Sober

"Ma, let me tell you bout this stupid boy from work!" I forgot I have thee most unsympathetic mother in America. (Can you hear the doves crying?)

A coworker had stopped by my place to "borrow" my Internet in the days before his service was connected. I was in Friday chill mode, also known as wine-drinking time. It falls between morning exercise and my overnight work shift.

I promise, I sat on the couch minding my own business, not even attempting to make small talk. Somehow, dude still managed to spend most of the time he was there telling me, "You need to turn down." And repeatedly saying that I am mean. Here's a replay: "Yo, you're like, hella mean, yo."

So I tell this to my mother. She's supposed to say, "Ewww, what a dick! If you're so mean, why didn't he just leave?" (That's how cool moms talk, right?)

But instead she says, "Are you sure there isn't some truth to that? When we drink too much, we tend to get mean. Not to mention, alcoholism runs on both sides of our family, so we have to be careful."

My face: o_O

Nowhere in my retelling was alcohol mentioned...I was thrown, but I decided against answering, "No mom, alcohol doesn't make me mean. It makes me vacillate between a horny slutbucket and an emotional ball of snot."

I just vowed not to call her anymore when I need validation.

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Re-thinking the intro to this post because it will likely sound alcoholic/self-destructive/nutty...

But here goes: Last night I told my friend it's good for me to drink before I go to sleep. This way I "sleep hard" and don't have dreams.

She, on the other hand, was upset at the lack of dreams she's been having lately because she felt her dreams were revelatory or more connected from Above.

I only have one dream: Someone is trying to kill me. I've never seen his face, but it's a man. Not always the same man. Sometimes, I swear to God, he's dressed like Freddy Krueger. 

This man is always very close. I can never hide or outrun him. Sometimes he is in my childhood home or the church behind that house. Other times the man is in eerie, warehouse type buildings or very large houses with lots of stairs. Often it is the same dream over and over, and the settings repeat. I kind of believe they are places I will visit at some point in my life. 

My friend told me to visit DreamMoods.com. They have an entire page dedicated to chase dreams, which are obviously a common theme. Here's their freakin' analysis of the monsters in my head:

Chase dreams are one of several common dream themes, stemming from feelings of anxiety in your waking life. Flee and flight is an instinctive response to a physical threat in the environment. In such dreams, the scenario often features you being pursued by an attacker, an animal, a monster or an unknown figure, who wants to hurt or possibly kill you. Consequently, you run, you hide or you try to outwit your pursuer. Your actions in the dream parallel how you would respond to pressure and cope with fears, stress or various situations in your waking life.

Instead of confronting the situation, your dream indicates that you have a tendency to run away and avoid the issue. Ask yourself who is chasing you, so that you can gain a better understanding and insight on the source of your fears and anxieties.

The pursuer or attacker who is chasing you in your dream may also represent an aspect of yourself. Your own feelings of anger, jealousy, fear, and possibly love, can manifest itself as the threatening figure. Or the shadowy figure can symbolize the rejected characteristics of your Self. You may be projecting these feelings onto the unknown chaser. Next time you have a dream of being chased, turn around and confront your pursuer. Ask them why they are chasing you. What are you trying to run from?

Consider the distance or gap between you and your pursuer. This indicates your closeness to the issue. If the pursuer is gaining on you, then it suggests that the problem is not going to go away. The problem will surround you, until you confront and address it. However, if you are able to widen the gap between your pursuer, then you are able to successfully distance yourself from the problem. In essence, the problem is fading away.

And there we have it.

Robin Thicke done messed around...

...And redeemed himself.

Check what he called his "brown liquor" version of Icona Pop's "I Don't Care."



The original is my JAM, some people know:



But his slow-jam sexified version made me feel bad for telling people I'm tired of that whispery falsetto thing Thicke does when he performs.

(Not to mention, that white boy showed out at the BET Awards a couple weeks ago...)



If he is on that shit, lemme taste a lil bit.

Of Self-Love and -Loathing

It's 6:15 on a Friday evening. The sky is getting darker; the wind is getting cooler.

I'm cutting through City Hall to get to the side street where I parked my car, after meeting my friend for what was supposed to be "a drink." With this friend, I do things I previously deemed abhorrent. My throat is burning: I probably need a little more perfume.

My 22-inch weave is blowing in the breeze; my heels are click-clacking on the concrete.

Something is happening that hasn't really happened in the eight months I've been in this strange, new pLAce: Men are speaking. Brothers are smiling, looking me in the eyes, and saying, "Hello," and, "How are you?" One man at the bus stop said, "You look fantastic."

A punch-pink smile is creeping across my face. "This must be how it feels to be Maria," I'm thinking.

Maria is thin and light-skinned with long, straight hair. Always in heels, never without a face full of makeup. When she walks into the classroom, the boys all look up, eyes following her to her seat. When she exits, they look at each other and nod.

