I have started a blog on another site to chronicle my struggles with my autoimmune disorder. The physical, mental, emotional, and financial struggles I faced are shared by people all over the world. It wouldn’t hurt if I got a donation or two either :). But anyways, check it out and if you have a few extra coins laying around, help a sista out. Peace & Blessings!
I think you are awesome. Your smile, your caramel skin, that cute little giggle you do when I say something funny…. You make my soul smile. There is magic to be found in almost everything you do. I wish you saw yourself the way I see you. Your intelligence is so amazing. So many things to say. I think we could have interesting conversations for millennia after millennia. I feel a current of electricity every time your touch nears me. When we are together if feels as though the earth is revolving around us, like the people and places we see is just a stage for us to play on. I can hear all the notes in music, all the breezes in the air, and all the beams of the sun when we walk hand in hand.
I wish my fingers were talented enough to put your broken heart back together so that you could trust and love me like we both deserve; to love and be loved in a way that is wild and free. The kind of love that makes colors brighter, hugs warmer, kisses deeper, and touches that reach the soul. Man, oh you beautiful black man! Let me in. Let me love you with my heart, my body, my mind, and my soul.
We often express how young girls having her father in her life is important but we rarely discuss the pathology of little girls who indeed had a father in her life but maybe didn’t consider how his actions would affect her as the first man she ever loved. I love my father beyond what words can describe, but I find myself haunted by his flaws in my love life. I find it easy to love a man that share the same flaws as my father because I loved my father with those flaws. So fellas, even though you are there, be mindful of what she sees because children are way more perceptive than you give them credit for.
My father was my best friend and I felt like a piece of me died when he passed away. I was 18 but I felt like I need my father more than ever; fresh out of high school, first semester in college…he was my sounding board for so many things. But my dad traveled a lot with his job. Sometimes I would see him and sometimes not. He broke his promises but always came back and try to fix them. What I understood about dad was that he would always do what he said he was gonna, just maybe not when he said he was gonna do it. I just learned to trust what he said and be patient that it was going to happen eventually.
When he saw that some things that he did hurt me, he would immediately jump into action, trying to fix it and make it better; comforting me with kind words and more promises that didn’t always come true but made me feel better enough to dry my tears for the moment. I see myself interacting with the men in my life the same way. Constantly in a state of disappointment because words are not lining up with actions, constantly being silent when I should speak up, protecting emotions while I crumble inside…. But they are never like Daddy. They hurt without remorse and disappoint without a second though and leave me broken like a cheap toy, walking away with the residue of my trust and love leaving footprints on the ground until they realize that just maybe they fucked up a good thing. By then, however, its too late. I have a different brand of daddy issues but it effect me just as much…
I’ve listened to advice before; people telling me I wear my heart on my sleeve as if that is a bad thing. I’ve tried hiding my heart behind a brick wall but it was too dark and I couldn’t feel the sun. I have finally come to the conclusion that maybe that is where Shelia’s heart is supposed to be. I love who I am so why change now?
Some people think hiding their emotions and their heart behind a brick wall makes them strong but No! That makes you afraid and unprepared. Wearing my heart on my sleeve has caused me to get some bumps, bruises, and scraps but its still there, beating and strong. Strong because I allowed it to take all the punches full force, strong because I allowed it to weather the elements, and strong because I didn’t protect it like a baby, but let it grow wild and free.
For that my love is more pure, more consuming, and able to withstand the strongest of winds, the hardest of punches, and deepest of depths. It takes real strength to show emotions in a world this cruel because it is me who walks in the light while you dwell behind the darkness of walls because not only are you keeping hurt out, you are keeping it in as well.
For every beating my heart takes, I am still able to love, to trust, and be vulnerable while you become harder, withdrawn, and unable to love effectively. So whatever words, opinions, or shade you wanna throw at me, bring it! I’m prepared. I can take it. Practice makes perfect. My heart will only become stronger than it was yesterday…
I told my mother I was raped 12 years after it happened. Her voice remained calm but I could hear the heartbreak in her silence as I cried onto the phone. She asked why I had waited so long to tell her. I replied that I didn’t want to worry her. I didn’t want to break her heart. But she finally understood why all those years ago, the only places I went, for about a year, was to the doctor’s office. Men terrified me. They still do…just a bit. Perhaps the men in my life would appreciate me more if they knew the type of fears I still have to battle to allow them to even get close to me.
