Explaining my depression to my mother: A conversation

This was my trigger. It hit home, left me breathless. I’d like to point out some of my favorite lines in this poem by Sabrina Benaim. Here’s a link to the full video.

“Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out of town that depression felt obligated to invite to the party
Mom, I am the party, only I’m a party I don’t want to be at”


“Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company
Mom says try counting sheep
But my mind can only count reasons to stay awake”


“Mom says happy is a decision
But my happy is as hollow as a pin pricked egg
My happy is a high fever that will break”


“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven..”
―John Milton

I think it should be said. I was half in love with Superman.

My heart hurts. My mind is racing. There’s a war being waged.

I try so hard to be good, to be nice. To be wanted. But in the end, who am I hurting? Myself. My inner child never received closure. She will never go away. She will always be lurking at the back of my mind, waiting for her rescuer, her Prince Charming, her father that was never there, her grandfather that abandoned her when she needed him the most.

I tire of hurting, tire of being at conflict with myself. Who sees the real me? No one. Because who could want someone so broken, so insecure, so unstable, so unreliable, selfish, self-centered, untrustworthy. Not the father that wasn’t there nor the grandfather that left or the mother who kept her love just out of reach.

I don’t know what to write. I don’t want to write.

I can never shut off my mind and like a vulture circling for prey, it always comes back to me. An easy meal, no doubt. Why is it that our mind always wander to the past at late night hours when everyone else is asleep? Why does it dredge up what hurts us the most, what we want to think about the least?

My 21st birthday is less than 24 hours away.

I’m scared. I can’t see this ending well.

I’m no good at “moving on”, “getting over” people, or “forgive and forget”. I don’t think I could ever forget Batman or Superman. I’m not sure what the existent of my relationship will be with Batman after my birthday celebration has ended. I can’t get over him with him in my life but not having him in my life hurts too much. We can’t get back together because we’ve tried to make it work, multiple times. I just get hurt more and more each time.

I miss my grandfather. I have a unhealthy and complicated relationship with my older brother and my dad was absent for most of my childhood. Safe to say, I don’t have a good relationship with any male in my life. I guess that’s bled into my sex life as well.

I always thought that some Prince Charming would come riding along on his white horse to rescue me from my demons. I thought that he was Batman. It turns out that Batman just kept them at bay, like a talisman. They’ve been waiting, waiting to consume, overwhelm, and devour.

Some part of me realizes that I’m unwell. That I’ve never quite managed to cope with my abuse. That I use this blog and my relationships to self-medicate. That’s the rational side that’s been losing ground more and more of late. I need to get help before I enter into any future relationships. I know that. But this. . . . need to be like everyone else, to not draw attention, cause conflict, or make a scene will overwhelm and convince me to not seek help.

How do you get over that? How do you get over being. . . . abused and betrayed by someone you trusted and looked up to as a father? How does that not influence your relationship  with every male that cross your path? It does. I flinch when Batman raise his voice, panic when he shows any sign of being displeased with me, and seek his advice and instruction often. He often calls me a child and the truth is,  I am. I am still a child. A part of me never grew up, its still stuck in the past reliving that hell. It’s still bitter with its mother and yet craves her acceptance and love. It still hungers for a positive male influence in its life. It still waits to be rescued. It is still in hell being tormented by it’s demons.

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
― William Shakespeare

Dream Deferred

“What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–”

― Langston Hughes

My grandmother likes to clean. A lot. We had just gotten through throwing out some old stuff and I came across some old college acceptance letters. I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. I had so many hopes and dreams my senior year of high school, half of which didn’t come to fruition.

A lot of people look back to the past to see how far they’ve come. It has such a positive connotation. Me? I can’t help but look back and see how I’ve changed, both for the best and worst. I feel like I’ve lost my drive. I graduated high school with a 3.1 GPA. I finished my freshman year with a 3.7 GPA. This semester I just finished up? My semester GPA was a 1.8. My cumulative GPA is now a 2.4. The bright side is that I still have two more years to bring my cumulative GPA up. But. . . the truth of the matter is that I’ve lost focus on school and maybe my passion for what I’m going to school for.

I can’t help but miss that naïve, optimistic, and ambitious high school senior that I once was. It had never occured to me in 2015 that I would be where I’m at now. I settled, big time. I settled for the school, the guy, and the location. Batman had once told me not to settle. Too bad he told me that too late, my heart was already involved.

Now? I won’t look back for anyone. All I can do is go forward from here. I think staying on campus next semester will really help me recapture my focus, my drive, my passion, my dream.


A Caged Bird

“If everything seems under control, you’re not going fast enough.”

― Mario Andretti

Summer is officially here!

The Spring semester has finally come to a close. To be honest, it wasn’t the best semester for me. I feel like I say that after every semester. I hope next semester will be better.

I’m back at the old job that I held last summer and temporarily staying with my grandmother for the summer. I will be living on campus once again next semester. More student loans, yay.

