshit excuse.  I don’t have faith in anyone except my inner circle.  I expect people to lie, and be unfaithful, and bad.  I long for the girl I was when I fell in love with MM.

Stay – Sugarland

I’ll never be a Side Chick again. It’s not because of something stupid, like morals or whatever. It’s because I’m over the bullshit.  The conversations that used to woo me into that position no longer hold the same weight.  I don’t need you to tell me, “I can’t talk to my wife/girlfriend/lover the way I can talk to you,” in order to feel special.  I don’t need the ego stroke anymore.  Maybe i’ve grown up, or maybe it’s that cynicism.  I’ve come to realize, every Man/Woman has a choice.  You can control yourself.  You can get a divorce. You can break up with your partner. Just like you choose to not be honest with your significant other, I can choose to tell you that you are full of shit, and need to put on your big boy boxers and handle your business.  You aren’t staying for the kids, you are staying for you.  Until you are important enough to you, get the fcuk outta here.

One Day You Will – Deborah Cox

I’m still looking for the connection I had with TBTLNY.  No one has ever given me that same feeling, which means everyone eventually disappoints me.  {This is probably means I’m continually setting myself up for failure, but you know, whatevs} Which is kind of stupid, since clearly I’m not with him right now. It was a teenage love, but it was STRONG. I would have climbed mountains, and swam oceans, and ran marathons to keep that love in my life.  That feeling, it’s a high I’ve been seeking out since I got the first taste. My life’s addiction is that high.  I can admit that to myself, and even understand how unhealthy that is.  Craving an emotional connection with someone is just as harmful as a drug addiction, because it could lead to putting yourself in dangerous situations.

I Won’t Give Up (Demo Version) – Jason Mraz

I wish I believed in Love like this again.  Even if I go out searching for it, I don’t believe I will actually find it.  Which is kind of sad right? But it’s the truth.  To be able to say to someone, “I’m not going to quit.  I’m going to love you enough, to work on this.  To grow with you, no away from you.” It requires a certain level of vulnerability and openness, and a trust that I don’t have. And I WISH I had it.  I wish I was that Girl who sat on the phone talking to TBTLYN for 12 hours.  I wish was the Girl who made a mixtape for MM because I couldn’t find an easy way to say I loved him.  I wish I was the Girl who smiled at text messages from my current crush.

I’m Not Anymore.

And I really don’t even know what that makes me? Who am I now? My Love of Love kind of defined me for a while.  I hate romantic comedies, because they are so unrealistic. I used to swear that Carrie Bradshaw was my Love Guru, she was an Idiot.  Big was an asshole! I used to read Trashy Romance Novels in one sitting, I don’t even buy them anymore. Maybe my heart’s been broken too many times, maybe I just need a break from love.  Fuck if I know.

I bask in other people’s relationships.  I’m happy for their love.  I’m not like a Love Hater. I see beautiful relationships all around me, and I’m so pleased for my friends.  I’m equally content with my current busy life/schedule. I’m just . . . . trying to figure myself out now.

I’d Rather Go Blind (or) . . . an Ode to James Baldwin

I have to start this blog by saying, I’ve never finished a James Baldwin novel.  I was SUPPOSED to in my Race in American Lit class in 11th grade . . .but youth. I have to also say, I’ve lived my live on the fringe of “Black Consciousness.” Meaning, I knew the world was fucked up.  I just chose to not let the fuckedupedness {yes, that is indeed a word} affect me.  Sadly, 2014 happened.  Actually, to be honest, 2008 happened . . . but we will get there.

I’ve stated on more than one occasion, I was raised strangely.  I had access to my history.  I knew my family’s history, and the history of my people.  Not because I went to the best schools {even though that helped} or because I was so well read {again, that did help}, but because my mother made sure I knew.  I didn’t know other people didn’t watch Eyes on the Prize on a yearly basis until college.

Best. Series. Ever.

Best. Series. Ever.

I’m not just talking about a casual glace, I mean we planned our WEEK around it showing on PBS.  Homework was done at school, so that i didn’t have to do it at home.  We sang all the protest songs while we were cooking dinner, and we sat down together to watch it.  I knew who the Little Rock Nine were before the Disney Movie came out.  I used to love Thurgood Marshall because he looked like my Great Uncle.

So it’s not that I didn’t know that racism and discrimination existed in the world.  I just didn’t have to deal with it.  I lived in Detroit, but I went to school in the suburbs.  All my friends were white.  If they weren’t white, they were something that wasn’t Black.  I’ve been the minority my whole life, even within my circle of friends.  Racism was a concept I understood, and had never really encountered until my then best friend’s father found out I was Black.

