It's been a while since I've written a blog.
Sometimes I don't have the feeling that I should, but as this feeling assails me I feel that it is necessary. There is something here... that perhaps someone somewhere could use.
So, foremost, survivors of sexual crimes display different characteristics as result. Some shut down and become insensitive to their actions, especially in regards to sex. Others become hyper aware and perhaps sometimes, hyper emotional. Sometimes these are all mixed together...
Let me make a clear statement here. I am no psychologist. I am not a licensed medical anything. All that I know comes from experience. Comes from those I've met, and shared time with. I honor them, in spite of everything, we are all sisters and brothers in a common bond. I don't speak of tragedy. I speak of knowing.
We knew too much at too young ages.
We hid and some continue to hide, in corners from a perceived fear that is as real to us as a knife to the throat.
Some have a long journey toward healing that will take many years to conquer. Others? Others may never heal, though I pray that they find the strength. Love... is an elusive thing. Something we crave from others because we mostly can't give it to ourselves. Unless of course we are at that stage of healing which we can find something in our damaged spirits to love.
I've been pushed away. In many forms. I thought for a while it was mostly my fault. Perhaps my presence is uncomfortable. Maybe my heart loves to much or I am suffocating. Truth? I am reacting, most cases, like a healthy adult. Those who push me away, however, are not quite at that level. They... can't see what is in front of them because they don't want to. It's too much. Too much of a change, too much of a risk. They are stuck in places where they need a hand but refuse to take it. They trust no one. I have been hurt because I have trusted where I was not trusted.
Strange, someone like me can trust, but I've always had faith. I believe there is good. Such good in the world, if we all hold onto the last bits of it and allow it to glow, we can touch candles together and create a bonfire.
Faith is wasted on the trust-less.
So, anyway, sex. What does it mean to those who find no meaning? It's a release of sorts, a dumping ground for emotion. I realize that now. Sex for many is a way to get out frustrations, fears and anger. It's taken to a base level. It's taken to an animistic level. So then it becomes tainted.
Never fear, this too can be healed. This I believe and you must too. To heal it you must go within, find that place that perceives the other person. See them, and only touch them when you see them. Respect them as a soul, and do not be with them unless they see and respect you as a soul. Then... well then it becomes something better, and can be worked toward something more.
It seems so simple right? For those who suffer from the past, this can seem impossible. My solution then is to look at yourself in the mirror. Really look. Imagine you were the one you plan to touch. Would YOU want to be touched by you? Are you capable of keeping your dumping at bay and instead, share a beautiful feeling? In this comes healing. If you find yourself incapable then please, abstain. Especially if you are attracted to women. We women drink up sexual energy like nobody's business, and that is why we are so individual in our sexual activity. Don't run the chalice full with your mess. Be cautious, and only be with someone you actually care about. Someone you could see yourself loving.
That is responsible and it is good for you.
Be blessed.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Overcoming
It is my experience that the nature of prejudice is stemmed
from ignorance. I admit, that as a woman from a multiracial background I have
historically found personal offense to all forms of prejudice or racism. It is
only through education that I have learned to put aside my anger and resentment
in order to make an effort toward positive change. In this case, educating the
less enlightened has become my calling. It isn’t easy as some bigotry cannot be
conquered in the hearts of others. That requires a willingness to learn, which
is an active decision for both parties involved. An example I give of my
personal experience involves a discussion in the classroom when I was attending
junior college.
It started in this way. We were discussing the reasoning
behind affirmative action in a government class. I saw through the corner of my
eye a young man who raised his hand and stated the following words “I don’t see
why we even have it, slavery happened so long ago. It has nothing to do with
me”. I confess my personal irritation rose like a fire inside my chest, but I
knew better than to respond with anger. It is far better to respond with calm
logic and reasoning. So I raised my hand and responded calmly. This is what I
said “if you take a people from their home to lands they know nothing about,
then refuse to educate them beyond basic language functions, you are crippling
them. Then, if you then continue with three hundred years of lesser educational
opportunities, lack of qualifying textbooks, and racial segregation designed in
favor of the other what you have then is generations of people who were
purposefully held back from society.
Affirmative action is designed to even the playing field and while some
people complain that it takes positions from other qualifying students, it is
nothing compared to hundreds of years of having education flat out denied”.
What followed was a discussion where it was revealed that there are still some
resentments that time has not healed. The class came to the conclusion that
even though slavery and the civil rights movement happened before many of us
were born it was still relevant history. We are still overcoming former
failings not as white, black, Native American or Hispanic people, but as a
nation of people wanting to see change for the better.
Perhaps my way in combating prejudice is not all that creative.
My way is simple. I consider where would be oppressor’s anger or ignorance is
stemming from. Is it lack of knowledge or a personal feeling of hurt,
inadequacy or failure? I choose to respond with less anger and rely on my
reasoning. At times I get no headway with that individual, but I do tend to win
the agreements of others. It is not so important to change the minds of a
select few who cannot look past their personal feelings in order to see a
bigger picture. It is more important to prevent the corrupting of minds by
instilling a strong respect for the diversity of this world through education.
In short it is important to lead by example. If I provide an ‘other’, then I
can’t be classified into one role or space. An intelligent person is then
challenged to think that if there is an other than ‘what if?’ If I have
inspired that, then I consider it a win.
Saturday, December 19, 2015
In the feels
sin1
sin/
noun
- 1.an immoral act considered to be a transgression against divine law.
- My greatest sin is not allowing myself to sin...
Mental illness, used to be treated like a hapless, cursed disease. The wilder a person is, the more wretched they become. Depression? I am not sure most even believe it still exists. Maya Angelou wrote in her book, "I know why the caged bird Sings" that she was referred to often as 'tender hearted'. Having a soft, malleable soul is like an affliction. So perhaps it is aptly put.
I am easily moved by the suffering of others.
Isn't that a thing? Sorrow seems so out of the proper element of things. Misery and pain. I cannot help but to feel moved by the suffering of another. So much so that I have forced myself to become numb.
The Dali Lama said "happiness is the natural state of human existence". Not in those exact words but, if we are meant to be happy then all things that makes us sad is unnatural to our normal way of flowing being. We are SUPPOSED to be in a constant state of happiness. According to this thought, but because we are moved by external elements, we cannot escape the tendency to sway toward misery. Yet, we continue to seek out the joys in life in hopes of combating with the sorrows.
I was coming to the third grade when I first thought of dying. I thought of it as, a blissful relief from the elements I could not control around me.