All those years ago, I only told two of my family members. My sister suggested counseling and cops, my cousin suggested violence and trigger happy uncles. I did neither. I folded into myself and wondered if I would ever feel safe around a strange man again. I wondered how I would protect myself when I didn’t even know what to protect myself from. It was only a few months after losing my virginity. I bleed all over the place as this faceless stranger wrapped my torn t-shirt around my neck and stabbed me over and over with his body. My arms pinned beneath my bent legs with his weight…It felt like a boulder was laying on my body. I floated away to another place and watched this horrible thing happening. It wasn’t me this was happening to. It was some other 21-year-old being violated in the darkness. Something inside of me broke and it took me years to figure out exactly what. But on discovery, I found that it could be placed back together but it would never be the same.
I commend the women who were brave enough to place themselves in front of the pointing fingers because I was not strong enough to wear the shame and blame of my victimhood on my own shoulders. To have my personal sex life used as an invitation for any man to enter my body. To be asked “could have/would have/why didn’t you” questions that seem to make women who are raped feel as if they were responsible for this sexually aggressive act. To hear someone use my sleeping, panties and t-shirt wearing form as an excuse for why my chocolate covered body caused this offense…
This past weekend I went on a cabin trip with 13 of some friends. I had a freaking blast. I also got to know some of them on a much deeper level and within that, I learned more about myself. I’m an emotional and sensitive person and in the world as it, it’s more of a flaw than a virtue. A friend told me that by being too emotional, I show my hand to the world and invite people to hurt me. God, it was hard hearing that!
As old as I am, the way I was raised, how do I change? How do I stop being affected by the things people say and do to me that are negative? A random bitch off the street saying shit about me is ineffective in my life, but when I care about someone, I become protective and very aware of how my actions and words can affect our relationship. I can say that I have had the privileged of having some men in my life who appreciated that softness within me but the dating game has definitely changed since I was in my twenties. I was in relationship for nearly my whole 20s and after three failed, major relationships, I find that I don’t know as much about the way men are anymore. Time I think I have it figured out, something comes up and change my mind. I think that was the problem within itself; I can’t place men in a box and expect them all to fit it in. Lord knows I would be upset if someone tried to stuff me in one.
Going through my health issues really put a dent in my confidence and self-esteem at one point. I honestly didn’t even think I would survive it. But I’m here, different; but here. Bigger, but here. Scarred, but here. But here I am, single, in this dating world that is about 85% visual. On one hand, I think I am beautiful inside and out, then I look down at what this autoimmune disorder (and me) has done to my body over the years and I am not so sure. Then I have these guys who loved me despite those flaws, yet seem to get swayed or distracted by visual “upgrades”. It’s confusing, it’s frustrating, but its life.
Advice from friends offer even more confusion. I have a board spectrum of opinions to choose from. I have one friend telling me that I am beautiful just the way that I am and some guy will come along who will love and appreciate me for just the way I am for me. Then I have another friend that tell me that I need to change my outside and become more visually pleasing to attract the guy I deserve. Then another opinion that I need to change the inside and not be so emotional and have such high expectation from men like monogamy (the fuck?). Clearly I am not getting any closer to a solution so I am going with option 4. I want to get my life back on track. I want to lose this weight and complete my other surgeries for health reason so that I can began working on a solid career again. I want to be a better me for me so that when that man that comes along who is worth it will have something he can truly be happy with. But mostly, I want to be completely and utterly happy with myself.
Being nice is overrated, being a class A bitch is even more overrated. I just need a happy medium, a good nutritionist, do some squats, and chuck the deuces at a much faster rate. I am tired of being the “break-queen” as my mom and sister love to call me when they find out I have dumped some else I started to date in only a matter of months. Yes, I am a hopeless romantic but I recognize bullshit when I smell it and have no issues moving right along. With that said, I will be single until it’s worth it…
Fat hearts are anything but normal. They don’t deserve to exist in peace with themselves. They must be constantly reminded of their fatness and must change it as soon as possible. They don’t deserve to be seen. They offend the eyes. They don’t deserve to be loved or treasured. They must understand that their more makes them less. They must understand that no matter what they are, it is lessened by their fatness. No love they deserve! How dare they have self-esteem! How dare they be comfortable with who they are until they become a smaller them. They must always live on the edge of happiness because fat and happy dare not exist on the same plane. How dare they be admired, loved, cherished, and accepted! It promotes unhealthiness. They should never be 100% anything unless it includes being less fat. They must hold their breath forever, waiting to be whole until they weigh less, even until death.