A love letter to self

Dear me

Hi there, it's been a long time since we've had a real talk.
No no, I'm not talking about how I put you down and make you feel less than a person. I'm talking about a real talk. So here it goes.
I'm sorry...
No really, this time I am for real. I am really sorry.
When you looked in the mirror this morning, and I told you that your eyes had too much dark circles under them, I was just being an ass. I know it hurt, and you went on with your day concerned about it. Truth is you have dark circles because you don't get enough sleep. You don't get enough sleep because you are constantly worried about the ones you love.
Can I tell you something though? A hundred percent honesty here? You forgot about me.
You forgot about me and now you have dark circles, anxieties, and an over all broken heart.
That's why I am sorry. I know you've grown up with so many hurts, and it's wrong of me to keep kicking at you, especially when you are down.
You know, sometimes I am just a big bully.
I have to tell you. Life isn't easy. You're pudgy belly is a big sign of that. The stress and poor eating habits played a toll on you. Which leads me to this whole apology thing. I want to apologize for everything. So, I'm sorry about calling you fat too. Hey, I didn't do anything to help you! I didn't motivate you to work out, but in spite of me you kept pushing yourself. You're actually going back the right way. You're eating better, you're getting in a few workouts. So you might not lose fifty pounds in a month but you're at least doing something. So I'm sorry for not giving you kudos.
Kudos girl, you're working on it. Please don't give up!
For every time I called you stupid, I take that back. I'm really sorry. Just because you don't think like other people doesn't mean you're dumb, you just think differently, and anyway, you get great grades in college... COLLEGE. So I'm sorry for saying that all you have to do to get good grades in college is the work. You kicked your own ass to get that work done, you were smart enough to keep going, and you're nearly there. Good! Don't give up. You've got discipline, and we can make it.
I think no person is perfect. I cut everyone slack except you, but now it's time to cut you some slack. Now it's time to let by gones be by gones and tell you the truth.
It's fear that has made me say those awful things.
Like how I make fun of your freckly face, your frizzy hair, your large breasts, and I know it was a cheap shot attacking your nose. The truth is, there is no one in this world who looks quite like you. Trust me, this is not the worst thing. What other people think of you shouldn't mean squat. I made it too much of a priority. I'm sorry. Anyway, there is something familiar about your face. No one can reproduce it. So I am starting to really appreciate it. So, I'll do my best not to call you ugly anymore. I mean, what am I even comparing you too anyway?
That leads me to that whole misunderstanding about your ethnic heritage. Look, I was just repeating what people have told me. Since they don't know what it's like to be you they really can't say. So why beat yourself up over something you can't control? I know you. I know you want to belong, but if people can't accept you for all of who you are, well they can go fuck themselves.
I mean it.
Hey kid, you've been through allot. I wish it could have been better. I wish the hurt could be washed away, the bad memories flushed down the drain but that just ain't gonna happen. I'm sorry for bringing it up all the time, for making you feel like you can never be good enough. Others go through similar hurts too, and you know what? Some of those people do right for themselves.
I'm not going to make the mistake of comparing you to others, I'm just saying...
I think my biggest asshole move ever was to tell you that no one would ever love you for who you are. It was such a dick move, really. I'm sorry. There are not enough apologies in the world for that one. I'm not just sorry to you either. I'm sorry for those that may love you, but I've planted that seed of doubt so deep that you have a hard time. I've made you feel insecure, but I hope by really talking to you we can change that. Now I want you to look at me, and really look.
Are you looking?
I love you okay? No really, I love you. Hey it's okay to cry. I know this is hard. I mean I am you, so I know. It's hard to let me love you. Don't you see why that is so wrong? Don't you see why we need to fix that? Not because no one else will love you, they probably will; but the truth is, you can't sustain yourself on that love alone. Oh it's wonderful and great and it really helps.
But I am going to be completely honest with you.
It's not enough. You need me.
You need my love.
So take it. Take it, along with all my hopes and dreams for our future.
I love you.
I'm going to keep saying that until you believe it.
Then I'm going to say it some more.
You deserve it, and I love you.
Now go to sleep because you need to take care of yourself.


Kind regards,

Me

life is not cupcakes

 I think I am understanding more and more the true nature of my dilema.
This is my delima.
At times I feel so deeply, so much that the feelings are swollen to the point that they effect my actions, my choices, my life.
Other times I am numb.
When I say numb I mean I retreat inside and become isolated from all forms of human contact. If you've ever met me. You've seen me shut down like this.
It looks like I have decided all I want is to be alone. It LOOKS like I have effectively pushed at the fabric of my aura and silently but powerfully put up a big sign that says "GO AWAY".
Yet, I have to tell you the truth here. It is a mechanism. It is a natural product of fear. The truth is, I am lonely!
I have said before that I write for people who can't write. People whose stories would otherwise, not be told, but it takes a kind of bravery I am not sure I have. I mean, how do I explain what it is like to live in constant uncertainty? How do I convey the irrational fear in a way that gives people who don't have this problem a sense of clear understanding?
I know what I have been told. Here is a list of things from many well wishers who I feel just don't understand.

- Just get over it.
-Oh just find something you like to do and do it.
- You're not trying hard enough.
- You have nothing to be afraid of.
-It's because you don't love yourself enough.
- You just need to make more friends.
- You just need to get out more.
- You're beautiful, its your fault you don't see that.
etc....