How she raged, my mother. With the passion of a person who is mentally ill. With the hurt of a person who was deeply wronged. As she raged, I became contained, shrinking under the tempest. Cowering in the storm.
As I passed from child to adolescence, I contented myself with the knowledge that someday, someday I could grow up and move off on my own. I could make a family that was not broken. I could mold the outcome...
I neglected to understand one valuable piece of knowledge. That is, you can move, you can change your name and even become a different person. This is normal to change. However what you can't do is erase the voices in your head permanently.
You must live with them. As they shaped you, you must then shape them. You must do this diligently so you can have those moments. Those precious moments where you are in a natural state of bliss.tor·tureˈtôrCHər/noun- 1.the action or practice of inflicting severe pain on someone as a punishment or to force them to do or say something, or for the pleasure of the person inflicting the pain.
I think it is time to say that enough is enough. I have tortured myself. Over and over. I have forced food into my body to try and hold off the pain. I have denied my body food to try and starve the pain. I've told myself my feelings are insignificant, that my suffering is not valid, thus, I did not give myself even the slightest acknowledgement.... I have not allowed myself to really feel.
Why? Because it makes people uncomfortable. Because I have cared for THEM more than me. Yet, it has only bought me alienation. It's done the exact opposite of what I wanted it to do.loveləv/noun- 1.an intense feeling of deep affection.
I know what love is. It is not easily manipulated. It is not easily won or lost. Yet, this pithy definition is but the tip of it.
I've waited so patiently to be showed I am worth loving. You cannot convince a brick wall that it is alive. In this way, the old hurts, the past dramas and all the broken links are instances of times when I have willingly gone into that unnatural state of misery, in the hopes of finding something that I always had.
Love...
I have the love inside of me. For so many sometimes it seems it might burst from my chest and wash the world in pink and purple.
It does not make me miserable. It makes me nostalgic. It makes me emotional.
What makes me miserable is when the connection becomes lost and I do not see my love reflecting.
But this is a problem that many have. In this age of misunderstanding. In this age of texts, phone calls and video chat. IN this age where contact is seldom and when it occurs it is so fleeting that it is more like butterfly wings brushing the hem of your shirt... I need a fucking hug. I need to lay in bed with an arm around me and fingers brushing my hair. I NEED to touch.
I'll keep waiting patiently...
Monday, September 7, 2015
Normalcy
I am not good at plain speech.
Unless of course, it's my novels. Then yes I can do it. Most of my personal ramblings are entirely too poetic. Entirely to... unreachable.
Maybe it's just how I am. When I try to convey the deep feeling within I am often left with music ringing in my ears.
Well hell ya'll I am a poet. I dream in lyrics.
This becomes a problem when trying to communicate.
How desperately I want to communicate. To share a little of myself with others. To be validated in the doing.
But why?
Why indeed?
I know why.
Because I have been silenced far to long. I am the weird and the confusing. I am the dreamwalker.
This now... this can be uncomfortable. I understand that. I strive to expect nothing from anyone. It is so much easier this way. So much easier to cover your glasses with mud instead of rose petals.
So damned depressing.
Ah... humanity! Humans... we are such animals.
I have dug too deep.
I just want to say that I have seen you. I have seen your words. I have felt your presence. I have found within these something worthy. Something valid.
I honestly don't hate anyone. Even those who have tried to silence me, tried to kill me.
I just want to be heard. I want to be seen. To be felt.
There I go dreaming again
------
She walks into the shadows. Where misty lights seem pinpoints in the distance. They are beacons. They call and she follows. She cannot help it.
There is a shivering that starts at the base of the spine and radiates out to the arms and legs. Freezing her fingers and toes. The icy feeling seeps into her bones. A sick, heavy feeling weights her chest. Yet she continues on. Constantly moving forward. Reaching out when she feels close enough, only to catch air.
Disillusionment...
Still, the promise of warmth drives her. Her hunger pushes her, each fumbling step to the next. Towards those pinpoints.
The last vestiges of hope.
Unless of course, it's my novels. Then yes I can do it. Most of my personal ramblings are entirely too poetic. Entirely to... unreachable.
Maybe it's just how I am. When I try to convey the deep feeling within I am often left with music ringing in my ears.
Well hell ya'll I am a poet. I dream in lyrics.
This becomes a problem when trying to communicate.
How desperately I want to communicate. To share a little of myself with others. To be validated in the doing.
But why?
Why indeed?
I know why.
Because I have been silenced far to long. I am the weird and the confusing. I am the dreamwalker.
This now... this can be uncomfortable. I understand that. I strive to expect nothing from anyone. It is so much easier this way. So much easier to cover your glasses with mud instead of rose petals.
So damned depressing.
Ah... humanity! Humans... we are such animals.
I have dug too deep.
I just want to say that I have seen you. I have seen your words. I have felt your presence. I have found within these something worthy. Something valid.
I honestly don't hate anyone. Even those who have tried to silence me, tried to kill me.
I just want to be heard. I want to be seen. To be felt.
There I go dreaming again
------
She walks into the shadows. Where misty lights seem pinpoints in the distance. They are beacons. They call and she follows. She cannot help it.
There is a shivering that starts at the base of the spine and radiates out to the arms and legs. Freezing her fingers and toes. The icy feeling seeps into her bones. A sick, heavy feeling weights her chest. Yet she continues on. Constantly moving forward. Reaching out when she feels close enough, only to catch air.
Disillusionment...
Still, the promise of warmth drives her. Her hunger pushes her, each fumbling step to the next. Towards those pinpoints.
The last vestiges of hope.
Monday, August 24, 2015
Just something for healing self
All he secrets
All the magic
Lay shuttered up in your heart
Having stopped only
When you gave up on hope
That miracle that feeds the spirit
When darkness is high
And the wounded souls you reach out too
Reflect the light within
In ways that are horrific
And sad
But you lay down
You open yourself up
In the last remnants of hope
You offer yourself as sacrifice
In hopes of feeling that sweet moment
When everything makes sense once again
In hopes of returning
To that girl in the forest
Shining hair and glossy eyes
That beautiful memory
When life was pure
And tragedy, just a bad dream
You give up your body
Expose your inner sanctum
In hopes of receiving
Caresses most dear
Hands painted with love
Everlasting
blessed sacrament
and when it is over
and the sacrament has not happened
you cry from the hollow
the emptiness
which comes from the lack
and you pray for another chance
next time... maybe
next time
Love
Love which should be given
from you
to you
love most divine
wait then for your sacrament of flesh
wait and wonder
-Orhea the Dreamer
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Healing through words
I have a natural gift for healing, I've been told. Yet over time I have not truly embraced it. Why? Because scientifically, there is no basis for it. It is all belief, it is all spirit.
