I’m Still Here: A Letter to My Ex(s) #PhuckYou

Them: “….It could have been YOU tho.”

Me: “Yeah, it could have been, but it wasn’t.”

~Private Conversation about an Ex and why we broke up

My dearest Gasoline,

There is much to say. Too much. I am still making peace with the fact that much of what I need to say will never be said. It’s like an unsolved murder. I’m the homicide victim and my spirit is trolling your mind for what the fuck I did for you to kill me. But there will never be an answer that is good enough or even justifiable and beyond that, most of these are words never spoken or spoken poorly in the moment and never ‘resolved.’ I was driving down the street listening to Sia. Fire Meet Gasoline to be exact from her 1000 Forms of Fear album. Here are the lyrics that struck a chord:

“It’s a bad bet/Certain death/But I want what I want and I gotta get it

It’s a bad bet/Certain death/When the fire dies/Darkened skies
Hot ash, dead match/Only smoke is left”

after a night of crying

I remember one of the first videos I put together of us, my most recent lost cause. It had this song as a background. Back when I was fucking around with another guy, a few years ago, I had just started listening to Fantasia’s Lose to Win album.

“You make me wanna love you
Even though this love might be the end of me
I can’t help but love you
This, love is no good for me
Could be the end for me” (End of Me)

Listening to a non-ex while trying to recover from a new ex

Music has always been my thing. I get my life to music and I’m not one of those persons who is unconscious of lyrics. As much as I love every instrument and the sounds they make when combined, the lyrics are just as important to me and are often what pulls me into songs that may have otherwise not have enjoyed. It was never lost on me that the Fantasia song was quite a telling forecast for what I was projecting myself into. That non-relationship ended up as the catalyst for this blog to come to fruition. But I don’t think I was paying as close attention with Sia. Those lyrics, along with the Fantasia lyrics and several many other songs, told a story that was too come that I probably could have protected and saved myself from. Instead, I turned them into love and climbed aboard ships that would ultimately leave me sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I’ve been left time and time again to save myself from the sharks, which I assume is basically what everyone has to do. But it just kills me more to see men stroll into my life, fuck it up and leave me in shambles while crooked smile walking their ass back to wherever they came from.

I made a mistake today. I reached out to you. I attempted to ask an unnecessary question, perhaps having an equally unnecessary mental playback, and was met with what felt like disgust. I can’t blame you. For that, I hold no grudge and no anger. It actually jolted me back on the road I was on. We all know I have a thing for looking back. Today, I looked back for you with questions in my palms and my fingertips tiptoed across the keys to send a white flag of curiosity your way. You didn’t want it. Neither did I. WE are dangerously toxic fumes for each other. Even inhaling a text message from the other could lead to an all new death. I won’t pretend you may not have hurt a bit from losing me but it would take God himself to sit me down on a one on one and convince me that you ever loved me or could possibly miss me. But that’s not the point of this blog. I am writing this to you, all of you maybe, to deaden and end this circle for the last time. I’m flying the fuck outta this kill space. I have swum to the shore on my own; you weren’t there to offer help. I think you drowned me on purpose.

I THINK YOU DROWNED ME ON PURPOSE.

I think you wanted to hurt me. You wanted to kill me. You left me walking. In the dark. In Detroit. In the dark. In the pouring rain. In a dress. On the Westside of Indianapolis. In the hood. You LEFT me. It may take years before I forgive that action. It may take years before I forgive the white woman. I have a long way to go before I forgive the white bitch. No lies detected here. One thing you have all taught me or at least led me to believe is that ALL men have a woman on the side for something. My trust has been misused, harmed and mistreated. It’s my job to get it back. It’s my job to trust me again and believe in love, specifically love for ME, again. I am not a perfect woman. Let’s discuss some of my flaws real quick:

