Usually, there is an artistic accompaniment. Maybe a band. A host. Lots of mics to choose from or colorful lights that can be changed depending on the mood of my speaking. There is usually poetry here.
Today, there is none of this. The stage is dark with burnt edges that have a stale smell of smoke. It’s empty. There is simply a stool and white spotlights that all aim in my direction. You can’t see anything other than …..
This is the stage that I am on.
I cannot leave or abandon it until the showing is over and I will only know it’s over by the dimming of the overhead lights. Welcome to my newest one-woman show. Please, kindly take your seats and enjoy the ride.
Unlimited tea and lemonade are included in your ticket.
Stage Left: Resentment
This is a bitter tea. As it goes down my throat it leaves a strong hint of habanero on my taste buds. My tongue may feel singed but I understand this to simply be part of the process. Water has yet to help with the inferno slowly building from the back of my mouth to the traces of my lipstick.
Sadness has subsided or at least put on a new outfit. Blessings can be hard to hold onto once you step foot into this world of emotion. I can feel the stage floor turning red and becoming too hot for my feet to stand on.
I walk through this place sometimes, listening for the sound of cologne hitting his wrists. Waiting for the dogs to hear his truck turn onto the block and run to the window. I sit and binge watch television while doing homework and working on the ball – wondering how it is that on television when men fuck up, they somehow make it back to their ex’s front door, lacking their ego and humbly dedicated to resolution instead of dissolution.
But maybe that’s just for Hollywood and Love and Hip Hop.
Carmel perhaps? Fishers? California? Morocco??
Where exactly is this space in the world where people (men or women) who fuck up their relationships actually take a moment to realize the damage they have caused and try to EARN their spot back? Do those type of people actually exist? Or, better yet, am I even that type of person?
It’s like swallowing a horsepill full of urine; you kinda feel pissed on but you kinda feel like THE urine.
How I have waited for you to show back up at the doorstep
like a stork delivery
minus a return receipt
and I undo the locks and open the door
eyes staring into soul windows with curtains drawn
we pull each other in by the scent of our connection
and figure it out. You tell me,
you came to figure it out.
And we do. Like they do on tv.
how I have waited for you to show back up,
at the doorstep.
But alas I don’t live that poetry life anymore. I thought I was in my forever space and it was another temporary person with a lifelong lesson. I get angry because I wonder when will I gather up enough lessons in my binder to be able to meet someone that isn’t just a summer school teacher? When will the moment come when I inspire another person to be his greatest self and vice versa? To reach WITH me? I want to BUILD with someone; not sit around, playing house like God ain’t watching and life ain’t short. It’s maddening.
I’m angry at myself. I don’t know if I should be, but I am. I look through my hindsight lenses at stuff I overlooked, things that could have saved me but I want to see and believe in the great in people and in return, it usually gets me toodamnopen and vulnerable. I begin to lose my power. I get mad at myself for not doing a better job of self-protection. I get upset at how I love – how intent and full it is. I can’t stop the train once it pulls off. When I love, I go into the veins of my soul and suck the blood through a coffee straw just to put life into this new relationship. I was recently told that I lose myself in my relationships.
And that was a dose of ouch and wow to be honest, although not surprising. I’ve always known that, but I thought I had it under greater control more recently. I exhaust my and that other person’s love when the end draws near because letting go has never been my strong suit. My last texts to XXXXX were fresh off the live wire. I was angry, in my feelings and resenting the idea that I should be chasing him. In the weeks after, once the tears began to clear, I continued to allow resentment a space to dwell in, inside of me.
There were days that felt like an inferno replaced my heartbeat (and still are). Every breath was a cross between mourning what we had while trying to accept it is over. I felt like I changed my course to follow love again only to end up at the same fork I’m always at; this definitely sparked a seed of anger that was growing into an Oak Tree.
But the thing is, if I pretended to not be outraged and displeased, the resentment would stay and become baggage: baggage that I would never unpack. So I opened the door and welcomed it into the living room only.
There were no bathroom breaks and I only offered one complimentary mug of lukewarm water to quench its thirst. I acknowledged it silently. Then publicly. Then it began to release itself.
As I sit on and through these different stages and take slow sips of my lukewarm lemonade, I must face my own mirror at every interval. I am nothing if I do not confront my inner demons while acknowledging the ones in others that I do not wish to encounter in others again. I could write a blog about all the things that my ex did that made me unhappy and hurt my feelings, but then I would just be a victim. That is also a planting field for resentful feelings. I could also write about how my therapist is helping me see ME in a whole new light and damn it feels good to have that, but shit, the ‘aha moments’ are like:
This stage of sour lemons is natural. I don’t feel embarrassed or like I’m not where I should be in life. I went all the way this time. I put it all on the line and I fell off and still held that tightrope with my bare hands until the yarns cut my skin open and the blood loosened my grip. I’m not sure if I’m sitting on this stage, or if I fell onto it, bloody and out of breath.
Maybe we were both exhausted. And then, I paused and thought about my role. The things I’ve done and said at times weren’t the greatest or most poetic. At times, they were flat out wrong. It made me wonder if we are both relieved in some way. . .
The exhaustion is over. The show has ended and the people have all left the venue. The fight is done and the stage lights are beginning to dim. Maybe I didn’t fall on this stage of resentment. What if my instincts were already here, waiting on my physical to arrive while watching real life play out. And now that I have officially stepped foot into the building, I can go. I can gather my toys and go. Ever since I spoke it aloud, the universe has beckoned me to free myself from the pitfalls and dangers of resentment. I also had to come to realize maybe XXXXX has resentment towards me too and what if that’s fair? Well, now we are both free again to be who we are and where we are. I would be a crooked ass liar if I said that it doesn’t hurt that we can’t be our authentic selves with each other.
And sometimes, that hurt feels like anger….resentment.
But I free it. I free the anger. I free the pain. I free myself – from this stage and the inside of this particular arena. And if you are reading this, let this be a reminder or a form ofinspire that it is natural to feel outraged or enraged by situations that occur and things people do. It doesn’t reduce you in size, character, strength or power – it simply makes you human. It is my belief that it’s actually more healthy to give yourself the space to be the human that you are and to authentically FEEL instead of running and fronting in front of the mirror. Once you sit with yourself – study it and understand it’s origin as well as the role you played in its existence, then you are giving yourself the path to let it go. And that’s all resentment is good for…letting go of.
But in order to do it, you have to first allow yourself the room to feel it.
I am proudly learning yet a new journey from the comfort of the warmth in my chrysalis. A rising will soon come. I
I started binge watching Grey’s Anatomy a few weeks back and ever since the onslaught of Owen and Christina Yang’s relationship, I have found myself entranced by the storyline. Yang and Owen had an indisputable love for each other, but their conflicting overall desires for their lives as individuals and as a couple wouldn’t allow them to prosper. Over the course of several seasons, the audience is pulled from north to south in their love story. They have passion, desire, and unfiltered love; it’s undeniably present. But Christina doesn’t want to be who Owen wants her to be (a mother). And Owen can’t shrink his needs to fit Christina’s plans for her future (winning the Harper-Avery surgeon award). On one of the final episodes of her Grey’s Anatomy career, Yang finds herself asking a newly-paralyzed but conscious husband if he would like to end any life-saving techniques, as his distraught but supportive wife stands on side listening. At the exact moment of his response, Yang envisions two different scenarios, neither of which resulted in dual happiness for both her and Owen.
In the first scenario, Owen’s desires to be a father were fulfilled by Yang’s willingness to carry and care for not one, but TWO children (keep in mind she NEVER wanted kids). She lost or gave away the opportunities at winning the research award she once passionately sought after and secretly confessed to her best friend Meredith that she knew messed up. She aged with a disturbed happiness that glowed across her face as she introduced the award recipient who was one of her former interns. This is what self-disappointment looks like.
In the second flash, the shoe was on the other foot. Christina was on her 4th award win and dedicated her time to continued research efforts. Owen, on the other hand, still wanted to be a father and had turned to drinking to cope with the dreams he gave up on for love. This eventually led to him being considered for termination due him working under the influence and creating a hostile environment for the attendings. Christina no longer wanted a relationship with him and while talking to Meredith, she asked her “don’t let me go back to him.“During her award acceptance speech, she asked a series of three questions that encapsulated her daydreaming and aroused my inquisitiveness.
“Do you know who you are? Do you know what has happened to you? Do you want to live this way?
I watched their relationship and particularly this episode during a time in my life where I was mourning the loss of my own failed-future alongside someone. I found myself relating my failures (and wins) to what Yang was going through. Who would have guessed that I would find myself connecting to a fictional, non-black Cardiothoracic surgeon who was once in love with a black man and ultimately married a white one? I found so many parts of my personality showing through her passion for …..herself! When she asked herself these three questions, she inadvertently asked me. And now, after the revelations and epiphanies I had from watching these old reruns, I am asking myself AND you!
“Do you know who you are? Do you know what has happened to you? Do you want to live this way?
I tend to use my age as a scale to measure my life’s progress. It’s not because I really subscribe to the idea that by a certain age certain things should have happened (although I do believe there is a hint of truth to it depending on the circumstances). It’s more because I tend to look at things from the standpoint of how many years I’ve been on earth and allotted the time to get shit done! So when I say at age 38, I should be able to answer these questions without blinking, it’s not because that’s my worldview on humans, age and progression but rather because, after three decades of living, I should fucking know these answers….even if they change in a week!!
In the circumstances where Christina gave birth to two children, she was miserable! It was on her face, with her plastic smile and her aloof conversations. She looked like she regretted her choices, and she did; she had long stated that she never wanted to be a mother and now here she was the mother of two! It wasn’t her dream she was living – it was Owens.
No one wants to or even should live that way. It’s mentally and emotionally dangerous. Owen was in complete bliss as he played with the boys while Yang confessed to Meredith that she knew she had made a mistake. When one of her kids got sick in the middle of her research, she passed her award-winning project off to someone else, who ultimately ended up being the recipient of the award she had spent a lifetime hoping to earn. She had given up her dreams to live for someone else’s, and in the process, the things she wanted most were never achieved. It was a life she was born for that never finished getting actualized. The minute she chose Owen’s dreams over hers, she died and was reborn as a version of herself that he was creating.
So what is the point of this blog? I am asking both myself and you the reader ifyou are able to answer these questions and what you will do if the answer to the last question is NO? At some point in my last relationship, I began to feel like Christina. I had not been rewatching old Grey’s episodes at the time and maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have felt so wrong. I started to question whether I was eager to marry the wrong person. I never told him these things because I never wanted him to feel like he wasn’t enough. It wasn’t that – everything that he was at face value was enough for me. But I was concerned that in my love for him and excitement for our future, I would end up compromising parts of dreams that my long-term joy needed me to experience.