Last year, I picked up a book about medicine men/women, written by a Native American healer from the plains. He was Lakota of origin. He spoke of the trials and tribulations that lead a medicine person into the path of healing.
I read about his near death experiences, his bouts of sickness, his overcoming, and his visions. I began to understand that the path of a healer is a rocky, painful one and I didn't want it.
In the book, this medicine man also mentioned his desire to NOT become a healer. It's too hard. Too demanding, and too much relies on him... All of this I understand perfectly. All of this resonated so much that I put the book down and haven't opened it since.
I don't want the obligation, I don't want the responsibility of aiding the healing of others. It's too much, there is so much pain in this world, and what about my own pain? Whose going to help me with that?
Well now, in my path to education I've recently seriously considered going off to graduate school. Aiming higher.
Enter the reading.
I've attempted to contact psychics before with mixed results. However, I thought, what about trying once more? I submitted for a one question reading asking if I should even attempt to go to graduate school. I never thought I could, it is so expensive and I honestly didn't think I was smart enough.
A few days later, I received my voice recorded reading...
This lovely, soothing Australian voice told me that yes, I should apply to graduate school, at least three...and I would get accepted. This would be good for my long term career. And...did I know that I was such a gifted, natural healer?
"You have such a pure and gentle energy" she said..."You will help many women...for I see you work with women best. They will come to you for healing...You will find your own way to heal."
Indeed...
Just like that I am reminded of my drive to heal. My need to aid others. My horrid (and annoying) habit of taking responsibility and 'feeling' for others.
But what about my OWN pain?
No one acknowledges my own pain. Everyone has said I should just get over it...I need to 'man up'and move on.
Yeah...if it were that easy...if only.
1. I can be a selfish person.
2. I can be a self -less person.
3. I NEED
So...it's just occurred to me a method I wish to try to heal myself.
Healing through words...I've worked out problems by writing poetry...conundrums, feelings...
but what about studying the meaning of words and filling them with healing?
I'm going to give it a try.
Stay tuned.......
Last year, I picked up a book about medicine men/women, written by a Native American healer from the plains. He was Lakota of origin. He spoke of the trials and tribulations that lead a medicine person into the path of healing.
I read about his near death experiences, his bouts of sickness, his overcoming, and his visions. I began to understand that the path of a healer is a rocky, painful one and I didn't want it.
In the book, this medicine man also mentioned his desire to NOT become a healer. It's too hard. Too demanding, and too much relies on him... All of this I understand perfectly. All of this resonated so much that I put the book down and haven't opened it since.
I don't want the obligation, I don't want the responsibility of aiding the healing of others. It's too much, there is so much pain in this world, and what about my own pain? Whose going to help me with that?
Well now, in my path to education I've recently seriously considered going off to graduate school. Aiming higher.
Enter the reading.
I've attempted to contact psychics before with mixed results. However, I thought, what about trying once more? I submitted for a one question reading asking if I should even attempt to go to graduate school. I never thought I could, it is so expensive and I honestly didn't think I was smart enough.
A few days later, I received my voice recorded reading...
This lovely, soothing Australian voice told me that yes, I should apply to graduate school, at least three...and I would get accepted. This would be good for my long term career. And...did I know that I was such a gifted, natural healer?
"You have such a pure and gentle energy" she said..."You will help many women...for I see you work with women best. They will come to you for healing...You will find your own way to heal."
Indeed...
Just like that I am reminded of my drive to heal. My need to aid others. My horrid (and annoying) habit of taking responsibility and 'feeling' for others.
But what about my OWN pain?
No one acknowledges my own pain. Everyone has said I should just get over it...I need to 'man up'and move on.
Yeah...if it were that easy...if only.
1. I can be a selfish person.
2. I can be a self -less person.
3. I NEED
So...it's just occurred to me a method I wish to try to heal myself.
Healing through words...I've worked out problems by writing poetry...conundrums, feelings...
but what about studying the meaning of words and filling them with healing?
I'm going to give it a try.
Stay tuned.......
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Even roses have thorns
I know what it is like to wake up alone and know that it is the best thing to be.
I don't know what makes us crave companionship so. To have a mate and to be wanted. It's a desire that drives folks to do things they know better than to do.
We do it anyway.
For a chance at a tender kiss. For the opportunity to be held. For the joy and comfort of knowing you're not in it alone.
The truth is... you are. At any given time that person you hold on to can decide it's over and move on with their lives. You and your life will be alone again.
It is said that every person is made with a counterpart. A twin flame if you will. A soul mate. A soul mate is a person who is what you need them to be just as they are and you are what they need you to be. Together you work in sync, bringing each other to mutual joy, love, and spiritual fulfillment.
Ah I love the concept of soul mates!
I was infatuated the moment I heard of it, years ago. Yet could it be possible? Could somewhere out there be a perfect match for you, right now?
Yes
Yes indeed because there are billions of people in the world and I think making a soul is kind of like carving animal sculptures by hand. You'll have several the same size, some smaller or larger. You'll have some with markings that are closer to others.
Basically, no two are a hundred percent alike but there will be those that go better together than most.
Some people don't believe in soul mates. The idea sounds too perfect, and people grow so much through their lives. They change and become different.
I think that's where my animal sculpture comes in.
What if we have a few soul mates? Those people who are what you need when you need them, until you don't need them anymore?
Startling concept but couldn't it be possible? After all what happens if you meet a soul mate and that soul mate dies? It seems cruel to think that the one left behind is stuck mourning their beloved.
What happens when a soul mate relationship ceases to be a soul mate relationship? By this I mean that, it is very possible for a soul mate relationship to become sour, due to neglect or because one partner evolves past the other, or a great many possibilities.
Well then the purpose of that relationship is done and it is time to move along.
You know what? Lets just get rid of the term soul mate all together. Let us instead think about the possibility that we are all spiritual beings. As such we are constantly seeking improvement. What level of improvement that entails varies from being to being. However what I want to focus on is this.
We crave each other. To be fed spiritually,mentally, and even physically, by each other. We crave companionship and life partners. We do this because without these relationships life seems less shiny. Without these relationships our spirits tend to fall slack and yes we can keep up routines. Yes we can be perfectly happy with the status quo. But... are we learning?