I’m messy. I toss my clothes wherever. I don’t do dishes every single day. I have so much secret single behavior (according to Carrie Bradshaw), that when I finally find myself in a relationship, it’s hard to rid myself of it completely, especially when living with someone. Which brings me to another flaw: I trust and have trusted yaw niggas way too much. I’ve allowed you to borrow my name and get apartments. When you were down and out, instead of turning my back and saying you weren’t the type of man I wanted, I pushed forward, supported you and gave you a place to live. A PLACE TO LIVE. I cannot for the life of me understand how that could be taken so easily but apparently, it’s a nonchalant gesture of ‘like.’ I vowed to never live with another man unless we were married or six months from being married, but I gave you a place to stay with no hesitation. In return, I was emotionally abused for what you found in MY home – pictures, and letters from my past that I was forced to part with because you felt so disrespected. Meanwhile, you had a bitch on the side. A whole white woman off to the side. What they say is true: a guilty conscious will treat the other person as the guilty party. I never so much as let another man smell the breath of my hello but you were dreaming about a woman while laying in MY bed sleep. I tried hard, to be what you needed. I prayed and cried for you, alongside you. I supported you – I brought my life into yours and shared it openly and willingly. I told you about the people who hurt me before and the past baggage that I had in tow with me. I told you what I wanted and what I was looking for. You took that and used it to your benefit; not to help grow me. An ex recently asked me where he ranked with me not too long ago. He sent me a letter that spoke of I’m sorry’s and how young we were back in the day, attributing that to our demise while also remembering times that he thought were good. I wonder if that good outweighed the bad for him because it didn’t for me.

I was left and abandoned with no job and no car and no cell phone, stuck out east with NO ONE – not even the person who called herself my best friend – coming to see if I was alive or not. I wanted to die. I’ve said that before. I’ve never been more suicidal than the day I sat at 6250 Brendon Way Drive with all these pills scattered on the table. I sat there with a journal, writing poems and thoughts, praying and crying while chain-smoking black and milds that I walked what felt like 16 miles to get. You know what kept me here? My mom and God. That’s it. I wanted to die tho and I’m not sure if you knew or if that pales in comparison to the good times you seem to remember. Where do you rank you ask? Idk. I don’t rank niggas at this age. I’m too busy trying to unpack the old bags so I have a free hand to carry the new bags I collect.

I went to California for my birthday. I thought of you because we went there together. On my dime and your promises of paying me back. I went to some of the same exact places we went. I stood where we stood. This was at no point on purpose but I was eager to recreate memories and pitch you out of my head. You’re everywhere. You in the house I live in. You are in my pictures, all over my cloud and in my videos. My mom still asks and talks about you. I get sick when I hear your name. I could VOMIT at the idea of my desperation. Yeah, let’s get back to desperate me and my flaws – I’ve been too desperate for love, even when I didn’t think I was. I prayed all over, up and down our relationship so I trusted my decisions with you much more because I felt like I was being led in your direction. I now know it wasn’t for marriage and life together. It was to truly shine a light on me and expose me to myself, yet again but maybe for the last time. I used to introduce you as my partner. You didn’t understand it at first. I get why that is now. We were never partners. I was being used. Just like I was with the non-relationship before you. Just like I was with everyone before that. Everyone uses me for their own pleasure – most times it’s for sex, sometimes for money and other times it’s for simple support, emotionally and otherwise.

You, my nigga, were the culmination of EVERYONE wrapped up in one person who wasn’t tall enough for me to wear my heels around. I didn’t care; I stopped wearing tall shoes. It was that simple. I changed, little by little, for you and you never noticed. I threw away what you told me to throw away, despite you physically hanging onto the white woman of your dreams, that you once told me was crazy. Today, I just wanted to know why she was better than me. But she wasn’t and I guess that was a question that didn’t even deserve to be spoken because how dare I ever believe that was ever the case. It had nothing to do with ME. That was your shit. Not mine. I’ve internalized it all. I am good at pretending to myself that the relationship I am occupying space in is healthy and good. The reality is often that I’m dying a slow, loving death.

I sit in scattered pieces wondering why yaw enjoy breaking me so much. What is it about me that niggas want to grab me and throw me as hard as they can against a concrete wall???? The hurt that exists inside of me is an inferno that continues to be added to instead of putting out. I was in a good head space when I met you. Looking back, you lied to me then too. I came to you but you pretended like you had been wanting to come to me and didn’t know how. You were such a liar.