I wanted to leave the city and much like Christina, I expressed that from the start. I never wanted to spend an indefinite amount of time in Indianapolis, but I had fallen in love with an active father of two children. Who was I to move him away? He used to tell me not to worry; that it would all work itself out and I trusted in that. But in the back of mind, I worried that I would hit a point of no return with Indianapolis and he wouldn’t even have teenagers yet (his kids were under 13). I was willing to be the puppeteered Yang over the authentic Christina. I was trying to prove to myself that the things I had come to find I needed weren’t that big of a deal in comparison to love. That love was, dare I say it: ENOUGH.
Sometimes, our authenticity will come at a price. Listen, if you know anything about me, you know I love me some love! It’s beautiful and in many ways, it will carry and sustain you and be enough. But love isn’t the end all be all and it’s certainly low on the priority scale when it comes to goal-setting and achieving unless that’s what all you really want.
If we are seeking a true unimpeachable human experience, then sometimes, that means choosing ourselves OVER the things that come into our lives and compromise who we are and/or what we want. Selfishness is a form of self-care. When Christina was envisioning these scenarios, she didn’t lack love and respect for Owen nor did she think he was out to hurt her. To the contrary, she adored HIM. But she didn’t adore motherhood or want it. . . EVER. She wanted to pursue her passions and dreams and to her, they held the same weight of importance and value as motherhood. When she attempted to see herself living without her dream while creating a world for Owen to be happy, she saw sadness and disappointment. Regret. On the flip side, when it was Owen who she imagined doing the sacrificing, it led to his misery and ultimate downfall. His lack of personal fulfillment lead to him becoming an alcoholic. You are going to cope with the decisions you’ve made and it’s not guaranteed to be in a healthy way, so you might as well create and live the life you envision, alongside people whose ultimate goals aren’t out of alignment with yours. At no point did both of their goals find a common ground and therefore, there was no possibility of true happiness, or better yet longstanding JOY between the two of them.
The Bottom Line:
It doesn’t matter what your gender is or how you identify sexually or beyond; choosing to exist in the stories of other people rather than the passionate future you desire to create for yourself will undoubtedly cause you great unhappiness. There has to be a way to co-exist and climb the ladders of life successes together OR understanding and ACCEPTING that you can’t be together due to the vast differences; anything else is just wasting love. It will more than likely HURT to choose yourself sometimes; it’s like a surgery with no anesthesia. But when you emerge from recovery, you are a better, more healthy YOU. It’s worth it to choose yourself when you otherwise being left out of the equation.
Do you know who you are –
What do you like? What is your perception of the world and of life? What brings you joy and what causes you grief or pain? What upsets you? How do you love? Are you awake, alert and involved or are you just existing? What do you want for yourself? What would make you feel successful? What are you dreams and where do they lie?
Do you know what has happened to you –
What caused you to think and feel this way? Are you ok with that? Who hurt you? Who made you laugh? Where were you when the ball dropped? What did it look like when you got back up? How long were you down? How hard do you fly? What shapes you? What caused you to fear? What has helped you believe? Who did or do you run to? Did you know that you own the rights to everything that has happened to you? Now, what are you going to do with that?
Do you want to live this way –
If you died today, on a scale of one – five with five being the highest possible feeling, how would you rate your overall satisfaction with how you lived your life? What surgery needs to be done to achieve a 5…today? How can this answer be YES?!
Welcome to the Intensive Care Unit. Extreme care will be taken of yourself by yourself from this point on. Take a second and ask yourself Christina Yang’s questions. Allow your imagination to create potential layouts of what your future may look like depending on the door you choose. And when you are searching for the answers, be sure to open discernment’s door for the people, places and/or things that you need to let go of. You will find this to be a necessary surgery in order to get a Yes answer at the end of the third question.
This phrase captured America’s precious heart (presumably because it was rooted in the foundation of America’s first principle: money over everything). I have never seen the movie Jerry Mcguire but I’ve long heard this catchphrase repeated, re-enacted and pressed out on shirts, solidifying it as a pop culture sensational slogan of a lifetime. Afterall, no one wants the money tomorrow. We all want it right now and would prefer it first! Although in many instances the work is done and the financial reward comes last, we still need some type of assurance that “the money” is coming with certainty. Paperwork such as contracts and promissory notes exist in order to hold the other party financially responsible, and in the event of a fallout, capable of facing a lawsuit. It is my belief that this is due in part due to lack of trust as well as the unforeseeable trait that some people inherently have where they get personal enjoyment from taking advantage of others (in this case that would be not paying).
For this reason, the phrase “show me the money” became another one of America’s beloved expressions and whether you saw Jerry Mcguire or not, you could still relate to the statement. Everyone wants to either receive their money up front or know without a doubt that it is coming because it is owed.
Which brings me to Tank . . .
. . . and his money shot.
The other morning, I awoke slightly before my alarm and rather than go back to sleep, I trolled Instagram. One short scroll through the shaderoom and I came across the R&B singer Tank, gazing out of a picture window while wearing nothing but his underwear. I believe these are called boxer briefs?
I stared, swiped to the next picture, came back and pondered as I looked with concern. I went to the comments to see what the public thought. Many women commented about the lack of eggplant protrusion and the absence of a big dick print. But there were some supporters, one in particular who said another one of pop culture’s favorite phrases: “Maybe he’s a grower, not a shower.” This got me thinking. First thought, unless he was fresh off an orgasm, that thang ain’t growing into too much more.
This got me thinking even further.
How much longer are we going to promote the idea of hoping people grow into what we want to see verses either accepting what they have shown us (see Maya Angelou’s statement about this) and not expecting more (also known as settling) OR, not accepting what they have laid out for us when it doesn’t fit our needs and moving along until we what we are looking for?
Show me the money dammit!!!!
Think about some of the conversations you’ve had with people who took jobs at a pay less than the average (or what they were looking for). How many of those conversations included people complaining about the long road towards their desirable pay? Or how they feel boxed in or like they will always be behind because they started behind the average gun line? And how raises come in the smallest tenth of an increment so they never quite feel like anything changed when they get it?
That’s why show me the money is such a popular saying. That’s why we teach our kids at an early age to follow their dreams and go to college so they can get that headstart into the avenue of their choosing and don’t spend too much adult time waiting on the big rewarding moment they should have started with. Our relationships work similar to this. We can’t ask to be shown the money and then refuse to pay attention to the small change that stands in front of us. Far too often, we women give men the ‘grower not a shower’ safety clause and expose ourselves to unnecessary stagnation and disappointment.
The growing/showing theory may be acceptable and at times plausible from the waist down, but from the neck up, it’s an insufficient and ill-fated way of forming new relationships. Creating bonds with potentialis grounds to get you heartbroken and when the ship sails, you know who you will be angry at? Yourself! I’ve spoken on this back when the blog was still A.M(use.D). You will be pissed at yourself for not listening to and trusting your instincts, and you will have to endure the process of self-forgiveness, but only after realizing you are disappointed in yourself. So many layers.
Every reasonable human being striving for the best in life at some point learns that personal growth is infinite; there is no end to it. This isn’t about finding the perfectly put together man. This is about knowing what you want, deserve and expect (also known as your own individual standards) and learning how to require certain things be present at the onset (show me the money). For example, if I want a man with his own home, his own transportation, legal employment and no more than one child, I can’t meet a guy who’s freshly evicted or lives with his mother (because she is sick of course) and continue in pursuit due to his ability to grow at a later date. There is nothing wrong with being hopeful that a man will get his shit together but the law of self-protection has shown me that, that type of hope is reserved for friends and family; not someone you are trying to build with.
Show me the money dammit!
Show me that your PRIORITIES are together. < That line is the basis of this blog.
You can entertain poor priorities if you want to but you should know it may come at the expense of your heart aching. and gaining a future Ex. If you want a partner and want to truly create an abundant future with that partner, then the alignment isn’t something you should be growing into together (or one by one). The equal yolk is supposed to be the attraction! It’s the money shot!!! In one relationship, I was told “to love me and be with me means to accept me where I am and hope I get it together.” That was a crushing blow to my heart. You know why? Because it was yet another money shot, but this time it was showing me that loving on potential is wasted talent. I should never ‘hope’ one day you will get it right; you should want it right. You should be intent on getting it right. You should come to the door with it right or stay out the game until it is.
One of the common denominators (besides myself) in my past relationships has been giving men the space to grow into the person I saw them as having the ‘ability’ to be. They presented themselves as a Tank picture and I smiled and told myself “maybe he’s a grower, not a shower.‘ No money was shown (or was it???). No pudding proof found my silver plated spoon dipping in it. They showed me who they were and I saw who they could be. I have even told myself that their growth was contingent upon my presence. Meanwhile, time and time again, I held myself back and shrank myself in order to be on an even level with them. Growing instead of showing only works (whenever it does) in the boxer brief section of the world. But think of how small the men’s underwear section is in any department store vs. all the other items inside. Life is bigger than dick-in-the-pants.And truth-be-told, everyone is showing their own version of the money; it’s up to you to count the bills and decide if that’s ENOUGH.
The problem with some woman, myself included, is we see beyond the wolf eyes and connect to the God in them that they don’t see in themselves. Loving someone’s higher self isn’t going to translate into them behaving from their higher self. The result is going to be you, dimming your light and shrinking yourself in order to fit your love, expectations and authentic human experience into a box it never fit in. Look at you: Getting caught in a box. Busting out of the seams. Stressed for easy breathing because it’s somewhat claustrophobic when you start to reduce yourself and put you last. This is a breeding ground for insecurities for BOTH people involved. Potential is beautiful. We all have it in some form. But some things can’t be compromised into showing me later; they need to be shown NOW! Your authentic makeup should be presented upfront and that includes what you want and need from another person. If you don’t see what you know you need, then the fair thing for both parties is to move on. Truth-be-told, everyone is showing their own version of the money shot;
…it’s up to you to count the bills and decide if that’s ENOUGH.
Let’s say you fall in love with a grower (potential) and they don’t fall in love with showing (living up to). Congratulations! You’ve just ended up with the Tank picture, which you can’t be too mad at because it’s exactly who he SHOWEDyou he was. It was the money shot all along. Turns out, there was nothing to grow into.
Not everyone is going to live up to their potential.
Not every small, flaccid penis is going to turn into a giant, hard dick.
Make me and Maya proud: Don’t settle for growers. And,
“When people show you who they are, believe them” (Maya Angelou) !!
Life comes at you fast! Make sure you’re paying attention!
***Note: this blog in no way is meant to reflect any opinion on the size or growth abilities of Tank’s penis….although I do have my own thoughts. O.O
Many prehistoric-before FB years ago, I took a quiz that promised to reveal to me what my true love language was. I don’t remember what the results were, but sometime after, I found out it wasn’t just a random internet quiz. There was actually a book dedicated to the five love languages and for the longest, I intended to read it. I didn’t. Over the years and after this discovery, while I never actually purchased the book, I had become privy to the information inside of it in many ways. This book and this idea of love languages have been recycled in magazines, blogs and hundreds of conversations about love. I admit the author, Gary Chapman, is on to something with this idea of love. All five of these “languages” are legit components of companionship that one or both parties will likely carry, some more than the other. Studies have been done, talk shows have invited Chapman on for discussions and people still today continue to purchase the book in droves and take the random internet quizzes that they hope will inform them of who they are, but as much as I believe in these 5 languages, I also believe there is a great deal missing: The part that comes before the acts of service, gift exchanging and physical touching. In order to have affirming words and true quality time with each other, one should understand there are unspoken love languages that will absolutely make or break your relationship in ways that the five above won’t even light a match to.