We are born naked and alone. We will likely die alone too. Yet, it's not so depressing. As long as we lived, loved, and experienced life.
Damn though, the idea of soul mates just seems so darn appealing. So beautiful... but even the prettiest things can have thorns, like roses...
I don't know what makes us crave companionship so. To have a mate and to be wanted. It's a desire that drives folks to do things they know better than to do.
We do it anyway.
For a chance at a tender kiss. For the opportunity to be held. For the joy and comfort of knowing you're not in it alone.
The truth is... you are. At any given time that person you hold on to can decide it's over and move on with their lives. You and your life will be alone again.
It is said that every person is made with a counterpart. A twin flame if you will. A soul mate. A soul mate is a person who is what you need them to be just as they are and you are what they need you to be. Together you work in sync, bringing each other to mutual joy, love, and spiritual fulfillment.
Ah I love the concept of soul mates!
I was infatuated the moment I heard of it, years ago. Yet could it be possible? Could somewhere out there be a perfect match for you, right now?
Yes
Yes indeed because there are billions of people in the world and I think making a soul is kind of like carving animal sculptures by hand. You'll have several the same size, some smaller or larger. You'll have some with markings that are closer to others.
Basically, no two are a hundred percent alike but there will be those that go better together than most.
Some people don't believe in soul mates. The idea sounds too perfect, and people grow so much through their lives. They change and become different.
I think that's where my animal sculpture comes in.
What if we have a few soul mates? Those people who are what you need when you need them, until you don't need them anymore?
Startling concept but couldn't it be possible? After all what happens if you meet a soul mate and that soul mate dies? It seems cruel to think that the one left behind is stuck mourning their beloved.
What happens when a soul mate relationship ceases to be a soul mate relationship? By this I mean that, it is very possible for a soul mate relationship to become sour, due to neglect or because one partner evolves past the other, or a great many possibilities.
Well then the purpose of that relationship is done and it is time to move along.
You know what? Lets just get rid of the term soul mate all together. Let us instead think about the possibility that we are all spiritual beings. As such we are constantly seeking improvement. What level of improvement that entails varies from being to being. However what I want to focus on is this.
We crave each other. To be fed spiritually,mentally, and even physically, by each other. We crave companionship and life partners. We do this because without these relationships life seems less shiny. Without these relationships our spirits tend to fall slack and yes we can keep up routines. Yes we can be perfectly happy with the status quo. But... are we learning?
We are born naked and alone. We will likely die alone too. Yet, it's not so depressing. As long as we lived, loved, and experienced life.
Damn though, the idea of soul mates just seems so darn appealing. So beautiful... but even the prettiest things can have thorns, like roses...
Saturday, January 24, 2015
The Fetish
She bleeds on the page
it pours in red rivers
spiraling down the whiteness
a stark contrast of solid and wet
but it is just a page
what makes it exceptional is
the red,red blood
It's the heart that does it
Pumping the life juice into the palms of her hands
the same heart that makes love seem so
attainable
and yet not
The same heart that connects
foolish syntax
from heart to head
back and forth
in and out of balance
Each day the veins crack open anew
tears and jagged edges
burn and rip
until the veins are open enough
so that she will write
She will write and bleed
a cadence of ups and downs
a means of remaking paper and pen
computer and keys
blank, white screen
endless possibilities
It is her fetish
Her strange kink of pleasure and pain
Endless yes and thus
so full
so very full of hope
it pours in red rivers
spiraling down the whiteness
a stark contrast of solid and wet
but it is just a page
what makes it exceptional is
the red,red blood
It's the heart that does it
Pumping the life juice into the palms of her hands
the same heart that makes love seem so
attainable
and yet not
The same heart that connects
foolish syntax
from heart to head
back and forth
in and out of balance
Each day the veins crack open anew
tears and jagged edges
burn and rip
until the veins are open enough
so that she will write
She will write and bleed
a cadence of ups and downs
a means of remaking paper and pen
computer and keys
blank, white screen
endless possibilities
It is her fetish
Her strange kink of pleasure and pain
Endless yes and thus
so full
so very full of hope
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Thinking too much
There is this stale bitterness in the back of my throat.
A vivid, intensely heavy feeling in my chest.
The sense of longing doesn't ever seem to go away.
Maybe that is an aspect of humanity, the need, the desire to have connections.
Yet we are meant to be confident, independent, not needing these things. So I am doing my best to ignore it.
I thought I have grieved enough, but apparently there is more...
In other news I am getting back into a new college regimen. This one will be different. I'll be working and I"l be working out. I also did a few online.
I am so sure I should be reading by now, but I have this ache inside of me, and I figured I'd just write it out.
Can you feel the little pieces?
They are scattered in the wind
Tiny purple, pink, and blue hearts..
They float away and as you try to reach for them you realize
they cannot, will not stay
the pieces break down again
now little ripped shreds glitter in the sun
the last of their time
but we are humans and this is life
so it's time to move past
always going forward
always driving toward the end
we live for living
what else is there?
A vivid, intensely heavy feeling in my chest.
The sense of longing doesn't ever seem to go away.
Maybe that is an aspect of humanity, the need, the desire to have connections.
Yet we are meant to be confident, independent, not needing these things. So I am doing my best to ignore it.
I thought I have grieved enough, but apparently there is more...
In other news I am getting back into a new college regimen. This one will be different. I'll be working and I"l be working out. I also did a few online.
I am so sure I should be reading by now, but I have this ache inside of me, and I figured I'd just write it out.
Can you feel the little pieces?
They are scattered in the wind
Tiny purple, pink, and blue hearts..
They float away and as you try to reach for them you realize
they cannot, will not stay
the pieces break down again
now little ripped shreds glitter in the sun
the last of their time
but we are humans and this is life
so it's time to move past
always going forward
always driving toward the end
we live for living
what else is there?
Thursday, January 8, 2015
I wanna be Ms. Frizzle
Picture this...
You're standing in front of a crowd of people, and you were assigned to give a speech. This is your first time. Your hands are sweaty, your chest heavy, and you're wondering if you practiced the speech you wrote enough times to memorize everything right.
You begin, fumbling along the speech, but you get through it, until your closing words, which you get completely backwards!
It's too late though because you messed up and now you're mentally calculating the quickest exit out.
Then, surprise of surprises the crowd roars in applause. "Congrats on the misstake! You'll do better next time! Great job messing up!" No judgement, only encouragement.