Batman. . . .

Well, we’re taking a “break”. My birthday is next week. He’s booked a hotel for us near a beach and plans to take me out to eat at Red Lobster. Not something you normally do with your ex. I will never understand our relationship. But he’s become my rock, my safety blanket. I don’t want to ever let him go.

Superman. . .

We’ve reached some reconciliation. So far, not much has come of it. I don’t expect it to. Similar to my relationship with Batman, I’m tired of the yo-yoing. We’re friends, we’re not friends, we’re more than friends, etc. I’ll let it run whatever course it choose to take. The ball is in Superman’s court.

Me. . .

I’ve somehow got lost in the mire of everything, school, work, relationships. I feel most at peace and one with myself in a car. I know, it sounds weird. But. . . the constant, steady, familiar motion of a car, the unknown stretching before you, the world blurring pass, the wind in your hair, the out-of-control feeling of going too fast, that is when I’m happiest. It all melts away. I’m just a girl going way too fast for her problems to catch up to her. A car is a symbol of freedom for me. When I’m in my car, I feel free.

The Road Ahead

“How does he manage to break my heart and yet set it at ease at the same time? God, I love him. I think I always will.”

― Malia

Things never do workout the way you thought they would.

I’m officially single again. Batman and I have agreed to put our relationship on hold and take a break. It’s been a longtime coming. I’m both saddened and. . . . relieved. We’ve agreed to give being friends a try. I do believe that will workout far better than us being a couple has. This “break-up” has been reminiscent of the first, bittersweet. I could hear the affection in his voice, affection that I’ve long since thought was absent. I truly think we will be okay. He said we will always be good and it’s reassuring to think that he will always be nearby, albeit in a diminished capacity. How does he do that? How does he manage to break my heart and yet set it at ease at the same time? God, I love him. I think I always will.


Death Knocks. . . . Again

“At the temple there is a poem called “Loss” carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.”
― Arthur Golden

Well, as of Friday, April 21, 2017, I lost a second grandmother, my paternal grandmother. That would be the second death in my family this year, barely two months apart. 2017 is clearly not my year. It’s a good thing I never claimed it would be.

ALOT has been going on or so it feels like. I have been under a lot of stress lately. And it’s not easing up anytime soon. School has become stressful, work has become stressful, and my personal life. . . I’m not sure I want to touch that one.

I feel like an emotional wreck. I’m not sure if its hormones or something else. I feel as if so much is going on that my mind is having trouble focusing and processing any one thing therefore I’m tearing up over small irrelevant things. I cried on my way to work, just because. I can’t deal.

The funeral will be Saturday, April 29, 2017. There’s a number of family members that were closer to my grandmother than I was. A few were present with her at the end and witnessed her take her last breath. If I’m having trouble dealing, I don’t know how they’re coping. My maternal grandmother went into this almost catatonic state towards the end of my aunt’s funeral last month. It was one of the scariest things I’ve ever witnessed in my life, watching someone that strong break. . . It paralyzed me. I don’t think its too selfish to hope nothing remotely similar to that happens on Saturday.

I also hope and pray that death is done visiting my family. We’ve had enough. I’m 20 years old and I will be attending the ninth funeral I’ve been to in my entire lifetime. In my lifetime, nine of my family members left this world. I will have attended the funerals of 3 grandparents, 2 cousins, 2 uncles, an aunt, and my god-father. For someone so young, that’s a lot of death, in my opinion.

Hair Journey

“Relaxing your hair is like being in prison. You’re caged in. Your hair rules you. You didn’t go running with Curt today because you don’t want to sweat out this straightness. You’re always battling to make your hair do what it wasn’t meant to do.”

― Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I rarely talk about my hair journey on here, even though it’s a pretty big deal to me. I was always told by my grandmother that a woman’s hair is her glory, some biblical reference. Well, I took it to heart. I was raised United Pentecostal. In that denomination of Christianity, a woman shouldn’t cut her hair. In my grandmother’s eyes, clipping and trimming is the same as cutting. So, even though I hadn’t had shoulder length hair since Elementary school, I didn’t get my ends trimmed on the regular. I used a flat iron liberally and got relaxers every 3-4 months. Even though my hair was down my back, it wasn’t healthy in my opinion. My hair was long but remained the same length for well over 5 years. I had no length retention.

So, in March of 2016, I decided to begin a healthy/natural hair journey. I kind of fell off that wagon in November of 2016 when I got a relaxer after 8 months of transitioning. Well, I’m transitioning again. So far, its been about 4-5 months since I’ve had a relaxer. It’s frustrating but I’m determined to last longer than I did last time. I tried my first flexible rod set last night. It didn’t go well and it was a bit discouraging. But I’m going to attempt it again after watching some more YouTube videos. I’d incorrectly assumed that there was a specific way to do them but I’ve soon come to the realization that nearly everyone does them differently. Like most things about this journey, I have to decide what works best for me and my hair.

Wish me luck.