Much like the rest of everything that appears on TheIIsNeverSilent, I am basing today’s blog off of my personal experience with love, however, this time, I’m not using my past as a meter reading. My past never taught me these things. In fact, my past taught me, if anything, that these five REAL love languages I am about to blog on were actually either figments of my imagination, shit I learned from watching too much television or wholeheartedly unnecessary battles that need resisting. But that moment you find yourself in a real, healthy relationship with someone who would do anything just to see you happy, it is inevitable that you will get confronted with –
-Yourself….…and the love languages that you need to learn how to speak a little more fluently. Unless of course you would rather be in the type of relationship that you can’t wait to get away from.
Ready? Let’s dive in !
The REAL Five Love Languages – According to Januarie York
So many things I’ve got to tell you
But I’m afraid I don’t know how
‘Cause there’s a possibility
That you’ll look at me differently
Ever since the first moment I spoke your name
From then on I knew that by you being in my life
Things were destined to change ’cause…
~Musiq Soulchild, Love
1.Dutch – It’s Not All About Your Ass
*taps on mic and clears throat to sing: mi, mi, mi, mi, mi *
The joys of selfishness are not a welcome tenant on the ship of relations. This should be an obvious fluent language right? Well, in some ways it is. Most of us know it’s not fair to be in a relationship and expect the other person to never drink all the orange juice and in fact, that is not YOUR orange juice (if you are living together). Of course, you have to share things like the bathroom and the blanket and make time for each other’s passions and families – all things that reiterate that selfishness has no place.
But what about the hidden selfish traits and beliefs that we carry around inadvertently? How does one uncover these secret selfish ways and thoughts? I’ve been with someone for over a year now and we have a beautiful, infectious relationship that everyone who has met us can tell we are a forever type of love. But I’ve never been in a forever type of relationship before. I have only invented outcomes, most times by way of poetry, of what it would or could be. I have never been tasked with taking a deep breath and surveying how I treat the person I’m with. I say this without a victim mentality, but I have always been the one mistreated. I mean, as my main readers know, I stand full of flaws and fucked up stuff that I have done to people I have claimed to love. But I was never taken to task in a way that caused me to reflect on myself. To add to that, there wasn’t any time to. I had to keep eyes wide open to how I was being treated so that I could call out the poor behavior and boy did I keep a pocket full of stone ass niggas with poor fucking behavior.
Well, when you are no longer being MIStreated, you don’t have to ‘watch’ how you are being treated as hard and as much. There are levels of trust that reign down and you don’t have to watch your own back as you come to understand (and trust that) this person actually has it for you. This is great, but this also turns the mirror on YOU. When you don’t have to watch your own back anymore, then you can actually see how much you been fronting on love.
In my case, my mirror has shown me many ways that I have made this relationship be all about me and that’s not always a good thing. Matter a fact, if that were a good thing at all, then I would be single…right? I mean, if it’s all about my feelings, my needs, my past, my ways that you need to tiptoe around, my methods, my triggers and my haunting ghosts, etc, at what point is about him? And how fair is it to never be about him? When will it be US? When we argue, it is about me. Not what I did or said that was hurtful; but how the reaction was hurtful to me. And that’s ok to some degree. Life is 10% what happens, 90% how you react. Reactions can make or break your point. I’ve learned this hard way. But there can’t be a REaction without a first action, so at what point do I look in the mirror I’m facing and say to myself ‘ok, let me check myself because this behavior I’m exhibiting is a spawn of something else.”
By the time I decided to throw myself back into the dating pool in 2015, I had a mental list of qualities I wanted from a man, things I would not accept and an ever-growing list of shit to be on the lookout for. I only ‘dated’ (loosely used term) a small amount before I met the person I am with but with each guy I was able to pinpoint signs of stuff from different lists (mostly the shit-to-be-on-the-lookout-for list…it’s an easy list apparently). In this relationship, those signs do not exist, therefore we do. But this is when the thin line of selfishness and togetherness attempt to criss-cross. When you become involved with someone, it might be easy to think that you are supposed to be fighting for your right to be loved correctly. There is a degree of truth to that. But if you are fighting so much for YOU, at what point are loving them?
At what point are you alert, awake and involved in your current relationship and not currently living by way of past baggage? Let’s say you both are ‘looking out for self’ while in a committed relationship together (assuming it’s healthy as this entire blog is ONLY in regards to a healthy relationship). Who is looking out for the other and who is being loved for real? This is a real life conversation that took place in my relationship that gave me cause for pause because I had never looked at it like that before.
“So what you’re saying is I can’t look out for me anymore?!!!”
….followed by stuff like: “But I’ve always looked out for me!!”, & “If I don’t scan the area and make sure I’m good, who will?” , & “How dare you suggest I not protect myself or lookout for myself”
IYiYi… …this is why they say love is hard. The hard part lies in looking in the mirror and check yourself in the name of saving and protecting not YOURSELF, but your relationship, which if it’s a healthy one, automatically includes YOU. It’s not about your ass anymore!!!! And on the flipside of that, you are not letting go of your self-concern – you are rerouting it to include someone else who, on the opposite end, is looking out for your best interest. THIS is the relationship we all want and imagine we have many times but don’t. Trust me, like I said in the beginning, I’ve written many poems and lived them out in the lies of my love life. I wrote a whole book of poetry on one nigga that stopped reading me after page one. Shit happens.
If you are with someone who is giving you the best they have, it’s their job to look out for you and your job to look out for them. If you both are watching your own backs, then two things are happening:
1. No one is looking forward.
2. Yaw don’t have each other’s backs.
You each have your own. In other words, you are exhibiting single behavior in a 2-party relationship.The idea is to trust – if that trust is not there, then why are you? Trusting someone isn’t exclusive to monogamy. Trust is a well-rounded word that encompasses many areas of the relationship and when that trust is there in full, then it’s ok to excuse yourself from the watchtower of your own lighthouse and join the duel space at the top of the [relation]ship with your partner by your side.
To love someone requires the breaking down of one’s self. You have to be selfLESS enough to let go of old habits, thoughts, desires, PLANS, etc that were created with a single person in mind. You have to change your route up on some things and other things will have to die off (see #2). All in the name of love.
Love is a selfless, action word. Loving someone else requires that you open yourself to a new type of growth; no more single growth. No more superwoman (or superman) growth. This is now your growth as an individual AND as a partner. Your outlook on different aspects must be open to change. If you look at my blog, “The Real Tea“, you’ll see me writing from the battlegrounds of my single vs plus-one life. I’m not single anymore so those exact plans for leaving in October 2016 won’t work with someone who has children in Indianapolis. . . unless I wanted to choose ME only. And that would be ok if I did. If I wanted to say fuck this relationship, I want what I want the way I planned, then kudos for me for having the balls to stand up and do that, IF that’s what I really wanted in the grand scheme (as opposed to the here and now). You always have to do what’s best for you and sometimes that comes from trial and error and other people will hurt because of it. But that’s why they say love is a choice. And when deciding to be with someone else, you’ve decided to choose the needs and goals of the relationship over 100% self-oriented plans. It doesn’t mean I have to live my life out in Indianapolis. It just means it will be a little longer and WE will plan this grand leap together.
2.Greek – You Will Die and Tears Will Be Shed
A few weeks back, I wrote a blog on people dying and being reborn again. No, not reborn as a Christian, but reborn as a living, breathing human. It was a story I wrote from my life in current, that had me questioning my happiness while fighting my answer (yes, I am extremely happy and that makes me uncomfortable). It has been a constant battle for me to find comfort in being in love with someone who is visible and physically yolked up and in love with me. Trusting that (see number 1) has been like pulling my own teeth one by one. Allowing him to be free to love me hasn’t been simple. That blog was me having the epiphany that for once I have everything that I want and everything is going well, very well in fact, and that makes me fearful subconsciously. As a result, I begin to react in an almost self-sabotaging way.
I create drama out of nothing. Find attitudes in the midst of laughter. I get angry and lose control. I go backward. I go find the old relationships that I had become some accustomed to fighting and ‘self-protecting’ and I dredge them up just enough to react in them rather than be right where I am, with who I am. In other words, I get mad that I’m happy and scared it’s all a front or a cruel joke on me and I react based on my past. All of this has threatened to kill my relationship….but the funny thing is, he won’t go. He’s like IDGAF how hard it is or how long it takes or what it takes – I’m staying. And we’re going to get this right.
Say what? That throws me every single time. Because anytime we beef and I go off the deep end (which honestly is too often…stay tuned for the blog on me confronting myself for real), as I stated earlier, I’m arguing with my past as my refuge so I’m expecting past results. I expect him to leave. To walk out on me and everything we’ve promised to each other and have begun to build but he doesn’t. And truthfully, it’s been hard to actually SEE that for the lack of trust. The lack of trust is nothing he’s created – it’s a monster I have pulled from the graveyard of ExWhy Chromosomes failures and it has no place in this relationship.
That’s a hard language to learn like Greek. Sure the bag lady is gonna miss her bus if she don’t hurry up but if the beat goes too hard for her to get the full message, she might just be running in circles with bags in tow. In a healthy relationship, you don’t get to hold on to your past as reasoning forever. You express what the past has done to you and how it has shaped you and you work on killing off the dead leaves, letting go of old luggage and loving in the current – but you can’t hold the past as your way of reacting to the present. It’s not about your definition of love, it’s about the other persons. This was another real convo at home. He/She is not going to love you for the reasons YOU deem lovable; they will love you for the reasons they deem it. Why? Because it’s them falling in love with you and it’s their love on the line. You don’t get to dictate what they love about you or why. Or for how long. The same goes with the shoe on the other foot. There is much dying to do once you get involved on a safe ship. That death will bother you. It will crush you in some ways. It will hurt your feelings. You will resist some of it. #GrowingPains.
Go ahead and confront what needs to be confronted so your other half can watch your back while you bury the dead parts and give way to a new birth. A fresh crown. One that will be cared for delicately and not stained, chipped and broken.
3.Spanish – You Can Kill Their Blessings (Soul Ties)
When dealing in soul ties, if you have not given yourself the proper chance to cut loose old ties, you will stand in the way the growth of your future. We don’t know sometimes that we are still carrying people with us. Sometimes we do, but the ways we are carrying them are ways we think we ‘need.’ I recently read a FB post where a woman was applauding herself for letting go of the last of her past – the last connection she had to a scary place. She was proud as she should have been. But what she let go of was something she legit thought she needed until she realized she would be ok without it (and any inconvenience its absence causes will come into a blessing soon enough).