It's beautiful isn't it? Unfortunately, you're not likely to see it happen.
I think about the many times I've cried over the sorry state of my world. People don't understand each other, and few truly make the effort to do so. There is constant fighting over ego. Everyone wants to be on top, when I always thought that the world was round. Everything in a circle so that no one is on top, some may be closer to one side of the circle than others, and so they are wiser more capable. Yet essentially we're all the same. All on even playing grounds. We're all here to learn!
Understanding Regret
I have solemnly sworn to have no regrets. It's a goal I am working on. To let go of the past and step into the future. Yet it is a tricky endeavor if I keep pounding into myself. Thats why I joined the 31 day self love challenge, so I can learn how to reprogram the way I think. It's got me thinking though on what I want to teach and why.
I want to teach people how to not regret. To recognize mistakes as an opportunity to learn instead of a punch to the ego. Only if we let go of ego can we find happiness. I truly believe we are all meant to find it. If only we believe.
Celebrate mistakes! Throw a friggin party, enjoy that you messed up and now you know how NOT to approach a situation. Doesn't it make sense that we are born without instructions so we can't get everything right at first? Once upon a time we were toddlers. We said words incorrectly until we were corrected and finally understood the correction, or we listened to the words enough time to make the corrections ourselves. We learned to crawl and to walk under the same principle and that is this. Keep going, keep moving forward, learn from the mistake and you wont have to repeat it! If you look at it this way there are no regrets.
Ms. Frizzle
Depending what generation you're coming from you might understand my analogy. However, for those that don't know about my idol teacher, I'll explain. Ms. Frizzle is a fictional character in a series called "The Magic School Bus" which was a television series and also a series of childrens books. Ms. Frizzle was a classroom teacher who also happened to have her own magic. Whenever there was a problem needing solving or a concept needing to be learned she'd call for a field trip on her magical bus. The class went to prehistoric times, inside the body, into the ocean etc. What I absolutely love about Ms. Frizzle was that whenever someone did something incorrectly she would chime "Thats it! Take chances and make mistakes". Ms. Frizzle was a sage of the classroom. She understood that through error can we make connections and learn what works. There is never only one correct way to do something.
I want to be Ms. Frizzle. I want to teach the value of a mistake and encourage retrying. I sincerely hope the rest of the world follows suit. In the coming times of mass communication and global education it is high time to approach education in a way that promotes the diverse population of students. We are all students in life and when you stop learning you stop living. Lets stop beating up ourselves and each other for screw ups. Can't we?
Take chances! Make mistakes! By all means, live.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Love Prohibited
As of the first, I have committed myself to a thirty one day love challenge.
The information for the challenge can be found here, any time of the year.
https://www.facebook.com/events/1532973040295644/?ref_notif_type=event_mall_reply&source=29
Today is day three, in which I am asked to look into the mirror and telling myself these things:
You are loveable.
Your worth is not measured in the size of your body.
You have purpose.
Now to write about my experience!
I sat in front of the mirror timidly. Looking at myself, really looking has always been a problem to me. I don't like how I am so quick to zero in on the flaws and make mental remarks about them. However, I was prompted not to look at my face, to focus on my eyes.
So I hunched over the sink. Tilted my head just so...
The first thing I noticed is that my eyes are allot warmer colored than I realized. They're like melted chocolate, deep brown, with a hint of caramel undertones. My pupils dilate, and I see myself.
I really see.
Anger
I see how angry I am. Angry that I have to do this in order to help myself. Angry that I can't just already love myself, I couldn't just already be okay. Anger that I feel shame.
I push past the anger and I say "You are loveable."
My eyes water... so I say it again, feeling that familiar ache in my chest. "You are loveable" I repeat. "I am loveable."
"You're worth is not measured with the size of your body... " I repeat it.
What was that last bit? I check on my phone at the prompt, then I look in the mirror again, noticing my shaggy brows, the freckles on my cheeks, then commanding myself to look past the tired rings under my eyes. I look deeper. I look into my eyes, which are hungry for this. Hungry for what I am about to say next. Needing to at least hear the words, if they cannot yet believe.
"You have purpose" I say.
I know... my eyes return back at me. I know....Where have you been?
And suddenly I remember myself as a skinny little wide eyed girl. I used to stand in the mirror for hours modeling. Selling myself my own toothbrush or soap in my own make believe commercials. I was made fun of for it, but I didn't care then, I was just having fun.
"momma" I say to myself
But I push those memories away. Or I try to, but in the back of my head I say Momma.. why?
Why can't you help me? Why was I hurt and no one did anything to stop it?
Tears roll down my cheeks.
There isn't an answer.
Yet, I sit here, typing this to you and feeling accomplished. For the first time in a long time, I looked in the mirror, and instead of telling myself I'm too fat, my nose is too big, I'm too yellow, my hair is too wild and crazy.. I shut that nasty part of me, that nasty mentality that only seeks to render me into pieces. I shut it down and for a moment, I lifted myself up.
The information for the challenge can be found here, any time of the year.
https://www.facebook.com/events/1532973040295644/?ref_notif_type=event_mall_reply&source=29
Today is day three, in which I am asked to look into the mirror and telling myself these things:
You are loveable.
Your worth is not measured in the size of your body.
You have purpose.
Now to write about my experience!
I sat in front of the mirror timidly. Looking at myself, really looking has always been a problem to me. I don't like how I am so quick to zero in on the flaws and make mental remarks about them. However, I was prompted not to look at my face, to focus on my eyes.
So I hunched over the sink. Tilted my head just so...
The first thing I noticed is that my eyes are allot warmer colored than I realized. They're like melted chocolate, deep brown, with a hint of caramel undertones. My pupils dilate, and I see myself.
I really see.
Anger
I see how angry I am. Angry that I have to do this in order to help myself. Angry that I can't just already love myself, I couldn't just already be okay. Anger that I feel shame.
I push past the anger and I say "You are loveable."
My eyes water... so I say it again, feeling that familiar ache in my chest. "You are loveable" I repeat. "I am loveable."
"You're worth is not measured with the size of your body... " I repeat it.
What was that last bit? I check on my phone at the prompt, then I look in the mirror again, noticing my shaggy brows, the freckles on my cheeks, then commanding myself to look past the tired rings under my eyes. I look deeper. I look into my eyes, which are hungry for this. Hungry for what I am about to say next. Needing to at least hear the words, if they cannot yet believe.
"You have purpose" I say.