I am realizing, immediately, what a self-loathing thought I just had.

That a modicum of attention makes me assume I must be having a day where I look "pretty," because in my brown-skinned world, pretty has always been synonymous with light-skinned girls like Maria.

I'd like to tell you that I plan to head home, look in the mirror and tell myself, "You are fine just the way you are. When your hair is a short, natural afro. When your jeans are not so tight and your shoes flat, and thick, black eyeglasses are slipping down the bridge of your nose. Whether people acknowledge you or you are gliding down the street in your normal state of invisibility."

But that, like my current image, would be a lie.

Rehab

Of late, I have tried various things in an effort to feel high. Or numb.

Usually, I fail.

Tonight I feel awesome.

But one could argue, if you are able to comment on it, is it really working?

Let the dead bury the dead

It hit me today:

I've been grieving over something that died years ago.

I was even crawling around in muddy pools of guilt, as though I was responsible for killing that thing... It was more like an assisted suicide.

Perhaps I didn't know it was dead because the shell of it was still walking around. We were still in each other's lives, physically, so it looked like there was something there. It was hollow. It was decaying.

I am dealing with the absence of the thing because now I know for certain that it is gone. Two lives were one for a moment, and now there is a ripping apart. It hurts. I am dealing with the disillusionment of the insulated world we built together. It's been infiltrated; I see new walls have already been built with someone else, while I free fall into space, unattached and unanchored. I feel betrayed...But he probably did, too.

When we met, he said three very prolific things. I aint hear 'em, doe.

1. I've had a lot of girlfriends. A lot.
2. All my relationships seem to last two years, for some reason.
3. By the time a relationship ends, it's already been over for a while.

But I grabbed his hand and skipped my happy ass down the yellow brick road anyway, happy to have tumbled head-first into some shit I'd never felt before...some shit I never even knew I wanted.

I am recovering. Of this I am certain. But it has been the hardest thing I've ever dealt with. Primarily because I had no idea I could feel this way. I have loved deeply. I have been profoundly changed. I'm 27. Many people learn this lesson sooner, I feel. But this also goes to show how unfamiliar I am with this subject.

A friend asked me a while ago if it was nostalgia making me feel so bad and miss him so much. I told her no, this was different. I genuinely made a mistake letting him go! I mean, I recently even sent an email apologizing sincerely and profusely because after all, this was all my fault.

Then I thought about it again. If he wanted to be here, he would. Whatever we had, we didn't deem it worthy of fighting for. We said fuck it. We maintained. I know I wanted to leave. There were times I didn't even want to kiss him. Slept in the bed and didn't want to be touched. (SO THE FACT THAT I'VE BEEN ACTING LIKE I LOST THE BEST THING EVER ACTUALLY MAKES NO SENSE...) He acted as though he tried so much harder than I did. That's not entirely accurate. He was there, yeah...but he didn't have much choice. He'd left his hometown to move to a new state with me. I paid the bills...I had the transportation...He was in school. What else could he do but tough it out? But truth be told, he checked out, too. He had to have. Because I realize now that while we were yet in the thing, I knew something was wrong. My selfishness, my complete unhappiness with everything in my world, my horror at being released into the real world confident that I was someone I wasn't. These were the things that clouded my judgment and consumed me. I had an identity crisis, y'all. A faith crisis. And instead of helping me through it, he stood on the shore and watched me drift away and drown.

After the fact he said to me, "At the time you should have been drawing closer, you withdrew." And he was right. But you know what? He let me. He let me crawl into my shell and fade into an apparition of myself. Why didn't he have the guts to say that when it would have made a difference? ...Because he let go much sooner than he said he did. Maybe he legitimately was trying as hard as he could. Maybe he was being as much of a man as he knew how to be. I've concluded that he was a really nice guy. But not quite a man. Not then. Not yet.

This new girl? My sister saw them months ago...I saw her name and picture much longer ago than that...My sister said he called her "an old friend." You know what she calls him? "Bae," "The Mister," etc. Do I have a lot to be sorry for? Absolutely. But being naiive has been my greatest sin for a while.

"You didn't want this, remember, you said it yourself." That's what he said to me recently when I asked him what the hell was going on. But, um, God reminded me of the times I asked him what he needed from me. I asked him how he wanted to be loved. I asked him what I could do better. He always said he had no complaints...you don't build a relationship that way, lying and saying things are fine to avoid hurting the other person's feelings. I genuinely wanted to be a good partner and keep him happy. The lack of feedback and honesty robbed me of the opportunity.

I think he was used to having girlfriends. Chicks who pout and want their way, and you keep them happy by acquiescing. I never asked for a yes man. I asked him to help me make decisions. I asked him to speak up. I needed him to contribute...Instead, I was left in charge. I don't care if I have $50 and you have $5. You can still be a partner. I needed a man...I got...a kid who had to learn. We all gotta learn somehow. I can't fault him for that. But perhaps we both thought we were getting someone more whole than was true.