What I have learned is therapy is sometimes VERY necessary (as I begin now to seek it myself). Sometimes you really do need someone else who has an unbiased, objective opinion to help you not just express what you have internally that you may not have healed in full from, but how to put into ACTION the lessons you’ve learned and bring the energy you desire your way. People always say “you attract what you are.” Oh ok. Well, if I keep attracting shitty people that don’t mean it’s a lot of shitty people? That means I’m a shitty person?
Nah. I don’t accept that in full. To some degree perhaps, but I also think that sometimes learn things and then don’t know how to act in them in the moment we need to. So whether you need to read a lot of extra books and do some research on cutting soul ties or light candles, or find a life coach/spiritual mentor, the cutting of soul ties is not necessary just so you don’t have to feel the feelings – it’s necessary so those ties don’t inadvertently block the blessings of your companion. I heard it as loud as music in a car turned on MAX VOL.
“If you don’t stop behaving like this, you will ultimately block his blessings, which if you two are going to be one, his blessings are yours, therefore . . . ”
Yeah. I was walking down my hallway after an argument about something really petty. This was a time where I had gone overboard and as I walked away with steam coming out of my head, I heard that sentence. It hit me hard because we have been hit with so many blessings from God and in this instance, I saw how I was taking it all for granted. Not just the blessings, but the person as well. Honestly, I’ve shown my ass in this relationship and it’s been 90% unnecessary. #RealTalk
And when I heard what I believe to be God speak that to me – I knew that if I continued to act like this as often as I do with no goal of getting better, my energy was going to begin to negatively impact other things and areas within this relationship. It’s important to know that when you are in a relationship, you are not alone anymore. YOU ARE NOT ALONE ANYMORE I SAID !!!!!!!! EVERYTHING is two people. So that negativity you exude so confidently …that won’t just bite YOU in the ass; that could bite him (her). We have to be awake, alert and involved in the idea that in a relationship, there are two people on the ship. Our soul ties can keep us reacting in a certain way or behaving in a way that we otherwise wouldn’t so it’s important to make sure you get those cut. Not everything will be cut before you get in a new, healthy relationship (gotta keep stressing HEALTHY), so expect to do some cutting and maybe even identifying, together! The single-minded mentality must end stat. Don’t let your pride stifle their progression…or yours.
4. French – You Need A Couple of Inspire
What is love without inspiration? Everyone needs to be inspired. Inspiration can come in many forms so there is no wrong answer on who or what exactly inspires you. But as an individual and in my opinion, as a couple, you need a source of continued inspire for your relationship. Why?
Well, what does inspiration do exactly? Let’s do my favorite thing! DEFINITIONS !!!
Fill (someone) with the urge or ability to do or feel something, especially to do something creative. So, to be inspired means to be filled with an urge to make a move. I hope my blog is inspiring to someone, if not everyone. I hope one person reading this is inspired to look into the validity of these languages I’ve designated necessary for relationships. What I say may or may not be truthful for everyone, but it hopefully will, in the language of Gary Chapman, at least open up the door to in-depth conversation.
<<<can’t get rid of this BS. O.O
That’s the way couple inspiration works. I don’t think there is anything wrong with two people having other couples that inspire them to be greater as partners and individual people. Other healthy relationships remind you of the importance of having that other person. If they are your personal friends or family, they can be a source of comfort or a safe place for conversation when things get tense. Mostly, couples of inspiration serve as a reminder that love isn’t perfect or easy, but it’s worth it…and that it IS possible. I think black people especially need couples of inspiration.
Also, WHO inspires you isn’t up for debate. It’s not a public decision. So if that’s Jay and Bey, who are on my list, or Desi & Lucy, it’s up to YOU! Ossie & Ruby, who were not only a power couple in Hollywood but they were die-hard activists together who’s love story was so palpable that they played a couple on film, are sure-fire sources of relationship Light in my opinion. Michelle and Barack, Megan Goode and Devon Franklin are a few others – look for couples who don’t pretend to have it all or be perfect. Look for people who aren’t ‘in the moment’ or all over the front pages. When I say inspiration couple, I don’t mean famous. Inspirational couples should have an air of privacy to them. They should be a dream team of two. It can be family, it can be animals, it can be puppy love or golden love. You decide who inspires you to be great as a couple.
They should inspire you to reach high and hard and never give in. They should inspire and remind you that love wins, every single time. That’s why I loved Lemonade. I didn’t really sit around and try to guess and piece together whether it was a true story or not or speculate when Beyonce would serve Jay w/divorce papers. If you did, you missed the point of it all. Her final video to the project, which is my favorite song from that album, was a tale of love winning out, despite the times that it could have faltered. She didn’t tell a story of a perfect relationship but rather one that has endured true hurt and pain – but one that was bigger than that very hurt and pain. Something that was too rare and too necessary to just be thrown away. That’s love. Like it or not, if you think the folks who have been together for 50+ years have not gone through some shit where the average person would have sought the help of lawyers for, then get out of a relationship and start researching just what love really is.
English – Know the 5 Love Languages
Gary Chapman was on to something and this blog is NOT here to refute any of it. I believe in the Five Love Languages. They are of great importance to know. How can you make your person happy if you don’t know what it is they like or what speaks to their happiness the most? There is no sense is buying dozens of roses for a woman who hates flowers right? It’s the same w/these love languages. They give you a way to see a direct line of communication of love. They are real.
I believe I speak all five languages. Yeah, I took a quiz way back when and I believe my language was tapped as Physical Touch. I don’t remember, but I went ahead and took it again for this blog to see what it would say. Well, I can say I was leaning towards exactly what the results are: Acts of Service/Quality Time/Words of Affirmation – I scored all the same on these and they are the highest. Physical Touch was next, off by one point and Receiving Gifts was last.
Um, I love gifts tho !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
LMAO! Well, as I have always thought of myself, IAM all five love languages. I don’t regard one higher than the other but honestly, if I had to choose, it would be in the exact order it’s in. Receiving gifts would absolutely be last (but I love gifts BAE if you’re reading).
LOL! Love languages are important tho. Seriously. Don’t read this blog and think they aren’t. Go ahead and take the quiz if you haven’t before and see for yourself what your love language is. If you are in a relationship, you and your partner should absolutely read this book. It’s only going to open up healthy dialogue and open doors to learning each other in an emotionally intimate way. Do it.
And while you’re at it, apply my additional five as well !!! Kill off what’s dead, open yourself up to trusting yourself (if you trust you, then it becomes easier to trust who you’ve chosen to be with and trust), get some inspiration, remember you’re a couple now and not a single and get the book and grow !!!
Love is hard. It really is.
But it’s so worth it. Some people don’t mind spending their lives alone and I would personally rather die by my damnself rather than spend 25 seconds with a shitty person pretending to love me right. But when you have something worth dying for – die for it.
For those unaware, I was molested when I was young girl. I would guess my age to be around 8 or 9 years old. I don’t remember my age as much as I remember the pleated green skirt I had on the night it happened. My molesters were twins; teenagers that my grandmother agreed to watch while her friend and their mother set about on some journey that she couldn’t take them to. I don’t remember the exact reason why they stayed with us but they were supposed to be there for two weeks. It was four of them: Two twin brothers, one older brother and one sister. They were all older than me but since I was an only child and they were just teenagers, no one really thought much about us ‘playing’ together. The twins took turns molesting me although neither ever actually penetrated me. The words “Don’t that feel good” are still in my head from one of them rubbing his penis on top, up and down my vagina. The other one would sit me on his lap until he got hard and then rub me up and down on it in clothes burning fashion. I wonder if it was because they were twins that they shared the same affinity for taking advantage of a young girl.
I remember so much about the night they both violated my childhood that you’d be hard pressed to get me to say it never happened. I never told anyone and I don’t really know why. The last day they were at our house happened to be the same night as a card party at my mom’s house, where their mother was returning to pick them up. Although I had been molested, I didn’t fear them. I was on the porch when the older brother, a lighter skinned young man with a low ceaser fade, went and jumped off the side of the house and tried to lure me back there with him. The side of the house was dark so no one would see anything that was going on over there. He always knew what the twins had done to me but never participated. That night, their last night, he decided to try to get his kicks in. I wonder was there a conversation or did he have the same electrical connection to the twins that traveled back and forth across all three of the synopsis. I don’t think the sister knew anything but then to again, I could be wrong because the most I remember about her is that she stole my mom’s flip flops during that stay and my mother and I walked up 40th street, past Pennsylvania and a little bit further to find get those back. My mom has always hated a thief. But back to the porch and the older, lighter skinned brother. He was motioning for me to join him on the side while all the adults had their attention occupied and no one else was watching us. I didn’t go. He pulled his penis out right there and showed it to me. I remember looking at a long, skinny, light penis and telling him no before running back in the house. That was it. I never saw them again after that night. I don’t know their names or what they look like. I could be in front of them at the grocery store and not even know it. But I will always remember the innocence they stole from me.
It changed me right then and there. It shaped so much about me sexually that there was no way I could stand a fighting chance unless I told someone of my dirty little secret and received some help as a result. Since I kept this quiet, the only thing I could do was grow up. I was watching porn shortly after that and really couldn’t understand why. By the time I was a teenager, I was into boys and sex and couldn’t understand why. I was talked about, fought, picked on and fucked with and despite the challenges that all that presented on my day to day life, I changed nothing while at the same time not understanding why I was doing the things I was doing when they were almost always not my desires. I wonder if I thought they didn’t need my permission as much as they need for me to assume the position?
My life has been a never-ending battle of permission VS positioning ever since. In the predecessor to this blog, AMuseD, I spoke a few times on battling my ability to SAY NO and then to stick to it. I would have sex when I didn’t want to because I felt powerless. It took a life changing situation between me and a man I respected greatly to help me learn how important my NO was when I said it…and how even more important it was for ME to stick to it. I was in my late 20s when I learned I didn’t OWE my body to men just because they were men. I’ve written poems and blogs about my struggles because I knew I wasn’t the only person who understands this life but I would be one of the few who would be this transparently vocal about it.
So exactly how should a man handle a woman who’s been molested? NOTE: Not EVERY man will be privy to this sensitive information. I am speaking this blog from the perspective of a relationship where secrets and past vital information is shared knowledge.