I know... my eyes return back at me. I know....Where have you been?
And suddenly I remember myself as a skinny little wide eyed girl. I used to stand in the mirror for hours modeling. Selling myself my own toothbrush or soap in my own make believe commercials. I was made fun of for it, but I didn't care then, I was just having fun.
"momma" I say to myself
But I push those memories away. Or I try to, but in the back of my head I say Momma.. why?
Why can't you help me? Why was I hurt and no one did anything to stop it?
Tears roll down my cheeks.
There isn't an answer.
Yet, I sit here, typing this to you and feeling accomplished. For the first time in a long time, I looked in the mirror, and instead of telling myself I'm too fat, my nose is too big, I'm too yellow, my hair is too wild and crazy.. I shut that nasty part of me, that nasty mentality that only seeks to render me into pieces. I shut it down and for a moment, I lifted myself up.
Friday, January 2, 2015
What whiteness means to me
Let me just first start off with this little explanation. First, and foremost, I make every effort to consciously remain objective in regards to race. However, my feelings behind it are often subjective. I have been a victim of bigotry and as a result, my mind takes it's opinions based off experience. This is just natural.***
I am made increasingly aware of my own whiteness.
It has always been so. Growing up I was not allowed to forget that I am one of the palest among my siblings. I am still not.
When I was in elementary school, I had a kindergarten teacher who automatically assumed I was white. Her name is lost to memory, though I would not use it if I remembered, but I do remember this. I remember her treating me just like the child I was at the time, a sweet little girl. She was kind to a fault and there were never any major issues. Except the one time a big red haired boy pulled my hair and I cried. I had no idea, or rather I wasn't aware that every time my mother came to pick me up, afore mentioned teacher called her the babysitter. I did not know that because of my whiteness, my teacher assumed that she couldn't possibly be my mother. It all came out later when my mother revealed to her the truth, and I was late for a Christmas pageant. Said teacher no longer treated me like a sweet little girl, and took great delight in making me uncomfortable when she switched my position in the pageant. I remember not understanding why things had to be different, but I do remember the reason why I had to switch classes and make friends all over again, with a black teacher was that my skin didn't match with what the world wanted to see.
Later, when I entered middle school, I went to a school filled with mostly black and hispanic people. One would think that there at least I would be able to avoid discrimination. This was not so. Quiet, and afraid to draw attention to myself, I kept my head down and made few friends. I made straight As got perfect attendance, and I was perfectly miserable. Issues escalated when my mother came to pick me up one sunny day at lunch time, and a girl came up behind me, smearing hair gel over my face.
My mother was angry, and the principal said there was nothing she could do. So I was made to leave school. To me? It was because I was too white to be black.
It's funny, when I was riding the school bus to get to the same school, one lonely white girl came up to me and said "my parents don't agree with what your parents did".
What did they do that was so wrong? Well, make me of course! A creature that is neither black nor truly white. A person that refuses to choose sides, because after all, the choices were made for me. I belong on the outside. That is where I was placed.
I turned to the things that brought me comfort, making efforts to befriend people but not being able to really and truly, because I was poor and could not dress to fit in, because I had no idea how to fix my hair, because I didn't give a bloody dam about my hair or clothes and I thought that friendship was supposed to have more to do about personality than what I wore. Frequently asked questions were 'are you mixed? what are you mixed with? I didn't know you were black!" Blah blah blah...
I went to an all white school, where to me whiteness turned into a materialistic set of views that required thin bodies and straight hair, none of which I possessed after my middle years. Whiteness then became a standard of beauty to which all others were measured by.
I did not measure up.
I flipped through pages of teen magazines, there were seldom any black girls, and of those black girls none looked like me. The white girls, while as pale as myself, did not match my curvature, or hair type. In summation the standard of beauty was far from my reach, and like any teenager I despaired.
Today to me whiteness does not simply mean the color of one's skin. It means a set popular beauty standard. Like in between isn't pretty enough, like brown and gold tones are not quite right. It means that my kindergarten teacher was right. How dare I be so light when I am not white? When a person says "I prefer white people". I say "whatever makes you happy". Yet, I am made to understand that there is a certain cultural bias still lodged well within society. America, in it's race obsessed environment, has created a series of mental issues that have a ripple effect across all cultures represented in this country. A round nose is not sexy, light eyes are more attractive, pale skin is better. Yet, why is it, as light as I am, I have had issues with feeling my own self worth?
Simply put, I still do not fit the standard.
I hope there is a resurgence of self worth found in people of color. I hope that brown and black can be considered beautiful in popular culture. Such mentalities do not help myself one lick, but I understand the need, the desire to be represented.
I am hoping that one day hearing people say "I prefer white people" or "I prefer black people" does not cause that familiar inflection of pain somewhere in the center of my chest.
Popular culture be damned.
This stew pot has created... something else. Folks, there is no longer just white and black and brown. There is 'other'.
I am made increasingly aware of my own whiteness.
It has always been so. Growing up I was not allowed to forget that I am one of the palest among my siblings. I am still not.
When I was in elementary school, I had a kindergarten teacher who automatically assumed I was white. Her name is lost to memory, though I would not use it if I remembered, but I do remember this. I remember her treating me just like the child I was at the time, a sweet little girl. She was kind to a fault and there were never any major issues. Except the one time a big red haired boy pulled my hair and I cried. I had no idea, or rather I wasn't aware that every time my mother came to pick me up, afore mentioned teacher called her the babysitter. I did not know that because of my whiteness, my teacher assumed that she couldn't possibly be my mother. It all came out later when my mother revealed to her the truth, and I was late for a Christmas pageant. Said teacher no longer treated me like a sweet little girl, and took great delight in making me uncomfortable when she switched my position in the pageant. I remember not understanding why things had to be different, but I do remember the reason why I had to switch classes and make friends all over again, with a black teacher was that my skin didn't match with what the world wanted to see.
Later, when I entered middle school, I went to a school filled with mostly black and hispanic people. One would think that there at least I would be able to avoid discrimination. This was not so. Quiet, and afraid to draw attention to myself, I kept my head down and made few friends. I made straight As got perfect attendance, and I was perfectly miserable. Issues escalated when my mother came to pick me up one sunny day at lunch time, and a girl came up behind me, smearing hair gel over my face.
My mother was angry, and the principal said there was nothing she could do. So I was made to leave school. To me? It was because I was too white to be black.
It's funny, when I was riding the school bus to get to the same school, one lonely white girl came up to me and said "my parents don't agree with what your parents did".
