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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.