This question has been something I’ve wondered for YEARS and have never spoken aloud or received voluntary information in regards to. So we all know you can’t let the past ruin your future right? We know that we can’t stay stuck in the past and things that have happened to us; you must fight and find your way to healing and understanding (if there is any…sometimes there isn’t). But being molested isn’t something that folks just ‘get over.’ Being molested effects EVERYTHING about you and there is no exception to this rule. While we all might have different ways of reacting, we all greatly and profoundly affected for the rest of our lives by the actions of child (and adult) predators. The younger you are, the more of a determining factor it might have on your life. I didn’t even know why I was watching porn or what I got out of it but I was watching. I even got caught watching it one day and received an ass whooping and punishment but no real questions on what the hell would make an eight or nine-year-old little girl be interested in watching the Beverly Hills Humpers. #TrueTitle Having your innocence taken usually comes at the expense of who or what you change into as a result. Did you hear this line? Let’s think on it for a second:
“…cause men take my no with the proverbial grain of salt
Like I don’t have the right to not to want to have sex
I am but an extension of man
And if he needs to plug into me to become whole again, then there I should be
Legs spread like country crock
Waiting on his city cock….
………….but I don’t want no thing sometimes….and I don’t say nothing sometimes….”
Think on those lines for a second. I had to experience a man making me feel like I consented to him raping me before something actually clicked and said ‘this can’t continue.’Do people really think a woman just jumps out into life with sexual issues this deep? This has to start from somewhere. This type of mentality, this type of belief of one’s sexual freeness (free meaning able to say yes OR no at your will) can result in death of self in many ways including but not limited to physically. So as the woman who dares not to live a life as a victim, what do you do? What do I do? What have I done so far? Because truthfully speaking if something is NOT done, if this is not confronted in a way seeking to break all chains, it will rear it’s head in any/every relationship the woman finds herself in. She will have to deal with the damages done to her soul eventually – the question is do you deal when you ‘cross that bridge’ and realize there is no choice but to confront your truth OR do you try to take care of this before you dating (ideal way) and if that’s the case, how can you be sure that nothing about your prior abuse will create issues in the future? Do I think too hard or doubt too much? I’ve been told so by many.
On the flip side of that coin, men love sex. They just do. There is no way around this equation and although I’m sure there is a man and his gang of single friends who is not overjoyed with the thought or act of sex, the truth is most men (IMO) love sex and lots of it. When in a relationship, married or otherwise, the man’s subconscious tells him ‘if I’ve made it official, then I officially get unlimited pussy.’ Pussy gets a break when the bleeding comes in. All other times should be open to fuckfest (insert year). Am I saying men are driven solely by their penis? No. But I am saying that while both men and women enjoy sex, men have more of an urgency for it than women. This isn’t always the case and I know that. Please understand this blog is not generalizing everyone. I’m only able to speak from my perspective and my life experiences, which is why I use myself as examples all the time. I stand to be corrected when I am wrong and I could be wrong here but this is my current perception of the world from my nearly-38 years of wheeling and dealing around here. Now, let’s talk some brief stats real quick.
I’m not a fan of statistics, but every now and again, I believe they are on to something. According to the National Center for Victims of Crime One in Five girlsis a victim of sexual child abuse whereas one in twenty boys is a victim. It also goes to say that self-report studies show twenty percent of adult women and five-ten percent of adult men recall a sexual assault/abuse during their childhood. Those are large numbers and that means that when it comes to women, out of every five women you meet, at least one of them has been molested. I believe the odds are higher than that. I’ve sat in a circle of five women on more than one occasion and there was no one with their hand up for the ‘raise your hand if you’ve never been molested’ call and response. This isn’t even including women who have been sexually assaulted as adults and all that comes with that (police reports – to file or not file, rape kits – more trauma, trying to move on, fear lurking, etc)
With all this being said, let’s double back to relationships and dealing with each other.
How does a man handle a woman sexually who has experienced sexual trauma in her life? How do they, as a couple, manage to not let that past trauma affect their current relationship, specifically in the bedroom? You have to know that there will be some issue or another. Should a man ask himself if he can truly deal with, or if he’s willing to attempt to deal with, a woman who’s been sexually traumatized? Because the thing is, it’s no small feat. It’s not an easy thing to do. There are feelings that victims have that can’t be explained away in a conversation or an argument about sex. There are emotions that victims try to hide and think they are safe and healed from that only during an actual relationship are they called to confront again.
A woman, when she has sex, lets someone inside of her. Penetration opens that woman up and puts her body in a vulnerable position: she can and will take in more than a penis. She also takes in energy, good or bad. She essentially takes in the DNA makeup of the person she is sleeping with. Penetration, at its nucleus, is demanding. It is masculine (IMO). It is dominant. This physical submission in the form of open legs and relaxed body is supposed to come with the permission of the woman. But when she has experienced someone take from her as a child –
her right to give permission
Her right to say no thank you.
Her right to have closed legs
Her right to no desire or even know/want to know what sex is
Her right to be left alone
– sometimes that submission can be a challenge. Listen, it’s not about letting the past control your life. Victims of sexual trauma would love nothing more than to not be led by the memories that haunt them. But sexual abuse is and the effects of it can stick around for your entire life and a woman can have ‘flair ups’ or ‘triggered’ reactionary moments because of them. Penetration can sometimes feel so intrusive and unsavory and it will have nothing to do with the person. It’s the woman. She needs….something. But what? Patience from him? Understanding? A counselor? Sex therapy?
What does the woman, who’s in a relationship with a man, need to do in an effort to keep a healthy, vibrant relationship that doesn’t lack sexual appetite when she was once a victim of sexual abuse that at times rears its ugly head? Who does she talk to when the man is fed up with not being pleased sexually? Does she risk him cheating? Does faking it work? Does she need to try harder to forget the things that happened to her if they have any effect on her physically and how does that happen? Exactly what does that look like?
And then to that point, what is the man’s job? Does he continue to push her to have sex? Does he love her right where she is and go get sexually pleased by someone else and use this as the reason? Does he have a point if he does that? Does he suggest counseling and if so, should he go with her? Sometimes or always? What if he’s tried to be understanding, timid, and respectful of her needs but is now at a point where his needs are being all but forgotten? What should he do? Leave her?
I don’t come with answers to any of this. I’m here with nothing but questions. Sex is such an integral and necessary part of relationships and it can’t be avoided. But sometimes, for some women, there isn’t always that burning desire to have sex and as much as of it as possible. Sometimes, women want to chill. They don’t want their bodies penetrated but they would love to kiss and touch. For many people this is NOT acceptable; or at least not in large doses. Does she owe her man her body? Is it really a woman’s JOB to have sex with her man as much as possible? Should she expect to have sex in between each period because the period is your ‘break time?’ Is that REALLY a fucking thing?
There are so many questions when you are a victim of sexual trauma. Sexual abuse is the type of traumatic event that occurs to people that others who have never experienced can’t always understand why one hasn’t moved further along in the healing process. They don’t [always] understand where all the questions you have come from. People also tend to think if you were abused as a child, it shouldn’t have any effect on your day to day living, and if you were abused as an adult, some folks believe you should be thick-skinned enough at this point to be able to deal with it in a healthy way, which is an interesting way of thinking considering the act was not healthy so how is the response to it expected to ever be? Folks want you to play by the same set of rules as everyone else when your truth is different from the healthy norm. Your moments of remembering aren’t controlled by you and for some of us, we’ve spent a great deal of life on emotional auto-pilot so we definitely aren’t in control of what has some triggering effect on us or when we will close up and need to be left alone until it passes.
I guess that’s where doctors and therapy come in.
Again, this wasn’t a blog that you would find answers in; nothing here but questions this time around. I never think about the twins that molested me or their brother that tried to join in on the fun. I really don’t. I don’t think about being violated or what happened. It’s not something that sits in my immediate consciousness. I’ve placed in that brain space that is not ever accessed.
But that doesn’t change my physical reactions, which sometimes, I don’t control even when I want to. Idk. I just have nothing but questions. . . What happens to the sexually traumatized woman who wants a healthy relationship with a man but can’t feed his sexual appetite as necessary?
Does she give up on love altogether?
Does her partner hold any accountability for being patient? And let’s say the answer to that is yes, how long does one expect he can just be patient before he becomes a patient in another nurse’s bed?
The juxtaposition of love and life are often a collision course of lessons learned and bridges burned. In order for even the healthiest of relationships to work, both parties must be secure in each other. He must be feel secure that his sexual needs will be tended to and that’s fair. No one likes a cheater. She must feel secure that in the midst of enjoying and taking care of sexual needs, she is not treated like or left to feel like sex is the end all, be all of their relationship. She shouldn’t feel pressure and he should balance his need with understanding. For someone who’s been molested and someone who hasn’t been, how does that work? What exactly does that look like Sway?
But for real tho, who actually makes it out of this life shit alive?
Her name was Tarika Wilson and she was a 26-year-old mother of a one-year-old son, as well as five other children. Her boyfriend was a suspected drug dealer who the SWAT team was looking for in January 2008 when they busted into Tarika’s home and shot both her and her child due to an obstructed view. She was huddled in a room with her six kids. Her boyfriend was later caught and plead guilty to drug trafficking. Her son survived being shot by Sgt. Joseph Chavalia but had to have a finger amputated.
Tarika died from her injuries in front of her six children. Officer Chavalia was acquitted of any criminal activity and remains a police officer (although not on patrol). The city of Columbus, OH settled with Tarika’s family for $2.5 million dollars. That’s about ten percent of what the civil courts awarded Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman’s families after their deaths (see: Dear Nicole: A Perspective on Race & Guilt ).
Aiyanna Jones – The recognizable name of the seven-year-old little girl whose life ended because she was asleep on a couch when SWAT barreled into her grandmother’s house trying to serve a warrant and film a television show. Who were they looking for? Her father, who was suspected of providing a gun to Chauncey Owens; the man accused of shooting and killing 17-year-old Je’rean Nobles because he didn’t like how Nobles looked at him. Owens has since been convicted and sentenced to life for the murder while Jones was sentenced to 40-60 years for his role. Aiyanna was shot in the head after police threw a grenade in the house and began shooting with an obstructed view.
35-year-old mother of two, Alesia Thomas was shown on video handcuffed and with her feet in restraints, unable to protect herself as Officer Mary O’Callaghan repeatedly punched and kicked her in the throat and crotch area in the back of the police car. “I”m going to punt you in your pussy” ~Officer O’Callaghan. She complained that she couldn’t move but her complaints were greeted with more punches and mishandling. She eventually fell unconscious and was pronounced dead at the hospital. The coroner ruled her death undetermined. Officer O’Callaghan was convicted of felony assault and sentenced to 36 months in jail. She won’t serve the entire sentence. That much we already know.
Earledreka White is a 28-year-old black clinician who was pulled over in Houston, TX. White claims that despite remaining calm, the responding officer escalated the situation by yelling and threatening to tase her. This resulted in White calling 911 to request the presence of other officers. The entire conversation is on tape as is the confrontation between White and Officer Gentian Luca who seemingly grew impatient and began to roughly grab White in an effort to restrain her (*while she was on the phone with 911*). A tussle ensued with White yelling and screaming for the officer to stop and calm down. She can be heard on tape screaming that she is a woman and this force is unnecessary but it doesn’t end until she’s handcuffed, arrested and charged with resisting. She spent two days in jail.