What did they do that was so wrong? Well, make me of course! A creature that is neither black nor truly white. A person that refuses to choose sides, because after all, the choices were made for me. I belong on the outside. That is where I was placed.
I turned to the things that brought me comfort, making efforts to befriend people but not being able to really and truly, because I was poor and could not dress to fit in, because I had no idea how to fix my hair, because I didn't give a bloody dam about my hair or clothes and I thought that friendship was supposed to have more to do about personality than what I wore. Frequently asked questions were 'are you mixed? what are you mixed with? I didn't know you were black!" Blah blah blah...
I went to an all white school, where to me whiteness turned into a materialistic set of views that required thin bodies and straight hair, none of which I possessed after my middle years. Whiteness then became a standard of beauty to which all others were measured by.
I did not measure up.
I flipped through pages of teen magazines, there were seldom any black girls, and of those black girls none looked like me. The white girls, while as pale as myself, did not match my curvature, or hair type. In summation the standard of beauty was far from my reach, and like any teenager I despaired.
Today to me whiteness does not simply mean the color of one's skin. It means a set popular beauty standard. Like in between isn't pretty enough, like brown and gold tones are not quite right. It means that my kindergarten teacher was right. How dare I be so light when I am not white? When a person says "I prefer white people". I say "whatever makes you happy". Yet, I am made to understand that there is a certain cultural bias still lodged well within society. America, in it's race obsessed environment, has created a series of mental issues that have a ripple effect across all cultures represented in this country. A round nose is not sexy, light eyes are more attractive, pale skin is better. Yet, why is it, as light as I am, I have had issues with feeling my own self worth?
Simply put, I still do not fit the standard.
I hope there is a resurgence of self worth found in people of color. I hope that brown and black can be considered beautiful in popular culture. Such mentalities do not help myself one lick, but I understand the need, the desire to be represented.
I am hoping that one day hearing people say "I prefer white people" or "I prefer black people" does not cause that familiar inflection of pain somewhere in the center of my chest.
Popular culture be damned.
This stew pot has created... something else. Folks, there is no longer just white and black and brown. There is 'other'.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
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
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
Friday, December 26, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
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...
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...
Sunday, December 7, 2014
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?
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
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
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
Friday, November 28, 2014
Poem
Liquid fire
racing up my veins
driving my pulse
forcing the beat of my heart
in rapid cadence
as I think of you
I grind against the vine
stretch taught my mind
and yet..
nestled in my heart
exciting my daydreams..
is your beautiful visage
your talented hands
your smoldering eyes
that delightful smell
I close my eyes and it is there
you are there
with your boundless love
but..
when I open them
when I open my eyes
I wake up..
racing up my veins
driving my pulse
forcing the beat of my heart
in rapid cadence
as I think of you
I grind against the vine
stretch taught my mind
and yet..
nestled in my heart
exciting my daydreams..
is your beautiful visage
your talented hands
your smoldering eyes
that delightful smell
I close my eyes and it is there
you are there
with your boundless love
but..
when I open them
when I open my eyes
I wake up..
Sunday, November 23, 2014
My mother...
I remember.. walking through the grocery store with her. How the little old ladies would look at us with stares of uncertainty...
I remember calling for her, and laughing at the strange looks.
Their logic? How someone of chocolate skin could produce such a fair skinned child.
My logic? It was just funny, the wide eyes, the slack jaws...
I remember her asking me questions sometimes, as if my opinions really mattered, and I would respond with whatever answer I knew she would like most. Her softness, her largeness, larger than life... encompassing the world...
I was always sensitive to that... the kadence of her voice, the tightness of jaw... the tension in the air... If she was upset, then I was upset. If she was hurt or outraged.. I was hurt or outraged.
I know of days when it seemed like it was just her and me. My sisters and brother would stay with a relative... the wrinkle in her brows when she couldn't afford to pay for all the groceries... the feeling of shame when we had to put some things away...
These things remain close to my heart, as our shared pain. Our struggle... when I was hers and she was all that was right in the world.
Even when...
even when her face would change, her eyes widen with anger, and she would hold a knife to my throat and threaten to cut me. Perhaps I said the wrong thing? I could not please her... Should I have looked at her a different way?
Or when the dark plastic trash bag descended over my head, and she held it there when I struggled, desperate for air. She held it there and said. "Don't play with these any more."
She was life and she was death..
She was death when her fingers encircled around my neck, and she squeezed... I was strong enough to fight it. I was strong enough to pull her fingers away.. and yet I did not. I was mesmerized at the anger I saw there. The emptiness that she had for me in that moment...
She was life when we'd play Christmas songs, and we'd dance around the house, with no presents under the tree and no guarantee that we would have any.
She is love and hate.. my mother.
She is love when I think of all the things she gave up, so that we could eat.
She is hate when I think of the word 'stupid', or when I collapsed doing dishes, crawling my way to her room, needing her help, and she found no need to rise from the couch to come to my aid...
My mother is my past, she is my present, and while I desperately try to struggle to regain the healing, while I struggle to understand the bruises and the hugs overlapping... overlapping so that I am unsure whether or not I can fully hate her, knowing I will always love her. I struggle with the knowledge that I can never fully trust her.
Always confusion...
Always in angles, in curves and circles...
Never a straight, definitive line.
Then again... sometimes relationships are like that...
Even relationships between mother and child..
I remember calling for her, and laughing at the strange looks.
Their logic? How someone of chocolate skin could produce such a fair skinned child.
My logic? It was just funny, the wide eyes, the slack jaws...
I remember her asking me questions sometimes, as if my opinions really mattered, and I would respond with whatever answer I knew she would like most. Her softness, her largeness, larger than life... encompassing the world...
I was always sensitive to that... the kadence of her voice, the tightness of jaw... the tension in the air... If she was upset, then I was upset. If she was hurt or outraged.. I was hurt or outraged.
I know of days when it seemed like it was just her and me. My sisters and brother would stay with a relative... the wrinkle in her brows when she couldn't afford to pay for all the groceries... the feeling of shame when we had to put some things away...
These things remain close to my heart, as our shared pain. Our struggle... when I was hers and she was all that was right in the world.
Even when...
even when her face would change, her eyes widen with anger, and she would hold a knife to my throat and threaten to cut me. Perhaps I said the wrong thing? I could not please her... Should I have looked at her a different way?
Or when the dark plastic trash bag descended over my head, and she held it there when I struggled, desperate for air. She held it there and said. "Don't play with these any more."
