Color Me Bad as Hell

"Stronger" by Kanye West

...i know i got to be right now / cuz i can't get much wronger...

I'm following a young lady's blog. She's Black, she's a woman, and she's a lesbian, my three favorite minority statuses.

But she is remarkably brilliant, open-minded, and eloquent. I of course do not know this young lady, but her blog reveals her to be the aforementioned adjectives.

I just read an entry about her depression and her embarking on therapy. She is kind of upset about being in therapy, which I think is an interesting thing about people in therapy. I remember that I knew I needed (and currently need) to be in it but there is something shameful, disheartening, and annoying about being in therapy.

Especially when you are smart and understand psychology, you feel as though you should be able to treat yourself, handle yourself. It can be demoralizing. I am aware of the life circumstances and history that make me who I am, I am aware of who I am in a way that I don't think most people are, and I know what I need to do and the thinking that I need to change/implement.

However, I am unable to make the connection between what is wrong and how to rectify it. Emotions, especially those of childhood that have been allowed to develop just as one has physically, and those of resentment and anger, do not give a damn about intellect. I try to give myself therapy, but I don't listen.

That is the magic of therapy. There is a professionally trained person objective enough to make you aware of the reality you choose to deny by remaining "sick", burdened, guilted or whatever emotion you punish yourself with.

Anyway, after I read her entry, I realized that I say nothing about my depression, although if one reads these blogs in their entirety, it is painfully obvious. But I don't think I have ever said "I have depression". I just tell my blog how pointless I think life is.

Well I have depression. And I don't want to be ashamed of it. A lot of unfortunate things happened to me and I made a lot of bad decisions for my life. But I am/was just living my life like everyone else was doing. These (take a look at my current life) are the results. There are no directions to living. Each person does what they want, what they know. I ended up with depression (although I am genetically predisposed to depression because there are a gang of people who seem to suffer from depression in this African family).

I even cried today over the frustration I feel about my life, although the thunderstorm outside made me quite vulnerable to my own dormant sadness (not even that dormant).

I say all that to say this: I am not ashamed. I couldn't really help it but I can help myself out of it. I have been telling my depressed friends and family (a bunch of us are heading to therapy, need therapy, or in therapy in my circle right now) that they deserve to be happy. I may even believe that I deserve to be happy.

I will go back to therapy soon and I will unabashedly describe my thoughts and progress.

Ejecting You

"Tell Him" by Lauryn Hill

...let me be patient / let me be kind / make me unselfish / without being blind / though I may suffer / I'll envy it not / and endure what comes...

I haven't had a real fight with my mother for a long time, partly because we don't talk and partly because we talk about superficial, non-controversial things.

However, under the surface, their is bubbling hot anger we both feel for what we perceive the other put us through.

Today, it kind of reared its ugly head...the anger.

She thinks I'm selfish. I think she (and a coerced husband) deserted me.

And these are the things tha pollute our lives. These different views of the same situation, varied opinions of the circumstances, personal assessments for whose fault it is are what haunt this house.

In the argument, the same frustration, the same screaming, the same non-listening business was going on that directed our arguments when I was in high school.

She said such hurtful things to me. Just plainly mean things that I hope she doesn't mean but know she said out of anger. She has such a nasty temper.

Apparently, she has been generally frustrated with me since I came home. Additionally, my mother is very defensive about her parenthood. I pointed out that I was very melancholic today and she just nagged me and didn't ask me anything. She flatly said that I am 22 years old and I can talk if I want to. She is not a psychic nor does she study me. This was just absurd. I couldn't even rebuttle.

And then she asked me to leave. She can't stand my attitude. I don't know why, but today, it was too much for me. I cried all day. I couldn't control it. Even as we argued, water washed my face uncontrollably. She even said, "Could you stop with the emotion and listen to me?", totally unmoved. Which is fine, I guess.

I think something is wrong with my mother. She has many burdens. Coming to a new country with small children, living overseas helpless as war ravages her home country, her youngest son suffering from fairly severe Autism at a time when little was known about it, losing her mother when she couldn't see her for over 15 years.

She has been through a lot and I don't think she dealt with it well, if at all. That is why I only swell marginally with anger because she is a human being too.

She is not a bad mother. She is just emotionally inept and I am far too thin skinned to be here with her.

I don't know why her opinion matters to me so much. I wish I didn't need her approval. It is kind of a stupid thing because even if she really approved of me, she isn't the kind of person to express such. She means well, I hope. But the issues have not been resolved. We are still angry and bitter and frustrated and confused. I'm going to go to therapy, that way, no matter what she says, it won't matter.