Joyce Quaweay, 24 years old, was handcuffed, stripped of all of her clothing and beaten to death by her 39-year-old boyfriend while his homeboy helped to restrain and hold her for the beating. Her two children, both girls, were watching. Both of these men served as police officers at Temple University, although the boyfriend had been previously fired. I can’t even bring myself to type his name as I think of this woman’s final hours. She was stripped of her dignity and treated like a wild animal until succumbing to death from internal injuries. I can’t imagine. Or, maybe I can and that’s part of the problem. My ex tried to snatch the blanket off of me one time when I was at home chilling in my undies. He came in with his friend, drunk and high and of course an argument ensued. He tried to expose me in front of his friend and I lost it. We began fighting and I ended up with him on top of me, choking me. His friend stood there and watched. So yeah, maybe I can imagine it too much.
And now…The complicated story of Korryn Gaines, who was shot in the head and killed by SWAT who came to her apartment with a warrant on a misdemeanor charge. The police have admitted to firing the first shots and claim that Gaines had a shotgun pointed at them. They also claim she returned fire and that it’s possible she shot her son in the arm. I guess his five-year-old arm wouldn’t have been blown off by a close-range shotgun. **The police have come forward and admitted that it was their bullets that shot Korryn’s son in the CHEEK; not the arm. I take grand issue with the police kicking in the door and blindly shooting while there are children present. And since when did the police become the overseers of truth? Can we take their word now? I’m reading from BLACK PEOPLE how ‘well the police said…’ –
Wait…what??!!! Oh, so you believe the cops now? Just three weeks ago we all called the media and the police liars but now all of a sudden, we can believe the word of a police force that serves misdemeanor warrants with SWAT teams? Because Korryn Gaines wasn’t a docile creature lacking personal protection from the same people we so freely refer to as’ gangs with badges’, that means the police and news outlets are now credible? You can hear the cops on tape during the traffic stop with Ms. Gaines saying they needed to take her phone and delete the footage. But ok. Whatever they say goes, in this case, huh? Serious question for black people: Do black lives only matter when they are playing house niggas despite the fact that lying next to ‘Master’ and eating the cleaned KYs never stopped a slave from being lynched? What are the perimeters that will allow for a black life to truly MATTER? All over social media you can find hundreds of turncoat ass black, woke folks running around looking like white supremacy in blackface and sounding like kissing cousins of klansmen.
‘That bitch brought it on herself.”
“She had a gun pointed at the police”
“I’ll be a bitch ass black man, but I’m not supporting her stupid ass mistake”
“She’s clearly just plain dumb. I mean, she think she’s a lawyer & going to put a Jedi mind trick on the cop. Take a Uber. Heck, hire an attorney if you think you’re being harassed.
If she had some undiagnosed mental disorder…I don’t want to sound harsh but she reminded me of Damon Wayans prison philosopher from Living Color. She’s a bit touched.”
***Commentary like this makes me wish I could email vomit directly to people. #BaaBaaBlackSheep
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is described as the following (according to the National Institute of Mental Health):
PTSD is a disorder that develops in some people who have experienced a shocking, scary, or dangerous event. It is natural to feel afraid during and after a traumatic situation. Fear triggers many split-seconds changes in the body to help defend against danger or to avoid it. This “fight-or-flight” response is a typical reaction meant to protect a person from harm. Nearly everyone will experience a range of reactions after trauma, yet most people recover from initial symptoms naturally. Those who continue to experience problems may be diagnosed with PTSD. People who have PTSD may feel stressed or frightened even when they are not in danger.
Some of the key phrases that I picked out from that definition were: “experienced a shocking, scary, or dangerous event”, “fight or flight response”, “meant to protect”, “stressed or frightened even when they are not in danger.”
What type of things would cause these sorts of reactions? War. Domestic Violence. Car accidents. Child and Sexual Abuse. There are a plethora of other reasons, but here’s one for the unwritten books: Living While Being Black. It is not a secret that black people experience PTSD as a result of our American experiences directly and indirectly. Below you will see the Google results for a “PTSD Black People” search:
We’re talking about a system designed to withhold a race of people as a whole. A system that doesn’t provide us justice, that kills us and puts us on a trial for our own murders and a country full of closeted and outright racists, bigots and prejudiced people that we must contend with day in and day out. We work with these people and in some cases, live near them. Racism isn’t something we can outrun. It sits right in front of our faces and thanks to the rise of technology and social media, we are able to experience racism first hand without ever leaving our houses. I recently told my sister, it must be nice to not NEED to know what an entirely different group of people have going on. White people have that privilege. Too often I have heard or seen white people who don’t know who Trayvon Martin is or what took place in Ferguson or the true history of slavery, civil rights and why we ever hashtagged #BLM. But again, they don’t have to know. None of that information will make or break their lineage. The names we are all too familiar with like Rekia Boyd, Amadou Diallo, and Oscar Grant are as foreign to many white people as African Dialect. Black people are not the threat to them that many believe we are, therefore, nothing we are doing or have going on is something they NEED to know about. Black people, on the other hand, need to know everything. We have to watch everyone: our own people, white people, and other races of people. We have to know what the left hand, right hand, middle man, sound and tech crew, and security are all doing. We don’t have an opportunity to let our guards down because history has continued to confirm at any moment our lives could change forever or end because of the hands of ANYONE else. Tell me again how this isn’t traumatizing?
See, it’s not so black and white to say ‘that bitch was tripping.’ The question becomes WHY was THIS WOMAN tripping (was she really tripping tho???) and what made her that way? It’s the same concept behind calling a woman a ho. How she became a ho is NEVER the question. Folks fall in formation to call her out of her name, reduce her to trash and consider her disposable black trash. Same goes with Korryn Gaines. Let’s completely ignore what might make a Black woman have that type of reaction to the police. One commenter on FB accused her of ‘wanting to be a lawyer.’ Is this because she asked the cop for proof of Delegation of Authority? Do you know what that is? Did you hear of it before today? Do you care? Was she too smart for you? Not submissive enough for the good, wholesome Mr. White Cop that approached her for being in the wrong? She had her kids in the car so she should know better right? IF it happened to you, you would have complied and behaved well right? And lived to tell about it…or do you even know that much? The things I’ve read from other black people are contradictory to the sentiments I’ve seen some of the same people express over this last five years. It’s interesting. Alton Sterling had a rap sheet that included statutory rape. Freddie Gray was on the backside of the law. Still, neither of these men deserved to die and black women all over the country immediately began to rally in their honor. I just wonder why our own people are so quick to condemn this woman because she broke the mold and decided to stop playing by the rules. Where is the loyalty? Why are folks giving her the ‘crazy, angry black woman’ treatment when reality has shown us that black women are in just as much danger as our here as black men?!! Reread those names at the top. That’s not all; that’s just the people I chose to include. How the eff wouldn’t I be traumatized by this madness in some way? Many people are dismissing the concept but I think PTSD played a huge role in Korryn Gaine’s death. I read several comments that said:
“She got what she wanted. She’s a hashtag now.”
I don’t think that’s what she wanted and I think we as a people are smart enough to know better than that. I think that’s what she was willing to risk becoming and many don’t understand that because most folks ain’t willing to risk anything more for the cause than space on their SD card. But I get the backlash from women. We are nurturers and protectors by nature. Our first thought is always the kids. Many women can’t get beyond her behavior while the kids were with her and I understand it. In both of these situations (the initial traffic stop & SWAT) her children present. If it were me (I would like to stress that this did not happen to me…it’s always easier to know what you would do when it’s not happening to you), with my children present, I probably would have behaved differently. I wouldn’t have made it harder than it already was but I know from experience that I would be defensive and ready for whatever. But that’s ME speaking solely from a what-if perspective and I also don’t think I suffer from PTSD…or at least not as bad as Korryn Gaines. It has also been reported that she tested positive for high lead levels in the ’90s, and filed a lawsuit in 2012 in regards to suffering from lead poisoning. Lead is that same stuff that can be found in the water in Flint, MI; the same city where trash pickup has suddenly been suspended but I digress. Until this case, I thought many other black people EXPECTED the types of reactions that are taking place regarding interactions between the police and black people. I’ve repeatedly read comments from folks who were expecting people to start snapping. Now when they do, we trash them and dehumanize them while conveniently forgetting our predictions and what got us here.
I’m tired of black people being served the death penalty for any and all crimes while white people get treated to Burger King Whoppers after killing a room full of black church-goers. #Trauma White people can always be apprehended alive to face their charges no matter what their wrongdoings are or level of artillery. What was that shit that popped off in Oregon and how is it that no one died? The argument of whether or not Korryn made the right decisions is null and void considering she is not alive to tell her side of the story. Black people are tried and sentenced to death from the comfort of the police cruiser. If this shit isn’t creating distress for anyone aside from Korryn and myself, then I guess I’m next to go postal. And if so, it’s safe to assume that some of the same people that who swear to love and care for me would be quick to turn against me and be a stool pigeon for a supremacist-style way of thinking.
I’m sick of it!!! I’m sick of black women being the ever running joke. Just yesterday I had a childish run-in with two black men who thought it was HILARIOUS to blow at my truck until I pulled over thinking something was wrong. Nothing was wrong. When I gave them the attention they begged for they lied and said my tire was flat, and could barely keep a straight face before admitting they were “just kidding”…and then drove away.
O.o Are you kidding me? My time, my life and anything I’m doing or have going on had no weight on the importance of them playing a joke with a complete stranger. They were passionate about getting my attention for their childish amusement but would they exhibit the same passion if I needed them to fight for me…a stranger?? The next time some man is blowing at me to get my attention, what do you think I will do? Stop? Nope. And the next person might really be trying to tell me I have a flat tire. This is what I call my personal reaction to circumstances. It may be a different reaction for someone else and to some, it might be a bit extreme. But for me and my experiences, this is what it is. I’m suddenly feeling a need to correlate Korryn Gaines to this…but you should be able to see where I’m going with it already.
Black women are fighting on every possible front. We are standing off with the police with force and with love (see: Diamonds & Pearls: Black Women on the Front of the Line ). We are fed up and it’s showing in our actions. Remember: it was a black woman who bypassed security, climbed the pole and removed the confederate flag. We are not fucking playing anymore. The docile Stepford wife shit doesn’t work in the real world. I’m tired of writing different versions of THIS same damn blog! I’m tired of how [some] black men look at us like nothing more than sex engines for their porn fantasies but won’t kill a fly in our honor and will even talk shit about us in death. It sucks not to have their full support but here’s what: if you are not down to have our backs in all ways, the same as we have yours, fuck off. It’s a shame that some men are so busy heauxtepping with their dicks in hand that they forget to use their balls for something other than fertilizing. I’m pissed so if this sounds harsh to you, STEP YOUR FUCKING GAME UP! #ByeJody
Black women are out here MANNING up. We shouldn’t have to and guess what: WE DON’T WANT TO!!!! But we will. We are the running back and the quarterback. We are guarding the ball, holding the ball, running the ball and making our own field goals and touchdowns with less and less assistance. We have to hold down our homes, raise our kids AND be our own fucking protection. No one marches when black women are killed and when they do, only a few show up. When was the last time you heard Tarika Wilson’s name? Ever? We just get a hashtag and then the world moves on. A sisterfriend recently pointed out the lack of concern for black mothers who have lost their children in this war on our lives. It’s as if they are the forgotten names buried in the growing blizzard that is America. Malia Obama is being criticized for acting like a teenager and dancing at a Lollapalooza party. I’ve seen grown ass men make disparaging comments about her and I’m wondering how many would be willing to admit that if they were AT that party, they would have tried to hit on her and her age wouldn’t have been a factor. #YeahISaidIt
If she were walking down the street, how many of the men that have suggested POTUS run out and buy a box of condoms would be willing to admit they would slide down on her and offer her a ride to wherever she let them take her?