Another long night

I was abusive. More flaws about me. I hit you. I hit my ex. I hit the ex before that. I’m abusive. It’s part of the reason I don’t really ever want to be in another relationship. I can’t take people saying things and talking to me in a certain way. It causes me to see red and next thing I know, I’m all over the place with raging fists. That’s not right. It’s not right to hit a man. I acknowledge that. I need anger management. But I also need the kind of man that doesn’t call me bitches, hoes, sluts, tramps, and a host of other colorful names. A couple of you guys were good for that name calling shit. Emotionally and mentally abusing me is the quickest way to get these paws. #noLie It might not be right and again, I admit that. But I assure you I don’t walk in the door throwing punches. The day I was called everything but Kendria or Januarie still surprises me that I didn’t just shy of remove the skin off of your face, to be honest. I was called a hoe, a slut, told that I was a better woman back in the day than I was now. I was told that I was laying next to you thinking of “sucking other niggas dicks.” That lets me know that I was exhausted from that relationship because I didn’t do anything but take those gut shots and try not to let it hurt as bad as it did. A slut? A hoe? Sucking other niggas dicks? You were all over all my social media. I told everyone that I could about you. I thought of you in Light and Height, not low and dirty. How dare you say these things to me? The woman that tried to get pregnant but unfortunately was already broken from past relationship mistakes to do so, thank the Lord. The woman that wanted to marry you? The woman that flew you across the country and back? The woman that gave you a place to stay when you needed it? She’s a slut? A whore? The woman you spent the whole relationship lying and misleading? Remember when you told me I hit you and made your watch fly off and get lost. I believed that. I bought into that stock and the market crashed in on my face when I discovered your watch had actually been pawned. I paid $25 not to let that watch be sold to Pawn America. And even when I sent it to Sarasota, Florida to its new owner, I felt even more hurt. How will I ever trust someone to buy them a gift again? When does this shit leave my system? Why do yaw get to leave me like this and not care about how it affects my future????

To that point, how dare you suggest I’m anything other than your Queen of perfection. I told you my secrets and just like the men before you, you used them against me. The only thing you didn’t do, which you still may have and I just don’t know, is tell my mother private things I told you. My other exes did that. They told her I was gay. I slept with women. You didn’t do that but you definitely let me have it about women. You also suggested I was gay and that I never liked men, to begin with. I never wanted you because I wanted a woman. These things, though hellaUntrueAF, hurt me to my bones. I still feel them. That disdain and scowl that someone I loved so much and so openly (a first) talked to me like I was a hoodrat on the street.

But so what right? I should be used to it. I was in an emotionally abusive relationship before. The one that left me in Detroit talked to me like I was the wackest woman alive and as if he regretted ever meeting me. Do you niggas know what I’ve built myself up from? Do yaw know how much nigga shit I had bagged up and hanging off the side of my back? Did you know I had an abortion to hurt an ex? Yep, I sure did. It’s why I can’t have kids. I had an abortion for the sole purpose of hurting the man that hurt me so much prior to it. With that went my ability to procreate ever again. Folks want to know why I don’t want or have kids: that’s it. I tricked myself into believing I didn’t want what I knew I couldn’t have because I killed the opportunity. That’s how much hurt lives in me. That’s why I don’t want to live in this state anymore. I’ve literally been hurting because of my affiliations with men and the choices I’ve made as a result since I was 13. Longer than that if you count the useless pieces of shit who molested me as a child. I hope and pray that retribution found it’s way to them. The one thing I know to be certain is I don’t have to be front row to see you suffer for what I feel like you did to me but it always happens. Karma doesn’t forget.

I am abusive. I am in counseling. I working through my issues. I am trying to be better, do better, get better and HEAL from all these years of madness. I pray for you. . . all of you. I want so badly to believe that there was something about me that you actually did love but man, I’m far away from that. Every time I think I do believe it, I remember other shit that swears to me love couldn’t exist for this to be true. I don’t wish ill will on you. I don’t want harm for you. I don’t even want someone to leave you in the shattered pieces that I was left in. I blame myself for my broken pieces. I never save myself when given the opportunity. I always choose love – the love of YOU – not me. And that’s been my grandest life mistake. Choosing delusions of nigga granduer over me.

I’m still angry.  You ruined every single trip I had. Every one of them. Every time I returned home, I came home to some shit. Some arguing. Some man who didn’t trust me to be out of his eyesight when everything I was doing was for US. I have lost a lot. But I’ve gained an even clearer understanding of exactly who I am and the shit I need to confront. I probably won’t believe in love again until I believe that I deserve it. Part of me thinks I don’t. I’m broken and infertile. I’m tired and low on steam. I don’t want to compromise ME for love. I want love to see me and want me; not want to change me completely and turn me into a Stepford and then walk off into the sunset when it doesn’t work for them. On tv, they come crying and running back with gifts and new, improved personalities, ready to win her back. In real life, you niggas catch a lifeboat and don’t even turn around to watch me drown. Maybe you hope I’ll get eaten by a shark.