I'm referring to the white one . . .

I’m referring to the white one . . .

I’d been calling their house the entirety of Freshman Year. The minute the buddy pictures came back, the “secret” was revealed.  This man, whom I had spoken to at length whenever I had called their home, who always asked how I was doing and about my family, suddenly didn’t want his child to spend time with me.  He didn’t want her to drive to my home (even though I lived in the suburbs {better suburbs than them}), he told her not to interact with me at all.  Because I had tricked him! I didn’t “talk Black,” so how was he supposed to know I was invading his daughter’s life and setting such a bad example.  Her dad was an asshole, and he was racist, and he was born in a time when both of those were the norm.

United Colors of Benneton . . .

United Colors of Benetton . . .

Racism didn’t become real to me until affected my paycheck.  I blogged about it, feel free to check it out {here, and here,} Even still it wasn’t something that permeated.  They were #IsolatedIncidents. The world is a better place in the 21st century.  We elected a Black President for crying out loud.  People stood in a voting booth, and said we put our faith in that proud and self-identifiying Black Man, with his Beautiful Black Wife and Children.  The world has changed for the better! Or so we thought . . .

This was my morning board in my classroom for a WEEK!

This was my morning board in my classroom for a WEEK!

What we didn’t know, while we were shouting in the streets, and hugging each other with pride and glee . . . was some folks was MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD! WHEW, they was so mad! About life, and everything that was in it. And every time he made a difference, made a change, and potentially helped someone less fortunate than them . . . the anger built. And Bulit. AND BUILT. And for me, being able to ignore the undercurrents of racism was getting harder and harder.  Those names started adding up, and my memories of Eyes on the Prize starting connecting those dots.  From Rodney King, to Malice Green, to Sean Bell, to Oscar Grant, to Trayvon Martin.

Thank God for Black Twitter . . .

Thank God for Black Twitter . . .

Social Media ruined my life! Because I wasn’t just getting my news from CNN anymore.  I had minute my minute updates on things going on all over the country.  Every new name on the list had a hastag, and a story behind that wasn’t being censored by the media.  Suddenly, I had to acknowledge that my bubble had been popped, stepped on, and destroyed.  The anger started to build. And Build. AND BUILD. Why are they killing young children? Why are people so angry? Why do they hate us so much? Why do they work SO HARD to make sure we stay down? Why is no one paying attention?!?! Why does Don Lemon exist on Television?

I . . . loathe . . . you

I . . . loathe . . . you

Why are Black Men Thugs and White Men “troubled” and “mentally unstable?” Why are Black children a threat? Why is CNN reporting a Riot, when Black Twitter is live streaming police being the aggressors? Why are the only pictures of Mike Brown him looking like a “gangsta?” Why does the Republican run government shoot down anything the President attempts to to to a vote? Why is everyone on Fox News an Asshole? Why do I only trust Chris Hayes, Melissa Harris-Perry, and Rachel Maddow?

He Follows ever member of Black Twitter . . .

He Follows ever member of Black Twitter . . .

Why am I TERRIFIED every time I’m pulled over by a police officer? Why do I have to have conversations with all my clients about the dangers of expressing your opinions when dealing with certain kinds of people? Why do I fear for all of the children I work with who were raised in Happy Tucson, and don’t know who the rest of the world sees them? Why did I lose friends because of my reaction to Ferguson? Why was Ferguson the scariest thing I’d ever experienced as an American . . . not September 11th?

2014

2014

I can’t un-see those videos of Black Men AND WOMEN being abused by the people we pay to protect us.  I can’t un-know that 2015 is more like 1964.  I can’t un-experience someone walking in a church and shooting 9 people, because of the color of their skin.  I can’t un-cry those tears of frustration when conversing with people about my pain.

I’d Rather Go Blind.  I’d Rather be Deaf.  I’d Rather be Dumb.

I’m Afraid. I’m Angry.  I’m Hurt.

There is no time to heal. There is no time to recover from seeing Michael Brown’s body in the middle of a street.  There is no way to unwatch John Crawford III getting shot down for HOLDING a gun while talking on the phone. I can’t BREATHE! I can’t catch my breath, because it’s happening everyday.  Twice a day. The list continues to grow.

blackfaces

To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time.”

– James Baldwin

This. Is. America.  This is being Black in America. This is Depressing as All the Hells.

This Is My Experience.  

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Thank You For Reading.