*Sips Water *
Part of the problem is from the moment we get rosebuds on our chest, we become objects of male affection. That affection is not synonymous with mental or physical protection. ALL OF THIS SHIT IS TRAUMATIC. Korryn did not start that night off alone with her kids. Her 39-year-old boyfriend was there but when SWAT arrived, he fled the apartment. So let me see if I understand this; he left her alone with her son while SWAT was knocking on the door? Seriously? And some random *guy out in the land of Facebook has the nerve to say that black women are the bomb when we submit? MFFW? Submit to shit like this? That’s when we’re “the bomb?” When we say “Babe, the police at the door, go out the window and take the baby; I’m gonna grab the gun and hold down the fort?” Is that when we are the bomb? That’s some ass backward, woman on the outside of the curb type of thinking. Am I to believe that Korryn’s BOYfriend didn’t know her attitude towards law enforcement and what happened with the last traffic stop? Was she not worth him risking going to jail for whatever crimes he may be involved in just to make sure Korryn and the children were ok?
He left her.
I say it again. . .
HE LEFT HER.
With the kids. With the shotgun. With SWAT. With her history.
And folks are online calling HER out of her name and talking about her mental stability??!!! What if he surrendered to the police (seeing as though the story keeps evolving)…was there nothing he could have said to them in regards to her stance in general? Were the police informed and still did nothing to de-escalate? Let’s revisit the list at the top. Tarika Wilson was killed by the police who were searching for her man. Aiyanna Jones was killed by SWAT who was looking for her father, who has since been convicted of providing the gun that killed a 17-year-old innocent black teenager. Joyce Quaway was tied up and beaten to death by her man AND his friend. The common denominator here is a lack of protection from our men. It’s disappointing, disheartening and heartbreaking.
Lack of protection is killing us but folks want to get on Facebook and find blame in other places. Black men, I love you dearly. I think the world of you but let me get transparent: Some of you are failing black women!!! Yes. I said it. Some of ya’ll are failing us.
And in that failure lies the last breath of another black woman.
“Fuck that bitch, I’m not marching or supporting that shit”
#KorrynGaines shrunk the balls of niggas all over the country at once. Not only was this woman beautiful and intelligent, but she was shotgun savvy and unafraid to defend/protect herself in the manner she deemed necessary. It’s what white people have been doing since the beginning of time. It’s what Malcolm X’s shotgun picture meant to so many folks who plastered it on their bedroom walls and bought shirts, journals, and stationery if they could find it bearing that photo. Is “by any means necessary” only applicable to black men? Was the faux character Foxy Brown only as incredible as her nude shots; not when she was pulling razors from her hair and shotguns from her side?
I wrote this post August 1, 2015. Sandra Bland was still fresh on the radar and fear was trolling its way through black women everywhere.
“One of the things that sickens me is that the police approach black people like they don’t know the tension in americugh. …like they’ve never heard of Sandra Bland… Samuel DuBose.
…or any of the many names of women and men added to the growing list daily because they were unarmed and killed by the police….they approach you as if how dare you automatically feel tense?
how dare you have an attitude,
or a voice
Who are you to ask questions…
They still expect you to ……behave.
and when you don’t, shit happens.
and I guess I should be scared…
but I’m not.
And if anything should ever happen to me in police custody, I DID NOT KILL MYSELF OR HARM MYSELF.”
EpiBlogue: Last year the police were at my house looking for someone who didn’t live there. This was the third or fourth time they came and each time they came, they were dressed in SWAT gear. There were at least three each visit and the first time they tried to come in and search my house, warning me that I needed to put my dogs up. I declined their offer to walk through my house and informed them that I didn’t know the person they were looking for. On the last visit, there were four of them at my house when I pulled up. Having already gone through this on several occasions with them, I was immediately tense and fed up. Sandra Bland’s death was only weeks prior. I did not approach the officers as a “good house nigga.” I walked up feeling defensive, and knowing what I’ve seen out of the police in the recent years alone, I knew this encounter could go any way. A small back and forth ensued between the police and I and I was yelling and cussing. One of the officers kept trying to bait me so that he would be able to arrest me but I didn’t fall for it. After his first threat, I asked if I would be the next Sandra Bland. I was ready for war in that split second, although death wasn’t what I had come home for.
My friends and neighbors were outside and came to bring me to their porch while the police searched the sides and back of my house for someone who didn’t live there. The same officer continued to stare at me and trying to tempt me to say or do something. I just pulled my phone out and started taking pictures. My friends would not let me go home until the police were gone. We didn’t even really talk about them while they were there. We discussed a host of other random things. Two men and one woman, all who family to me by way of friendship. None of them were willing to let me risk it all. They knew me. They knew the police. THEY were the de-escalators. It was August 1, 2015, and I lived to tell about it.
Secretly, I wanted them to let me go. I wanted to react even though I knew better. Maybe I have PTSD. Maybe I have mental illnesses of some kind. Maybe I don’t need to be left alone with the police during hostile situations.
Thank God I have people who would protect me in life…and death. I saw a video of a local black man being pulled over by IMPD a few weeks back. He was in the wrong but as expected, he was on the defense. His defense was nothing like Korryns. He had no facts or questions for the officer. Instead, he did more taunting and unnecessarily accusing the officer of pulling him over for “being in a nice car.” Dude, many black people have Dodge Chargers. Get over yourself. The encounter was Facebook live recorded and lasted for at least 20 minutes before he exclaimed to the officer that he was writing him a ticket in order to get “payback” for a locally slain officer. He was provoking and being ignorant IMO and even the person on the speaker phone thought so. But the comment sections were littered with supportive messages and people who stood in agreeance.
I’m not debating whether or not Korryn Gaines was in the right or wrong or how she should have behaved with her children present. I will say there are things she could have done differently that MIGHT have changed the outcome, but I’m not even 100% sure of that statement. I believe at the very least, due to her behavior during the initial traffic stop and what she said to officers that she was a target for them. I believe they wanted to bring trouble her way for being what they would deem a troublemaker. I don’t think this notion is far-fetched just as her suffering from PTSD is an absolute possibility, as is lead poisoning. For me, it’s just hurtful to see how easily we dispose of each other as liabilities and trash. In her death, she has as many, if not more people denouncing her, calling her crazy and questioning her parenting as she does in support of her.
It’s ironic because that’s what white folks do to black men every time one of them is killed. Why aren’t we talking about the police shooting in an apartment, with yet ANOTHER obstructed view, in a room where children were present? Why isn’t that the outrage? Why aren’t you outraged that Korryn was shot and killed instead saying she did it to herself? Why aren’t you outraged that her son was shot in his cheek by the police, who initially said it was his arm? Or I guess anyone could mistake a shot in the arm for a shot in the face. Where is the anger at her boyfriend…who was also being served with a warrant on domestic abuse charges but I digress??? Why can’t people see the pattern here?
Why don’t you think this will happen again?
Perhaps it’s the comment sections. Folks are arguing back and forth with white supremacists and tear-filled white wannabe-victims who are throwing AllLivesMatter pity parties on the backs of dead black people and maybe that is having some adverse effects. I don’t argue with folks. I blog. You won’t change the mind of someone who is comfortable with the way they think. But people still go back and forth relentlessly. I wonder if in this back and forth, similar to the Denzel movie Fallen, is it possible for spirits to transfer?
“A wise man told me not to argue with fools
Cause people from a distance can’t tell who is who” ~JayZ
“I don’t participate in any of you guys side laws or any of that” ~Korryn Gaines
She was too loud, angry and black to be considered the revolutionary martyr that she is; she is outcast as a black sheep. It doesn’t change the facts. She was killed and her child was shot and that should NOT have happened and could have been avoided. She could have made other decisions I guess…
And so the fuck could the police. But isn’t that always the case?
#KORRYNGAINES #WeSpeakHerName #BlackWomenMatter
*****UPDATE: In February 2018, a jury awarded Kodi Gaines (Korryn’s son who was injured in the shooting) over $32 million, her daughter Karsyn was granted $4 million and her parents were awarded $300K apiece. But in February 2019, Judge Mickey Norman from the Baltimore County Circuit Court, overturned the ruling, siding with the officer and thus leaving the family with nothing: the american way for black people.
It didn’t go TOTALLY as planned and I almost tapped out of it several different times. My motivation was my readers. I know you are out there, anticipating and waiting for what I voluntarily promised would be coming. Then I thought of the test this is. I signed myself up for a tough challenge that ‘sounded good’ when I said it, but as the process of execution began, it was much harder than I anticipated. I needed more time than I realized and I thought I wouldn’t make it, but I’m here!!! I did it ! I pulled it off. My laptop is no longer accepting a charge from my battery. I really don’t know if this will even get posted and am typing as fast as I can (roughly 90 wpm). Before I close this out, I want to thank everyone who has followed this journey or joined along the way. Please go back over the blog and check out all seven in this series. This was a lot of fun in many ways and brought forth new epiphanies as I wrote. For example, I didn’t realize how much Nicole Simpson’s death paralled black people’s experiences.
I think that blog left everyone speechless. I never said it would all be hearts and bubblegum !!! 😉
I am ending this series with a few digital dedications. The first is a video challenge issued by my dear sisterfriend Naz Khalid, who’s out in Vegas. The challenge was to show our brothers some love. I wish it had have trended. It didn’t but Salute to those who participated and those who could’t or forgot (there’s still time…every day.). It’s an old poem and I messed up on it but I decided to keep it as it was….I hope you enjoy. The next is a track on my Soundcloud page that I’ve shared on Facebook before. It’s called “Preaching to the Choir” and it’s a dedication to black men. Finally, I end with a poem I wrote a couple of years ago. I will let it speak for itself …
Plus, I’m trying to out type my computer shutting off for good. I’m not buying a new battery. * le sigh*
Thank you all again for reading and commenting and sharing. Please consider signing up at the top of the page. And please do return to the #LoudMovement here at theiisneversilent.com.
SHARE THESE BLOGS ! !! Get the conversations going. If you are an ally, please take the time to read all seven blogs. If you are a racist, please take the time to read all seven blogs. And if you are here, and have not read all seven blogs, please take the time to read ALL SEVEN BLOGS !