She was life and she was death..
She was death when her fingers encircled around my neck, and she squeezed... I was strong enough to fight it. I was strong enough to pull her fingers away.. and yet I did not. I was mesmerized at the anger I saw there. The emptiness that she had for me in that moment...
She was life when we'd play Christmas songs, and we'd dance around the house, with no presents under the tree and no guarantee that we would have any.
She is love and hate.. my mother.
She is love when I think of all the things she gave up, so that we could eat.
She is hate when I think of the word 'stupid', or when I collapsed doing dishes, crawling my way to her room, needing her help, and she found no need to rise from the couch to come to my aid...
My mother is my past, she is my present, and while I desperately try to struggle to regain the healing, while I struggle to understand the bruises and the hugs overlapping... overlapping so that I am unsure whether or not I can fully hate her, knowing I will always love her. I struggle with the knowledge that I can never fully trust her.
Always confusion...
Always in angles, in curves and circles...
Never a straight, definitive line.
Then again... sometimes relationships are like that...
Even relationships between mother and child..
Sunday, November 16, 2014
I don't do rational
The most interesting lesson I've learned this life is this...
No one is going to put themselves out to make me happy.
This is interesting, because while this lesson has been internalized in me for the last couple of years, I was never able to find the words to make it... well... solid and rational. I owe a great deal of thanks to a female artist who happens to write songs that I feel. This is profound because I never much loved rap. Nope, but she's made songs that I have actually bought, and enjoy. Her name is Temper, and I'll throw a link for you, if you are reading this and are into music do check her out. https://www.youtube.com/user/Temper3k9
I follow what speaks to me. This speaks to me. Anyway, she said in one of her Q and As.. this would be on another channel she has.. she said "DO you know anyone who will risk their own happiness just to make you happy? It's not going to happen."
It makes so much sense.
No one is going to do that. I've learned over time that no one wants the responsibility to make you happy. Now there may be some that are willing to take on a partial role in it, but you are pretty much alone. I know, it's kind of disheartening. Especially for those of us who are sensitive and still hold out this irrational hope that someday a love all powerful will come and truly change the world..
On the other side of that though, it's kind of empowering. If we allow ourselves to digest the fact that the soul mate ideology is a myth, we can see life for what it is. It is a learning experience. We can see love for what it is, what it is not, and what it CAN be... We can see our mistakes in love as growing opportunities. Through loving others, we are made aware of the flaws, and the strengths within ourselves.
You don't have to love everyone you date, but you can keep your heart open for the kind of love that is lasting.
Let us focus on that.
While we are focusing on that, let's never forget the love we have for self. It is self who is responsible for the care and feeding of self. Once you are an adult, you are thrust into the world and it is sink or swim honey. So... swim, and really and truly understand what it means to love self. First rule just say it.
"I am worthy of love"
Go ahead and say it. Say this too..
"I am good enough to be loved. "
Now, digest those words, every day. Regardless of what relationship you are in, regardless of what other people think or feel toward you. Focus truly on you.
I know it's hard, but nothing worth doing is easy. Write it down if you need to, say it over and over until you can feel it. Go through your past hurts and understand that people hurting cause hurt in you, but it is up to you how you internalize it. Never let another person's opinion of you reflect on how you view yourself. You are the creator of your own universe. Only you see from your own eyes, hear from your own ears, and hear from your own skin. See, feel, be, and love you.
Go back if you have to. Pick yourself up from the darkness and understand that weaknesses are only weaknesses if YOU view them to be. Everyone has lessons to learn, and no one is carved from gold.
You are however, made up of flesh, bone, and spirit. Like everyone else on this planet. JUST like everyone else. There is no one better than you. No one less than you. Ingest this knowledge, internalize it. Make it your own.
The light in me acknowledges the light in you...
-Orhea the Dreamer
No one is going to put themselves out to make me happy.
This is interesting, because while this lesson has been internalized in me for the last couple of years, I was never able to find the words to make it... well... solid and rational. I owe a great deal of thanks to a female artist who happens to write songs that I feel. This is profound because I never much loved rap. Nope, but she's made songs that I have actually bought, and enjoy. Her name is Temper, and I'll throw a link for you, if you are reading this and are into music do check her out. https://www.youtube.com/user/Temper3k9
I follow what speaks to me. This speaks to me. Anyway, she said in one of her Q and As.. this would be on another channel she has.. she said "DO you know anyone who will risk their own happiness just to make you happy? It's not going to happen."
It makes so much sense.
No one is going to do that. I've learned over time that no one wants the responsibility to make you happy. Now there may be some that are willing to take on a partial role in it, but you are pretty much alone. I know, it's kind of disheartening. Especially for those of us who are sensitive and still hold out this irrational hope that someday a love all powerful will come and truly change the world..
On the other side of that though, it's kind of empowering. If we allow ourselves to digest the fact that the soul mate ideology is a myth, we can see life for what it is. It is a learning experience. We can see love for what it is, what it is not, and what it CAN be... We can see our mistakes in love as growing opportunities. Through loving others, we are made aware of the flaws, and the strengths within ourselves.
You don't have to love everyone you date, but you can keep your heart open for the kind of love that is lasting.
Let us focus on that.
While we are focusing on that, let's never forget the love we have for self. It is self who is responsible for the care and feeding of self. Once you are an adult, you are thrust into the world and it is sink or swim honey. So... swim, and really and truly understand what it means to love self. First rule just say it.
"I am worthy of love"
Go ahead and say it. Say this too..
"I am good enough to be loved. "
Now, digest those words, every day. Regardless of what relationship you are in, regardless of what other people think or feel toward you. Focus truly on you.
I know it's hard, but nothing worth doing is easy. Write it down if you need to, say it over and over until you can feel it. Go through your past hurts and understand that people hurting cause hurt in you, but it is up to you how you internalize it. Never let another person's opinion of you reflect on how you view yourself. You are the creator of your own universe. Only you see from your own eyes, hear from your own ears, and hear from your own skin. See, feel, be, and love you.
Go back if you have to. Pick yourself up from the darkness and understand that weaknesses are only weaknesses if YOU view them to be. Everyone has lessons to learn, and no one is carved from gold.
You are however, made up of flesh, bone, and spirit. Like everyone else on this planet. JUST like everyone else. There is no one better than you. No one less than you. Ingest this knowledge, internalize it. Make it your own.
The light in me acknowledges the light in you...
-Orhea the Dreamer
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