Until then, I bow out.

I Used to Rule the World

"13th Period: On My Own Time " by Gym Class Heroes

...I wish I could unzip my skin and take it off / just to take a walk / but I can't do it...

I watched Kung Fu Panda and Game Plan with my roommates Brittany and Stevara today, even though I (all of us) definitely should have been studying for finals. But, we didn't. The movies were really good and it was a really good ambience ... couches, rainy day, pajamas, snacks, and two movies.

I don't know why I thought I was going to get work done.

Not long after, I decided to come to the library. Good movies keep coming on. When I had finally resolved to start doing work, Paid in Full came on. There is no way I can sit there and not watch that movie which means I won't do my work. The Color Purple was on too.

So I left and have arrived in the library.

It could be this suck @$$ weather, but I am type depressed. I just feel so worthless and pointless...again.

I cannot understand my importance or my utility in the world. I just feel like it's time to be out. I am studying and doing all this work for a degree that will qualify me for a master's program or whatever graduate studies which will give me higher earning potential to co-support my husband and children who I will send to school and have them do the same thing.

Pointlessness. But I used to see a point in this.

I used to tell my Mom that I didn't want my life to be like hers. I felt as though all she did was work, come home, watch tv, talk to her husband, and go to sleep. I told her I thought her life was boring. I didn't realize until I was older (like, within the last 2 years) that I was 1.) being really insulting to this very hardworking, selfless woman and 2.) missing the reality that people are different and my mother was doing what it she felt she had to do/wanted to do. So who the hell was I to tell her that her life was boring? It isn't my life. She was working 7 days a week for unmentionable hours so I would have the luxury of sitting in a very expensive house, going to a very expensive school, having very expensive things and complain about how bored I was.

Isn't childhood interesting? But now I am not bored as much as I am aimless. I almost feel robotic, manufactured, and generic. Life, even the most mundane details, were so interesting to me. Now it is all just mundane details sucking the life out of me.

Hopefully, after this last exam, I'll feel better. It's looking like a 3.8 GPA kind of semester which I'm sad about. I got a B in World Literature: Dante's Comedy. And I love literature. Damn antiquity.

The Etiology of Being Lost

"Whenever You Call" by Mariah Carey

...i'll be the one to catch your fall / whenever you call...

I used to listen to this song in high school. I used to listen to many songs with a similar theme because I didn't feel I had anyone who understood so the music was the witness to hidden loneliness.

I'm an extreme extrovert and not the least bit shy. I talk to anyone about anything. I have been told that I have a charming, captivating personality, but I never describe myself as such.

Nonetheless, as an adolescent, I was angry and irritated and lonely most of my time. I fought with my parents, especially my mom, ALL the time. I can't really remember why, but I didn't like to be at home or spend time with them. I liked to hang out with my friends, which I think is natural. In Sierra Leonean terms, I was a "strit pikin", or I liked to hang out in the streets. It doesn't mean a literal street with stree lights. But the street refers to any place that is not the residence of a relative.

I was annoyed by that. I never understood why it was such a bad thing to want to hang out with my friends. Additionally, I was not close to my mother. She is not the talkative, indulging kind of mother, which is okay, I guess.

Honestly, I don't know what the hell the problem was between the ages of 13 and 18. But I know what

happened following those ages. There were particular events that dampened my soul and infected my worldview. Some of them I caused with bad decision making. Some of them...life just happened to me.

And my parents so easily set me aside. I talk about this a lot, I know, but that is the truth to me. I feel so disposed of and again, this night, I cry under the burden of my resentment.

I just don't think I deserve what happened. I think over and over and over again about how I could have handled the situation better. I know I had alternatives. However, I don't feel like I should have been tossed aside at my most vulnerable moment.

It made me feel inconsequential. I feel as though I don't matter sometimes. I am jealous at the pace at which everyone else seems to travel while I am almost totally stationary.

I want to believe that I am charming, funny, intelligent, generous, considerate, think of others first, polite, honest, etc. I want to work at perfecting those qualities. But sometimes I feel worthless, all because the people I value most in the world seem to not value me at all. And if they only knew that I am just waiting to be important to them again.

God, I want my life back.

So, That's Awesome

"God Only Knows" by The Beach Boys

...I may not always love you / But long as there are stars above you...

Sniki texted me early this afternoon. She is a blogger and a blog reader (I feel as though that sounds so culturally contrived).