Ah.. people people! I've heard these things before! Many others as well. Don't think for one minute that I do not hear this advise and digest it. Don't think that I do not, every day, try loving self. I've talked about that. I think it is very important to foster love in one's self. So I spend much time trying to rewire my  brain to think more positively.
Yet, by nature I am restless. You say, I should try harder. To which I answer. Do you not see how emotionally draining this stuff is? Getting over phobias, getting over the types of anxieties that most people find so easy because they do not have them.
Let me say this. Do you know what it's like to be so critical of yourself that every action you take is a carefully calculated one? I do... I do. That is what happens to me when I get around people.
Here, I will give you a scenario.

I enter a restaurant.
Immediately, I look around the room, I decide right away how many different ethnicities, how are they dressed and if they look at me, what expressions are in their faces. Most people have an autopilot that is relatively disinterested.
My next phase, I walk to wherever I need to so that I can order, or get shown to a seat.
This is the moment where I  will grip my wallet, or I will think about how much money is in my account, how much I am likely going to spend, and do I have cash to leave a tip?
There is an irrational fear here, in which I think I am being watched, but not only that I think people can smell the poverty from me. The poverty I come from, the unusualness of my features, and I start to wonder about my choice of clothes... Is this appropriate for where I am? I also note the families I see, the couples, and I can't help but to feel a pang of longing. The closeness I have always wanted for myself seems so elusive...
Then I tell myself, I need to just have fun.
I puff up my chest, I  look at the menu. I make every effort to look normal while a pile of jitters course through my veins. I tell myself I should have done my hair different. I order my meal, do my best to smile...
glance surreptitiously around the room... note available exits...
You don't notice, you never notice. I have mastered the art of seeming calm. I have a special ability that allows me to do this... it is called the shut down mechanism, which I mentioned earlier.
Then I have my meal, pay and go do something else.
I ask myself, why do I do it?
Maybe because I want to feel some sense of normalcy. Maybe it's because I had been deprived of such luxuries for so long.. I don't know.

There is one thing I do know though.  That is, that it is not about me.

I repeat... it is not about me.
I am consciously aware that people don't give a damn
Yet, I am powerless to my reactions. I can try telling myself over and over that I am worthy, I am fit to be where anyone else is.. I belong.
Yet.. there is still that little perverted voice inside my head that says You are different, you are lying, you don't belong.

And folks, when my offers of friendship are not taken seriously, when I am ignored, when I am not approached,  when people buddy up at events effectively isolating individuals, you just confirm the pervert voice's edict. I am different, oh sin of sins!
I am different...

But it's not about you either.

It is about us.
Our interactions to each other. Our humanity, our ability to find and create connections on this dust bowl, because whether we like it or not we all have a share in this world. It is about how we respond to each other, how we help each other.
Like creating stepping stones to something higher, some better level of existence... that is the goal.
At least.. I always thought so.

Dad... do you remember when you used to do handstands?

My father...
A white man with Native blood. His parents hardly mentioned it. I remember my white grandmother saying we have some sort of Navajo blood...
Well I did the research and it isn't Navajo at all, it's Cherokee, and plenty of it. I expect her to have lied though, that was something she was good at...
but enough about her.
My mother told me that when I was first born, my dad nearly dropped me from the shock. Imagine his surprise that his child of a black woman could be so... soo...
white?
For my part, this is one of the few times I can recall my dad acting fatherly.For the most part, let's just say some things happen, and after the point of age 10, my dad was almost entirely non present, and when he was present, he would make very little effort to reinstate a loving relationship.  Then, in my teen years, he started calling me names.
Is it any wonder why I wanted to leave home? The stress, the strain of responsibilities getting put on me was too much, and at some point I started losing gaps in memory, started passing out. To save myself, I fled, yet when I returned, the situation was not much more pretty.
My dad is someone I don't know. He's had his presence through my entire life, and yet his presence has seemed more like an afterthought than an experience. I grew up thinking and feeling that no one was there for me.
The relationship my mother had with my father was one that was much more like poison than an expression of love. Yes, they remained together, yet there was always a feeling that they did this out of necessity rather than actual expression. If my mother wasn't yelling at my father, my dad was yelling at her.  They degraded each other, they argued over money, they argued over us. On valentines day, my father would wait for the sales to come then get her something, and on Christmas it was never anything romantic or thoughtful. My mother poured her effort into his birthdays, however, this was not well received.  He insisted on handmade cakes and food, and seldom took her out. Now, later in life that she is without vision, the only places he will go is super cheap which means, not very healthy.

I don't know what love looks like...
For me, love looks complicated, abusive, and draining. Yet, I know what I want love to mean. I know what I want it too look like.

I know the result is fear and anticipation. That is how I look at love. With fear, and anticipation.

What can I say?

I am my parents's daughter...

Just my two cents

If we were all meant to be the same skin color.. there wouldn't be so many variations..

If we were all meant to believe the same thing, there wouldn't be so many different perspectives!

So..... why then can't we all just agree to disagree and move on with our lives? 

Its happening again..

That gravitational pull..
that inner plexus...
in the center
the place where I am one ball of energy
is spiraling
I toss and turn around..
round another circle
fly across another ravine
open up another trail
My ceaseless mind
with it's multitude of thoughts
mixing
boiling
particle by particle
I am me
and yet... I am the me that sees beyond
Those drifting sails in the wind
that rock in time with the sea
the ebb and flow of tides
ever changing
yet still.. always something will choose to remain the same
I am me and I am not me
I am more