But I have news.

I didn’t. I didn’t get eaten. I made it to shore and I can’t even swim. Water has never scared me and maybe that’s why I nosedive in, ready to swim laps with you. The unfortunate truth is I end up swimming those laps alone. The fun part is watching your ex who mistreated you go find the woman of his dreams and treat her properly. It’s a low blow for self-esteem to be honest. I’ve lived that life too. If I could have predicted that I would end up how and where I am right now where men and love are concerned, I highly doubt any of us would have met. These lessons would have been better learned from conversations and books instead of living through them. But I survived.

The fire.

The gasoline.

The end of me.

I survived the end of me repeatedly. Devon. Damon. Randy. And the non-ex Diesel. Naw I ain’t fucking changing names to protect the guilty and unbothered. I also will NEVER date another man who is not tall and whose name starts with a D. But –

guess what???!!!  I didn’t DIE my niggas. I DID NOT ETERNALLY DIE!!!!!

Shit.

Each one of you, be it on purpose or otherwise, killed me.

I’ve died four times since I was 22. I’m 39. I’m not dying anymore until God says so. Who made you niggas God??? Me?

I believe indeed it was me.

I made you God. And you killed me and laughed while driving off the parking lot.

Hell yeah, we park cars.

But the good thing that I got from reaching out to you today, attempting to do the unnecessary, is your response reminded me that I was never enough for you. Or maybe too much. I just wasn’t what you needed and wanted. I took all these pictures in one relationship – I may have mentioned this in a previous blog. I took them so that one day I could look back and see what loving you looked like on ME.

But don’t forget  – I’m friends with photographers so I will never stay looking like that.  I’m perfect for me. Even. In. My. Flaws.

I love me. I will graduate with my Bachelor’s next year and be able to work all over the country and the world to be honest. I am a DOPE ass writer. I love with all of me and although I see it as as flaw, it’s still a pretty cool thing. Most people don’t love with half of who they are.

I love who I am and what I stand for. I know what I deserve and although I’ve often accepted less in hopes that I could make you niggas see the light in me and respect it, I always knew that I didn’t deserve the shit that was happening to me. And yaw didn’t deserve my light. I didn’t deserve to not be trusted. I didn’t deserve to walk home from Guion Road. I didn’t deserve to walk back in Detroit. I didn’t deserve to be cussed out on Christmas. Or to be relegated to being SEX only. I didn’t deserve your pressure. Your hurt. You disrespect. Your lies. Your cheating. Your white or black women. I didn’t deserve YOU.

The foreshadowing music is different these days.

I know who I am. And whether you saw it or not, I am dope. I got shit to work on DEFINITELY, but I AM working on it – not trying or hoping or planning to – I AM!! And that just makes me even doper.

Shame on all of you for walking past The Color Purple and not acknowledging what you saw. Shame on your blindness.

The only thing I left to say is I’m still fucking here bitches.

I’m still here. You didn’t kill me good enough.

Photo by ANKH Productions

I’ll let the music take it from here . . .

“I don’t need you to love me
I don’t need you to love

I’ve got–
I’ve got–

I’ve got my sister, I can feel her now
She may not be here, but she’s still mine
I know–
I know she still love me

Got my children, I can’t hold them now
They may not be here, but they still mine
I hope
They know I still love them

Got my house, it still keep the cold out
Got my chair when my body can’t hold out
Got my hands doing good like they s’posed to
Showing my heart to the folks that I’m close to

Got my eyes though they don’t see as far now
They see more ’bout how things really are now

I’m gonna take a deep breath
Gonna hold my head up
Gonna put my shoulders back

I’m gonna flirt with somebody
When they walk by
I’m gonna sing out
Sing out

I believe I have inside of me
Everything that I need to live a bountiful life
And all the love alive in me
I’ll stand as tall as the tallest tree

And I’m thankful for every day that I’m given
Both the easy and hard ones I’m livin’
But most of all, I’m thankful for
Lovin’ who I really am

I’m beautiful
Yes, I’m beautiful
And I’m here

Sincerely,

Fire

 

PS: My Yoast SEO details that my readability needs improving. Fuck improving for you. Down to the wire my G.

 

J to the Y

O U T !

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