She texted me about two blogs that she thought were interesting and told me to check them out. Her blog is also quite amazing. She is on my Magic Woman blog as The Niki.

Because I decided to skip my only Friday class, my mind was in no way occupied, not being intellectual, and not being productive.

I was checking out these blogs and then I became a little idle. Some folder in my brain reminded me about a certain someone's blog, and, like an idiot, I decided to check it out.

Now, I didn't know the address so I looked up on Google the email address I remember he uses.

And I found it. And in it, he very measuredly, very casually, callously but effectively, and hurtfully called me crazy. The entry was not even about me and nor was my name explicitly mentioned but context exposed "the last girl I called myself in love with" as me.

I spent hours, hours thumb talking to my counselors Christina and Brittany trying to figure out 1) why he would say such a thing and 2) why I am so upset about it.

Here I am: A few months ago, I received a text asking how I was doing. I did not respond and received another message a few minutes later, a reminder from him that he will always be there for me.

I was enraged. I was so livid. After having "thrown a grenade and running," he was back, I guess, to assess the damage. I cannot convince myself that he was returning to rebuild a damn thing, although I could be wrong. Still enraged, I called him and let my angry lips talk without having thought about what I was going to say. It was profane and mean and emotional and raw, but it was honest. I still don't even know how he managed to get this new number.

What happened? What happened to "I am always here for you"? How quickly we arrive at "crazy" (and he knows I am afraid that people will think I am crazy so that's an awesome choice of a word). After the whole "betrayal" (oh it was such a production), I felt (feel) so slighted that I don't think he deserves to be angry.

But that is not fair. Those are his emotions. I cannot think for him nor can I feel for him. And if there is one thing I believe, I believe that we are all entitled to our emotions. He is angry and I cannot do anything but understand.

And I am trying. I am trying so hard to forgive. I try so hard sometimes it seems like he may feel it. He may feel that I am trying to let go and stop hating him. Obviously, he does not. I am trying to let it go, realize that people do bad things and will do bad things to me, I do and will do bad things to people, and move on with my life.

But it is hard. I understand that he his angry and I have a good idea about what and why. I am a student of psychology and I have already concocted some explanations about it, but it does not help me. It does not comfort me.

I let him in...all the way. I told him all the things that embarrass me, that I am ashamed of, angry at myself for, everything. And he caudled me and informed me that nothing is wrong with me, that I am still lovable, that I am a good person and then he left. And I wonder if he meant any of it. And then I returned to the days when I was certain. I am certain that something is wrong with me. He did not want me either.

I'm not angry. For one, I should not have been on his blog. For two, he is a human being and he deserves his anger and any other emotion he has. For three, he is a good man, a very good man who's ego was slighted. Empathy is almost always wholly silenced by ego. He is a good man, but he is a man.

The Christina and the Brittany responded to me all day with texts of encouragement. They said some unflattering things about my former friend (they may hate him more than I do, and it is not as though I haven't said some things myself), mostly just to make me feel better.

And even though I want to believe them and be angry because it feels so good, so filling, it is not right. I feel for him in the midst of my anger because whether or not I am wrong or he is, both of us are still humans and your pain is always real and never soothed by pointing fingers and dodging responsibility.

I am sorry. I apologize. I hurt you and I am sorry. And I shall never be so stupid as to read the blog again.

It's like I eat stupid for breakfast or something.

Fitting Accidents

"So What" by Pink
...so, so what / I'm still a rock star / I got my rock moves / and I don't need you...

Amy [Winehouse] has this song, "Back to Black" whichis kind of the place I am always returning to. I feel as though I awaken everyday to give it a try although I am consistently disappointed.

At this stage, it feels like I awaken just to have the comfort of Black. Someone did the cliche thing of "breaking my heart" again. And I don't mean it in the metaphorical sense. I really feel, sometimes that something, most likely my heart, is really broken.

I keep too many secrets, primarily because when shared, they come back to haunt me. I told someone all my secrets, all my passwords, all my pandemonium, all my embarrassing idiosyncrasies and he blew my cover.

I thought, for a little bit, that I was possibly worthy of having good people in my life who loved me and would help and protect me. He made me think that was possible.

But skip all that sappy business. The bottom line now is I am pissed, infuriated, livid, red with rage, and all that. Not that I am blameless because I allowed my naivete to guide me despite the fact that I know I can be naive, especially about people. Other friends warned me but I always had a response, a defense ready that quieted them, even just temporarily. I did more than that, but he can write that blog if he wants.

