Tag Archive | Broken Heart

The Moment My Musical Childhood Died . . .

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Michael Jackson was the voice of my youth.  I distinctly remember how each of his songs made me feel the first time I heard them.  I remember going to see him in concert. { More on that experience in My MJ is Gone Blog} When he died . . . I was completely inconsolable for DAYS. Like, I sat on the couch, and just stared at the TV and the Computer screen.

Whitney Houston was the voice of my adolescence.   I sang The  Bodyguard in the car listening to my DiscMan.  The Preacher’s Wife Soundtrack is STILL my favorite Gospel Album. I stood outside my house, and cried while talking to my best friend.   When Whitney died, so did the last vestigaes of my childhood.

Prince was the Voice of my Womanhood.  When I was 23, I saw him in concert, when he did the Musicology Tour.  I remember being at awe of him, on stage, with just 4 guitars, a piano, and his amazing band.  I knew I was seeing a genius at work. 

The first time I heard Purple Rain as an adult, was the day my soulmate broke my heart.  The words struck me in a way they never had before.  I’d seen the movie all my life, loved it and the soundtrack.  But something about him singing about the failure of that relationship, when all he had was the best of intentions . . . It tore my soul. I curled up in a ball, in my walk-in closet of my first apartment in Tucson, and cried for HOURS. I listened to Purple Rain, the song, not the album, until my phone died . . . About 5 hours. 

Music has always defined how I felt about life.  It’s always been the background to major  life events and crisis’. April 21, 2016 . . . The day all my music was finally dead.  I feel like I’ve lost a part of me, that still hadn’t healed from losing MJ and Whitney. I might never be able to listen to Purple Rain again without crying . Just like I can’t listen to Man in the Mirror anymore, or The Greatest Love of All.

Today, when I’ve heard people talk or read about this loss, those three people are held in the same stature.  “This is worse than when MJ Died,” or “This is just like when I found out about Whitney.” Or “He’s the last on the list of my childhood musical heros.” I feel like we are a generation lost at this point. I was 2 years old when Purple Rain come out, yet its in my top Five movies that define the 80’s for me.

My musical heart is broken.  And there is nothing, and no one who can fix it. Ever.

Free Write: This is My Temporary Home/Fix You

So, I’ve been in Arizona for about 6 weeks.  The move was frantic, but the energy it required to move back was enough to keep me distracted.  Getting settled and job hunting has taken a while.  I’ve kept myself busy.  Purposefully, it seems.  The first time I saw this house, I knew it was for me.  It had everything I’d ever wanted for myself.  I prayed for this house every day, until I put in my offer. This was MY house, I wanted it for me.  I was only thinking about me when I saw it.  People say all the time, make plans . . . then listen to God laugh at them.

Somewhere along the way, this House lost it’s luster.  I’d be stupid to say, I don’t know the exact moment that happened.  But even acknowledging that an ‘entity’ had the power . . . nay, I gave an ‘entity’ the power to take that away from me . . . is disgusting.  I ran away from home, that’s what moving back to Michigan was.  I told me truth to very few people, because it was embarrassing to me.  But, God and Ernestine helped heal me.  I stopped judging myself, and blaming myself for everything that had happened in the past 3 years.

I was able to forgive myself for the part I played, and the choices I made that lead me to where I was – cowering like an abused puppy in Michigan.  But along the way, I lost one of my Best Friends.  Forgiving myself meant I had to place the rest of the blame on all parties, and them not acknowledging their part was a deal breaker for me.

This new me, that Haven built, holds people accountable.  Its a huge disappointment to me that I lost the one person who I could share my secret hidden thoughts.  There was no {to my knowledge} hidden agenda, jealousy, or lies.  My most outrageous thoughts were heard without me being told they were wrong.  There is something freeing about that.  I don’t have that many female friends who don’t judge me, or preach to/at me, or want to lead me down a different path.

I miss that freedom.  I miss the days when I didn’t think my words were going to be used against me.  The betrayal I feel, isn’t because she ‘chose’ him over me, it comes from the feeling that everything else in our friendship might have been a lie.  Every thought I shared with her about him, things I couldn’t say to his face {and there wasn’t much} he ended up knowing.  He used that knowledge, those secrets to break me.  She helped him.  And for what? Feeling that a man is more important than a friendship . . . it’s alot.