He stopped doing even the little things that made me fall in love. Something as simple as sitting on the couch next to me, holding me while we watched TV. Something as small as telling me I looked nice when we went out. Validation, romance, affection...they  left. But I been acting like it was all my fault. I can compliment myself, sure. If Ima do that then why am I even going out with you? I could tell you about the elaborate Valentine celebrations I planned and financed, with no reciprocation and little fanfare. But it don't even matter. After a while I stopped going so hard because he didn't seem to care. The day he sent flowers to my job was fucking monumental, becuz I never thought it would happen.

My mom told me today to watch my mouth and to not give him and his new girl a hard time. "If you do want it to eventually come back, don't say something that will make sure it never happens." Move on with your life, she said. Little does she know, I've  been trying to move on for months. Nine months. I could have birthed a child in this time. Instead I have to let something years in the making die.

I can't tell sometimes if I'm crying over the thing itself, or the death of that thing. The latter would be easier to recover from. The latter is what I "concluded" today in a fleeting moment of clarity.

I'm not used to being loved. Or wanted. The now ever-present absence of this makes me feel "less than." (Perhaps that is the real root of the thing). To me, it's better to not love at all than to have something be lit inside of you that you didn't know existed, and therefore could not long for or miss.
           
A guy asked me out. Initially, I wasn't interested. Then I talked to him on the phone for like an hour and thought he could be cool. He rescinded his offer, but the temporary sense of expectation I felt was much needed. I haven't found one man attractive in nine months. Nine months. The fact that I felt something -- however brief it was -- gave me a shot of hope. But it slipped through my fingers. Despair, however, sticks to my ribs. Slicks down my wings, which know they have to fly. It flows right out of my open, gushing heart. Cycles into my bloodstream to be pumped into my sick heart again; a depression dialysis.

When I was younger, I didn't want kids. I never dreamed of being someone's wife. I couldn't care less about Barbie dolls or diamonds. I wanted to be rich and significant and travel the world. I ask myself if I truly want to return to that state or if I again want an opportunity to be entrusted with someone's heart. 

Or maybe I wish to amass such a collection of these experiences that not each one carries so much weight. Even as I write that, though, I know it will never be my life. So I'm back at the beginning, figuring out how to grieve functionally as I talk myself out of mourning something that died. A long time ago.

Soo the Universe is beating me over the head

1. My man is gone. Fa reals. Like ki-ki-ing with some other chick for months.
2. I'm in a new state.
3. Just joined a new church.

Simply put, my life looks 180-degrees different from how it looked a year ago. A year and a half ago. Two years ago. All tangible signs point to progress...

But my head and heart have been grieving. Literally aching for a time and place I didn't even want when I was there...makes no sense, does it?

EVERYTHING has been telling me to get over it and move forward. But I've been walking under a cloud of guilt/depression/heartache that I could not get away from. For at least eight good months, no lie. Please let me know if you know how it feels to wake up every day and tell yourself today will be better...but it just feels worse. Or you smile for five minutes but cry 55. *looks for raised hands*

We talk about things coming in threes. It is only 2 p.m., and already I had a convo with my mom who said she simply wanted to tell me to be positive and move on with my life. Speak life, she said, don't say something that will make things worse. And use this time to write something. (She also added, "Make sure you aren't drinking too much because that will change your personality." She was right...)

When I woke up this morning, I had an email from Joel Osteen titled "Press Forward and Upward." Here's an excerpt:

See, in order to press forward, we have to let go of the weight of the past. We let go by forgiving and choosing not to dwell on things that can hold us back. We have to lighten our load, so to speak, so that we can rise higher in the things God has for us. Today, if you are struggling in an area, ask God what you need to let go of. Sometimes, we need to let go of the good as well as the bad.

Then just now, I randomly clicked on my horoscope on EBONY Magazine's website. (Trust me, I typically don't pay these any attention.) But this dang horoscope echoed everything:

Well, look who’s shining like a newly minted coin this week! You, of course! This week we have a new moon in Cancer, Saturn finally going forward after months and a re-birth cycle for Mercury with something we astro-folks call an “inferior conjunction.” The inferior conjunction means that Mercury moves backward into the heart of the Sun to shed his inferior self—all the gunk, thoughts, beliefs and actions that have been holding him back. So I read that as a cosmic prayer and intention for you, Cancer. Time to upgrade your shell, since I can’t imagine you abandoning it altogether. This doesn’t mean your shell should become battle armor, though you have some battles ahead. I see it as tougher skin, but a whole lot more flexible and porous. But this takes time. This week is time to get more comfortable in your renewed skin. So be patient with yourself and others.

GOD, I get it, I really do. You want me to get my life. Grab it by the balls and get out here and LIV. I hear  you. I hear you.

Sooo help me to do it...