I learned the hard way instead. He broke all of my confidences and meddled in my family life in a way that he never should have. He reinforced the mistrust, cynicism, and fear I already had for people. And it made me feel inadequate all over again.

The letters in someone else's name, logging into my shit, the mean emails and messages addressed to hurt my feelings, scouting for my number, telling people my business, and whatever other shit I may not be aware of is just the basement of the problem. The problem is the awesome skyscraper I have built to distract everyone from the crumbling city it is surrounded by. I will never show my damage or my vulnerability again.

But like an invaded country, I wear the scars, suffer the broken infrastructure, the casualties in the street, the debris, and all the signs of invasion, while he and his troops walk away, a little bruised, but back to a home that is intact as mine is burning to the ground. I feel like he gets to return to his life while I struggle to live mine.

So he lost a good friend. So what? I lost the progress in a relationship with the woman who made me. I cannot "quit" my mother. I have to deal with this ravaged country that is our relationship no matter how inhabitable it is.

And as if to add insult to injury, I get correspondence asking about how I am doing. Do you really care? I have to say I don't think so. Guilt and a search for forgiveness are possibly bigger motivators than your genuine interest in how I may be doing.

For I am not doing well. I am not doing anything. All the things I was ashamed of myself for are now common knowledge, but continue to go unacknowledged. I still feel ashamed. I never really forgave myself for the things I did that I told you in confidence, but you somehow felt it appropriate to share them with others, whose opinions really matter to me, whose approval I really need, simply to embarrass me, not to help me.

Yesterday came the text messages (when he shouldn't even have my number). And although I thought it a good idea to call and ask for a cessation of correspondence and say my piece, I didn't really feel any better afterwards. I cried so bitterly (again) to the girls because no matter how much time passes, I just don't understand how things went so wrong. I am mad at what was done but I blame myself, instinctively.

Simultaneously, I don't understand what I did that was so bad to deserve such a thing. I try to be a good person because I've had a crappy life and I don't want anyone to live as I have. But maybe I didn't do such a good job. Maybe I didn't show the love I said I felt. Maybe I'm just not a good person. I don't know.

But leave me alone, whatever you do sir, because it isn't fair that you pop up in my life whenever you want and make me relive the whole thing again. Things are no better. I am still angry and I still hate you. I'm sorry to hold a grudge but I ain't that good of a Christian. So to answer your question: No, life is not treating me alright.

Flaws & All, Part 4

Henry Ford Hospital, Frida Kahlo (1932)

The last consolation prize I can think of right now is I can get rid of the people who don't agree with that. I can walk away, at any time, from anyone whose help is not actually helpful. I might be damaged, but I'm not irreparable. I might be going down the wrong path, but I can turn around at any time. God does not believe anyone is hopeless.

I was however, angry with God. I feel as though each time I am about to do the "right" thing, I am somehow sabotaged. It was time to tell my mother. It has taken me a year to face the shame and guilt I caused and cause myself and I finally felt it was time to tell her. God knew I was thinking to do it and wanted to.

And I feel as though He should have blocked anyone else from doing it for me. It was important that she hear it from me and in the way I wanted to tell her. I know her. She is the woman who's approval I have pined for my entire life and I knew that news like that is devastating. I imagined the disappointed of hearing such a thing about one's only daughter.

And my poor Daddy. Our relationship has been rocky of late anyway. His frustration has turned into anger and now, I am sure, disappointment or even alarm.

But she needs to know...from me. In a calculated, sensitive, and gentle way, not from a note, a callus list she was never intended to see. Not from a piece of paper that was my personal thinking and mapping, meant to help give ME courage to say it the right way.

My Christina says to tell her anyway; to carry on just as I had planned because God is simply testing how serious I am about improving this existence of mine. And I am serious. I will tell her in the same sensitive and careful way as if she did not know already.

Because ultimately, I can never abandon my mother. For all her missteps, I have matched them, and she has done what she knows how to do. She will always be my mother, but I don't ever have to see him again. So hate on me...

And when a person tells who they are, believe them, all they say and do.

Flaws & All, Part 3

Funnily, I am not angry. I think anger neutralizes resilience and because I must move on with my life, I must pick resilience. It shocks me still, because anger is the emotion I am most familiar with, most ready to run to, and most likely to rely on.

My solace comes from a knowledge that fundamentally, I am a good person. My Christina reminded me that with all my bad decisions, my secrecy, my deceit, etc., never has she known a person to do so much for people without hesitation or invitation.