I thought I was ready to be back here, in this house that had begun to feel like an Island I had been exiled to as punishment.  The majority of my friends live at least 200 miles from me.  The one person I want/need is too far away.  Maybe that’s whats wrong.  I’d gotten entirely too used to having access to people who made me happy.  I can’t call TIITC and say lets go to dinner, and I can’t text The Boy and ask What’s the Haps.  I can’t go stalk Astacia at Jimmy Johns . . . It’s lonely starting all over again.

The worst part is, I haven’t been idle.  I’ve been reading, and discovering new truths about myself.  It hasn’t been all bad.  In fact, it’s been kind of awesome.  But on a night like tonight, I wish I could dial her number, and give her all my secrets. And I can’t . . . and that makes me hate her all over again.  It’s been worse though, this feeling.  So I know it’s going to get better.

Tears Stream . . . down your face
When you Lose something you can not replace.
Tears Stream . . . down your face

Lights with Guide You Home,
And Ignite your bones,
And I will Try . . . To Fix you.

Tomorrow is another day, a day to look into the sun, and feel the warmth that is Arizona. Because this is MY HOUSE, and if it takes a few for weeks, and a few more thousand dollars to make it feel as such, so be it.

Somebody Almost Walked Off with All of My Stuff/Don’t You Remember

*edited & truncated for Syntax and Meaning*

Say what you want about Mr. Winston Jerome Tyler Perry, but the man is a Genius when it comes to evoking emotion with his movies.  Add to that Loretta Devine (who is quickly becoming one of my favorite actresses), and For Colored Girls is a movie that is speaking to me right now.

The last 8 months, have been hard on me.  The culmination of it being my “relationship” with MM.  I have been trying to explain to folks, how I felt, and watching For Colored Girls tonight finally helped me figure it out.  Let me share with you the words that have finally set me free.

Who is this you left me with?

Some simple bitch ‘with a bad attitude?

I wants my things . . . I want my arm wit the hot iron scar . . .& my leg wit the
 flea bite

I want my calloused feet & quick language back 
in my mouth

I remember when I looked myself in the mirror.  I remember when I woke up in the morning, and said to myself, “Go be Awesome today.” I remember being so confident that it annoyed other people.  Then I look at my couch, and I remember how safe I felt laying on it with him. I remember his hands, slowly running up and down my neck, telling me how happy he was to be here with me.

Stealin my shit from me, don’t make it yours

Makes it stolen . . . Somebody almost run off with alla my stuff

It wasn’t a spirit took my stuff, it was a man whose 
ego walked round like Rodan’s shadow

It was a man faster
 than my innocence  . . . was a lover I made too much 
room for

And the one runnin with it, don’t know {or care that}  he got it

My stuff is the anonymous ripped off treasure
 of the year

I used to ridicule women who acted like the loss of a man was the end of their world.  I think, because I felt that inside me, I tried to hide it, and pretended to be completely over it.  Recently, when I realized I didn’t have enough fight in me, to prove myself to an 18 year old white girl, I realized that I was still screaming after him, “Gimme Back alla My Stuff!”

Knowing that this isn’t on his radar, that he so easily . . . set me . . . aside . . . was an ego blow that I wasn’t ready for.  Hadn’t mentally prepared myself for, hadn’t taken the proper spiritual precautions for.  Everything before was an Iota compared to this . . . this . . . vacancy that was left in my soul.

I loved you on purpose . . . .I was open on purpose . . . & I still crave vulnerability & close talk

Even though, I am recovering . . . Even though I can at times see a glimmer of light that the end of this seemingly endless tunnel.  Even though people keep telling me that it has to get better, even though things are going in a more positive direction, there is still a level of fear that I can’t seem to shake.  A voice inside of me that keeps saying, “Remember what happened last time you got comfortable? Remember what happened last time you thought you had it all under control?”

When was the last time, You thought of me?
Or have you completely erased me from your memory
I often think about where I went wrong?  The more I do the less I know . . . .

I’m tired of remembering.  I’m tired of this person that I have become.  I am tired of being ashamed that I let someone take a part of me, when everything that I was raised to believed says that this is MY FAULT.  That I left myself get . . . taken.  That I was freely giving pieces of myself, and I have no one to blame for this . . . vacancy . . . love don’t live here . . . anymore.

I think these thoughts, and write these things, knowing that others will see this, and think less of me because of my honesty.  But I never lied before, and I am not going to lie now.  I’m not over him, don’t know if I ever will be.  I think it’s going to take me at least 6 months of stability before I can finally look myself in the mirror and say, You’re okay. Until then, there are good days and bad days.  Days where I almost forget how I got here, but then . . . .I Remember.