And I am tired, as always. Sasha, I am jealous that you're working out so much. I failed on that front, my conquests this break have been of an emotional value, which doesn't help because our every single day is filled with emotion, not workouts. Yeesh. I did make some decent couscous, though.
Life is good, can't wait for our Murder Mystery Party tomorrow. It's bound to be really fun. I'm the seductress, so it'll be hysterical seducing a bunch of girls and gay guys.
I became what I always hated.
I hope I’m responsible.
At this
point in my life, I feel like I’ve regressed.
Age is supposed to bring with it its dear friend, Wisdom. I think Wisdom took a wrong turn quite a few
steps back; Wisdom, you betrayed me.
I’ve been quietly awaiting your arrival, but you are making a living
somewhere else. It’s okay, though. I’m quite capable of fashioning a life
without you.
I know
I’m impatient, it’s in my blood. I’m
quite cold and calculating, but here comes again my inner Gemini: the Other me
wants something I can’t have. I’m trying
to make it work, though, and I know that my selfishness gives me away.
He found me out, he called me out. “From what you just said, you are so damn egocentric; you’re only concerned about what YOU want,” he stated. I started blaming him for things that were untrue.
I have serious trust issues.
I have serious
issues.
I don’t
believe men when they say that they’re in love or when they say, “You amaze
me.” Don’t give me that. He was right and it’s something I’ve tried really
hard to combat.
I am completely self-involved.
I’m trying to protect myself so much that my
environment doesn’t matter. Romance is
untrue, it is a living fib. Is that even
possible?
I guess
I will go with the flow. I’m just tired
of having emotions, mostly. I hate
making failed investments. That’s why I
would rather not deal with anything. Or
anyone. He wants to invest in me, but I
would be lying if I said the feeling is mutual.
The more I like someone, the more I distance myself emotionally. He said I was beautiful and I wanted to erase
him from my life for that. Things were
really easy when I was gone, but reality sets in when we live so close to one another and I’m terrified.
I have serious trust issues.
I have serious issues.
Lately,
my family has been of more concern, in retrospect. I was talking on the phone with a cousin of
mine from Chicago, and he mentioned several times, “I know you had an extremely
rough childhood—I don’t know much, but
I’ve heard it was…” Silence.
I know I
had it rough, but it seems like so many have brought it up.
Perseverance in the
face of adversity.
I wish he were a better man.
After my
parents divorced when I was four, my brothers and I moved into my grandma’s
house with my dad. My dad was active in
the Army, so we spent a lot of time with my grandma and my aunts.
Because
of backstage politics, my mom could not visit us. I didn’t see my mom for a good while, and
when I did, the cops were involved. It
was a reunion filled with tears and flashing police lights illuminating
everything. I was six at that time.
It was
rough growing up in that house, to be honest.
Every single day, my aunts and grandma had to let me know how worthless
I was, how stupid I was, how ugly I was…
…how I would never, ever amount to anything.
We
couldn’t eat most of the time. My
grandma was a terrible cook, so it was so difficult getting anything decent to
eat unless at school or when my dad got home.
I’m serious, the lady blackened and charred oatmeal.
I remember once, her serving boiled chicken in
water. It was supposed to be soup,
apparently. I remember trying to tear
the chicken apart and the meat stayed stuck in place, blood oozing up from the
meat. We sat there, not eating at
all. We couldn’t get up, we had to eat
the food. If I tried to get up to leave,
my grandma hit me and pulled my hair.
So I stayed sitting, crying. I got hit for crying. I had to stop crying because it just meant
more hair-pulling, more dirty words.
After an hour, she gave my brothers some change to get snacks from a
small convenience store two blocks down.
I couldn't go with them. I stayed sitting for six hours until my dad got home.
It was 1st grade. I
remember sitting in the cafeteria during school once, and the counselor and a
strange man came to gather me. I left
with all the other kids looking at me and I remember the strange man’s somber
face. I was taken to the counselor’s
office and the interrogation started—where did I get all my bruises from, my
little brother said something funny in class about me getting hit at home,
something about the strange man being able to help me.
I felt so dirty. But
all I said was, “My grandma.” It took everything I had to say that, and I remember looking down at my bruised arms.
I wish I
had been honest with the police when they came by later that evening. My aunt and grandma were home, and the police
came in asking them questions. Things
were getting intense: the police said that I had a counseling session at school
because they believe that I was being abused at home, my grandmother started yelling. One of the cops kneeled down to look me in
the eye and said, “You’re a smart girl, you can be honest and we can help
you. Is anybody here at home or anywhere
else hurting you?”
I felt so dirty and I felt like everything was my
fault.
The frail bird didn’t fly away like she could have.
I felt so dirty so I said, “No. No one is hurting me.” I looked the cop straight in the eye while
saying this, and he hung his head. A few
moments later he asked, “Are you completely sure?”
I said yes, I’m sure. The reality was that I wasn't sure, and that was my first glimpse into how self-destructive I could be. Things could be better, but I don't know why I do the things I do sometimes.
The beating I got after the cops left was very severe. I remember being on the ground, crying so
silently.
I deserved it.
It’s hard for me to truly think I’m smart, pretty, or truly
worth something. I can never be good
enough. I would win every single trophy
at every school event, get perfect scores in academic, musical, and art
competitions, but I never felt like I could ever be equal to anyone else.
I remember my first glimpse at people being
proud of me…I never had that affirmation.
My dad always skipped out on school ceremonies and band/solo recitals,
so all those performances and award ceremonies were worthless when no one in
the crowd was there for me. My mom was
always out of town, working, or tending to some political something or other; I
don’t blame her, or my dad--if they could, they would've gone. But it
taught me to do everything for myself.
The teachers learned to not ask where my parents were.
My first
affirmation that I was worth something was my six grade graduation
ceremony. I won all the awards—the floor
around me was littered with so many goddamn tacky trophies. My lap was covered in little trophies. The last batch of trophies that night were
for the Top 20 students. I remember
being stunned, despite how much affirmation I had received, that I was chosen
top student. I remember placing my lap
trophies on the ground so I could go up to the stage, and when I looked back up
and started walking, all the crowd—all of the faculty and parents—were standing
up, clapping. The whole crowd was on
their feet. And both my parents were actually there. I was so untouchably happy because, for the
first time in my life, I felt valuable.
I felt like I was capable of doing something with my life. I secretly want the same scene to play later
in my life. I want to accomplish
something great.
We, as girls, are pretty fucked up.
On a side note, welcome to the world, Blue Ivy Carter!
No comments:
Post a Comment