No matter what I do wrong, I can choose to do things right. That is one of my consolation prizes. Another is that there are people who love me no matter what, bullshit and all, and will not dangle my imperfections over my head in order to reign me in, in order to compel me to be and behave the way they want me to, like some people I have chosen to leave behind did.

My life is still and will always be the sum of my decisions, whether they be wrong or right. At least I have the right to make them. Depression, BPD, etc. gives no one the right to evacuate my life of privacy and does not make investigating my every move permissible. It still is and will always be my life. I exist even without you as you do without me.

Flaws & All, Part 2

Some of my ignorance, I think, is something all people share. Everyone needs and wants someone in their corner. So the people one has decided are reliable and in their corner are scrutinized in a different way. A person wants to believe the best about their family and friends, sometimes even in the face of abject contradiction.

So I believed the best although I knew the worst. Don't they say you may know better but not do better?

The tragedy really lies in denial. When everyone said it wasn't any good for me, and it was proven right, I hung on, not because I needed to, but because I wanted to. I felt like I'd had enough heart break for a lifetime so I didn't want to walk away even when SO many said I should.

Flaws & All, Part 1

Maya Angelou once said that if someone tells you who they are, believe them. I read that quote quite some time ago and I thought it was such a dependable piece of advice.

But I missed the more complex application. When she says "tell" you, she doesn't actually mean speech. A person may not tell you with his or her words who he or she is. Most people simply aren't that honest with themselves or the network of people around them to tell you who they are with their words.

They may give you generic and empty descriptions like "kind" or "thoughtful" or "intelligent" or "outspoken". Those adjectives are subjective. What I consider to be "thoughtful" or "intelligent" may be much different from the definitions another person has. So how, really is anyone any of those aforementioned things?

Of course, there are universal consensus about kindness and humanity and respect. We all agree murder is generally wrong. The difference in opinion come with the subtlies in details, not the big picture.

Nonetheless, rarely is a person emotionally equipped to tell who they really are. His or her true character is revealed in tests. The situations of one's0 life will test and provoke a response and the sum total of those responses will reveal who that person really is.

I missed that. I understand now, but I missed it. I saw someone based on what I heard. I trusted what I heard and overlooked what I saw.

Fraudulent Behavior

2:05pm

I was sad, initially. I was sad and my eyes welled up, my skin felt hot, and my knees were in serious opposition to the fight against gravity. I should fall down.

I remained standing. I had to wait for the girl next to me to return because she asked me to watch her things.

She returned and I turned to look for a place to reread the Dear Jane email. I needed a chair to rub my back while I thought of what to say back.

I found her, the chair and she looked at me all lovingly. She said I should sit, but do not login, or type, or reread. Sit baby, and reduce your temperature. I obeyed.

Then I logged in. I opened my email and reread it. I did not read the last part, the story I was directed to read. I will read it later. The first part was too overwhelming.

Then one of my darling children texted me searching for validation or coaxing about her life and I knew I could not satisfy her so I left the message unanswered. She will forgive me.

I reached normal temperature and the salty water of my eyes dried up. Then I was angry. Then I was mad. Then I was confused and salty as hell. It is the strangest timing, I feel. Tomorrow is his big day and all my plans are foiled. I do not even want to wish him anything happy.

I too believe in the seasons. I believe people don't last always. I also believe in the idea of permanence. I believe that some people possess a stronghold over your life that they do not even realize and I cannot begin to explain, but it is there and legitimate and real and indomitable.

It makes no sense for the Wishing Marble season to be over. I never intended for it to be a season. It carries me through so much and fills me up and to give it up, especially involuntarily, I feel robbed and betrayed.

Just when he complains that one of his best friends is moving away, he sends me packing.

I cannot love like that. Not that I cannot love you like that. I cannot love like that at all. I feel betrayed and not by anyone in particular, but I cannot love like that.

I could keep my mouth shut. I could keep details of others to myself. I would do that for you. I would do a lot for you.

But you have felt the need to walk away for a long time. I am upset that you don't want to at least have a conversation but maybe it is an awkward conversation to have. I will not push you.
My every moment is filled and made livable only because of the idea that I have my few places to run to. Now, one of my favorite places, my most reliable places has been destroyed, possibly irreparably.

So, I'll buy a new pair of jeans, cut out the knees so that they can breath better, so as to protect me when they feel weak, and I will sit, my hands in praying position between my knees with my purple pumps and add this to my list of grievances with God.

And then...