“Will You Bury Me”
…..and he dropped to his knees
Looked her square in the center of her pupils,
Held her hand with intensity
And spoke to her, words that sounded, delightfully foreign
Words she never expected to hear in her life,
Will you bury me???
Not letting go of his grip,
Wondering what he meant,
Wondering what the appropriate response was for all she could think was what does that even mean,
And he clenched tighter,
Specifically to her ring finger and along its outer rim, he slipped on a diamond he’d saved the rest of his heart to give to that one special woman and repeated his words,
Blow for blow, confidently, syllable for syllable and though they came out in slow motion, this time it was more clear and in case it still would not have been, he accompanied this proposal with an explanation,
Tighter, he gripped tighter to her hand,
Stood up and grabbed the other and spoke those same words again,
WILL YOU BURY ME
Will you live the rest of your life with me, holding me up when I need backbone, boning me when I need front plates, kissing me tenderly, but oh just the way I need it to be me to remind me that I am king of the night, day and all the shit in between,
But beautiful darling woman Ye wants to spend the rest of life with, I am a black man
And life with me could end at any moment,
A spontaneous occurrence that has too many mitigating factors that could end me suddenly
So I say to you will you bury me
Carry my seed,
Hold creation in your womb, all while knowing we could be becoming too attached to a potential lamb,
That we may have to bury early,
He might look just like me, it will be like burying me
He could be stalked,
I could be beaten by those who take an oath to serve and protect their midnight fantasies of justified killings, they could Martin me
And I don’t mean, “I’ma do me”,
I mean AMADOU….DIABLO
our child could be removed from the world
Torn from our arms by violent arms that bear the same color arms as us,
Will you bury me,
It may take me the rest of my youthfulness to come to terms with who I am,
Will you bury me and rise me anew, will you trust in me and allow me to trust in you,
Can we do something that sparks a lasting trend hotter than marriage, will you bury me,
Stay with me, grow not just old with me, lie in the folds of me when I become weak,
Will you allow me to see you at your peak and your fall, your makeup and none at all, but will you bury me because life with me might turn volatile to your heart,
Turning your eyeliner into footprints of tears,
Justice has hardly met black skin that it will act in defense of
Will you chance sleepness nights of dreaming of verdicts that will avenge my stolen deaeth,
I can still be tied to the backs of trucks,
I can still be beaten down in the streets, mad that my last name bears exactly what I am,
Killing the King in me until I am weak but i don’t go down easy, which might mean the end of me
In black widows hats
Front row of pews that cradle the last look,
It could you be you
It can be our child
Taken up front, in front of our eyes,
What if I break the promise to never wear a hoodie,
What if my ID looks like a oozi,
What if my fixed taillight gets knocked out, cause the 60s aren’t far enough removed to be the past,
Not when everyday reminds me that I am the on the ass end of the affirmative because of the color of my skin,
It can still get me killed
Whatever we create can be pulled from beneath us, if we threaten them, they may come home to roost us,
But are you game for that
Consciously willing to fight back with me, march alongside of me, be BLACK with me,
Chance life with me
With he who could be a news story hot topic,
A debated trial,
I could be put on trial for my own death, you ready for that
Will you bury me ?
Marrying me means to endure with me….
What it means, not to be with me,
But to be wife of black man
……and she attached herself to the cord of what would become their distant unknown future….
I know people doing a wide variety of different forms of community outreach with organizations as well as on their own accord. I know mentors and teachers, devout activists with their own Not-For-Profits and volunteers. Then there are those who march and protest when the time calls for it and who are active and influential in other areas in between. I also know people who are playing Pokemon. Folks who are on vacation, shopping at Wal-Mart, watching reality TV and folks who post a daily selfie.
ALL of us are hurting for the same reasons. It’s hard to be alive right now and not feel the mental anguish being black in america causes. Like I said, I know people who know people.
There are many forms of activism available at our fingertips. There is no reason that one person should feel like they cannot contribute something in this fight for what I have now dubbed “the right to be human in America.” For every person of color and our allies, there is a way to fight back against this racist and corrupted system. It is up to YOU as an individual to determine what is the best course of action YOU can take. What one person is doing doesn’t equate to what you need to be doing; some folks are better at other stuff. And that’s ok. Other folks are on break. And guess what: That’s fine too. Check out of this thing sometimes. Mental self-care is important and you can’t be of good assistance to anything if you haven’t assured your own well being.
Every time a black life is snuffed out, a march/protest/vigil is almost immediately put in place. Contrary to what some believe, this also happens when the murderer(s) are black, not just when a white person kills a black person. There just isn’t much attention going on in the hood in regards to those who fight the crime irresponsibly known as “black-on-black crime.” #ButIDigress
When people are killed, organizers get to work contacting speakers and performers who will help bring the message home that we will not stand for this treatment in a country we built and pay to be part of. A location, time and date are secured and invites create word of mouth which hopefully draws a heavy crowd in support of black lives. Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t. Before anything else – before the bullhorns come out and the chants and the poetry and Precious Lord songs – the people are there to pay homage to a life gone too soon and there are times when very few show-up. Regardless, some folks are overwhelmed with sadness and sorrow and need to be in the presence of others who feel the same way. They need to walk alongside folks who also wonder what the answer is. They need to be among like-minds. We are starting to feel helpless and these marches reignite the diminishing fire in some of us. There are networking opportunities with a variety of allies. Although police are starting to treat #BLM protests like a terrorist threat (there is also a petition going around to have BLM classified as terrorist.), there is still strength in numbers. Protests and marches aren’t the ‘answer’ to fixing a system built on blood, but they do serve a purpose.
I know people who are playing Pokemon. I’m not one of them but I’ve seen the posts on Facebook. I still don’t quite get it but I think the allure of what it is, is actually drawing more people to the game. I’m personally not interested but I still know plenty of people who are playing it and race nor gender are factors.
But on social media, the trending topic is to take a hotep-status-piss on what other folks are doing. People are not distracted because they are playing Pokemon. They didn’t forget that Alton Sterling had to be buried and that Philando was getting buried the following day. They didn’t fall out of the fight or become useless good and wasted materials because they choose not to be in #BlackLivesMatter mode for 24 straight until change comes. If you are emotionally affected by what is happening to black people and if you are joined in on this fight for our lives, then disconnecting and going to a different headspace doesn’t automatically equal being distracted.
Also, who can tell anyone WHEN change is actually coming????
No damn body knows. When has this country ever love or truly respected black people? It’s always been like this, we are just fucking fed up with it now because it’s happening in our faces. This isn’t the resurfacing of an old practice; this is generations of racism being handed down from parents to children who turn into adults and get jobs as law officials, appoint themselves as watchers of the neighborhood and earn seats in Congress. I bet if I did the research, I could find at least one name for every year from 1930 (random year) until now of a black person killed without legit cause and without justice. Change is something we continue to seek but if we kept it 100 as we say, it’s something that many of us are starting to believe in as much as the Loch Ness Monster. With that said, why can’t a person (a human being) stop for second and reset their brain? Why can’t they tune out of looping videos and the racist online trolls and start watching Love & Hip Hop without being told they are an abomination of the black race? Why can’t I troll B.Scott’s site and see what all is going on in Hollywood to take my mind off of the reality we live in daily?
why can’t people march?
Why can’t they huddle up in front of the statehouse and scream and rally and cry together if that’s what they need right then or feel led to do? Do any of the keyboard pushers know what helplessness feels like? I’m sure you do because we are allbeing mentally fucked every single day. Justice misses the mark for us time and time again and here we are feeling like there is not enough we can do or say that will change things for all of us. We are explaining #BLM to people who are dead set on seeing it otherwise. And right now, we are all waiting on the next name to get dropped. It’s going to happen again. And with all the recent police killings (another one as of 7/20/16, Kansas City), I bet it’s already happened and just hasn’t made the popular report.
Sometimes this fight calls for you to download a goofy app and play it until your hands bleed. Or participate in organizing a march. Zoning out. Zoning in.
…..organizing what YOU think will work, on your own. Then we will all flock to your mission and help with it. Sticking together is about allowing folks the opportunity to be human – that same thing I said earlier is the fight black people are in (to be recognized as human). In our fight, we have to be careful not to alienate each other with accusations, finger pointing and all the shit that does nothing but create a bigger division. A public, bigger division.
There are 100s of ways to be an activist and if you don’t want to take on that title, there are still ways for you to be of assistance for the greater good of our race of people. Some are small baby steps and fashion statements. You can always do a personal financialboycott. You don’t have to march if you don’t want to but avoid down talking those who do. You may not want to boycott Wal-mart but take the time to find a way to be a valuable contribution to this nationwide cry for help. You don’t have to wait for someone else’s idea to be good in order to execute it. You don’t have to wait for someone to tell you to put your money in an XYZ black bank; just google and research your options and find what’s best for YOU.
There’s a statement in itself:
Research your options and find what’s best for you.
That’s what all of this is about at the end of the day. Finding what’s best for YOU as a way to help us as a community. If you are not good at being in the front speaking to the public, you shouldn’t be up there with the mic. Perhaps your best is marching and chanting. Maybe it’s organizing and planning. Maybe can use your connections and designs to make a statement. If you’re a performer, you can do or create a benefit show w/a true plan on who the money goes to and how to get it to them. The list is endless…..
I have fought the title of an activist for a long time because I feel it comes with so much responsibility and expectation that I don’t know that I always live up to. Beyond that, I just want to fight for what’s RIGHT. And that is still true, but I think that’s what makes me an activist. Yet and still, I am still in the process of finding where I belong in this fight.
I encourage all to do the same. You don’t have to do something because it’s what everyone is doing, but you do need to do something. That is if you believe that black lives matter. And when our ‘somethings’ are different, that doesn’t make either of us better than the other. It means we are working in our respective areas, doing what we do well and making a difference towards the better. That’s what matters. At the end of the day, we are all black-on-black crying together.
This may sound like a fluff blog to some. And who knows, maybe I live in the clouds. I know there are people who ain’t doing SHIT but sitting on their black asses. I don’t pretend they don’t exist, I just don’t put food on their plate. For what? There were plenty of people that did nothing in the sixties. There were plenty of slaves that were content and had made peace with living and dying as a slave. But the job still got done. The slaves still got free, the boycotts worked, as did the unity. A unified front doesn’t mean ALL; it means majority….well at least in my opinion.
I believe we need each other right now and we have too much to lose to …
…actually, make that we have lost too much already to alienate each other or spend time focusing on the folks that don’t want to be involved. Let them be. For those who are taking a break…let them take it. Let them check out. You can sit this one out loves. There are enough of us to keep the momentum going.
For those who are involved and those that want to be, I salute you. Your efforts and your dedication will never get the accolades deserved, but your time and your work will eventually snatch the edges off of the doors that have the audacity to still be closed.