The darker moments

Sometimes it's just a bad damn day. Sometimes it's much longer. I never know when it's coming- I can never really prepare. It starts slow- my thoughts start to get a little cloudy. I can't remember the little things, like why I walked across a room. Then it blossoms into something bigger. I forget to eat. I don't want to get out of bed. Apathetic to all things, even my anxieties can't break through.

But no one knows me this way, they only know my smiles and jokes. A facade developed over years. Practice makes perfect, you know. When I give someone a glimpse, when I tell them maybe that day is a particularly hard day, the reactions are always the same- they suggest I focus on all I have going for me. I don't have a right to be unhappy when... fill in with all their thoughts and suggestions. Now not only am I feeling lost, I also feel guilty for feeling this way in the first place.

That's when the days get darker. I lose track of large swaths of time. Working through habit, coming awake to realize it's the end of the day, and I'm laying in bed. I don't remember getting there.

If a moment of clarity happens, I wonder if anyone has even noticed? I'm so known for doing things on my own, for going by my own drumbeat- have they noticed my real absence? This isn't attention seeking, but can they see me?

 It's not their job. Don't ask for help. You got yourself here. Dig out. But I keep slipping back. I can't find a foothold, I don't want to try anymore. What if I just let go? No one noticed my absence at this point. It won't hurt anyone. It's just me. My blinders are firmly affixed.

Just when I think I can't... I laugh that day. Or I call someone and had them tell me about their day- awash with someone else's thoughts and feelings. I almost can't hear mine. Then it becomes like a badly tuned radio, going in and out. Then the feeling you get when you lay face up in a boat, and it rocks you back and forth. Good to bad. Good to bad. I don't wake up crying, I don't sit in the shower for who knows how long- just letting the water hit my back. I got up.

Sometimes it's just a day, a moment, a thought. Sometimes so much longer. I've always sought the light- I've always been lucky enough to find it again. Still, I hide this part of me. I feel so broken. Who wants to play with something fractured, so imperfect?

So I hide it again. Keep smiling, don't tell anyone. They won't have noticed anyway. Or they'll tell me to keep my chin up- there's so much to live for.

I know. Doesn't mean I can't honor these shitty moments in time either. They're mine too- the darker moments.

different.

You are different. I can feel it when I stand near you. I can hear it in the lilt of your voice, and see it when you look at me. It's not the same flutter I've felt in my stomach before- the swoop and drop of anticipation. This feels more like satisfaction.

We're both afraid, so afraid- but just imagine the possibility. What if?

I look back and wonder at the ones who came before. Could they have been there, place holders for this? My rose colored glasses are firmly fixed upon my face, my fear bubbles under the surface, and yet I still wonder- did she break my heart to lead me to you? Time will answer these questions. Nothing but time. The great healer, decider, and taker- time.

Words are easy, actions are hard. I don't want easy words- please don't tell me what you think I want to hear. I couldn't handle the thought of you not meaning what you say- I've been there too often before. There are too many broken promises and lies left behind me as it is.

I don't want to fast forward, I don't want to miss any of it- because of your difference. It isn't exotic- no. It isn't lust- though you must know I'm attracted to you. It's... I can't find the words. I'll patiently wait instead, find them as they come.

I'm listening to my body this time. It's at peace near you. I've known nothing but turmoil for so long. Discomfort and sadness, aching and loneliness. Then there was space, then you.

And now we wait to see if difference is what it takes.

Afraid alongside you.

Please give me grace.

I'm scared, and I don't want to be. I want to trust you, really I don't trust myself. Not like I used to. I used to be so confident. I had nothing but time, I had youth on my side. I also had ignorance, and the blueprint of Hollywood romance right in front of my eyes.

Here you are- and it's so easy. Too easy? Too early. But it feels different.

She took my well meanings and words, my wishes and dreams, and manipulated them to fit her. I was so blinded by lust and love I couldn't see it. The subtle shifts, the changes there.

I wish you could promise you won't do the same. I wish you could promise you'll grow with me, and soothe my fears. I wish you could promise you are different- battered but pure, honest and kind, willing to defend my heart as if it is a part of yours.

I wish I could promise you I'm better than they were- the ones who came before me. I too am battered and bruised. I carry the scars of love and loss, of heartbreak and loneliness. I carry hope too- it's written on my wrist and my heart. Constant reminders time can change all things.

I'll give you grace. I'll look you in the eye, I'll speak my truth as I know it. I'll lay bare my dreams and wishes for a life spent with someone.

Tell me something good.

Tell me you understand. Tell me I'm not alone. Tell me you feel it, see it, hope it, dream it. Tell me you aren't too far gone to come back. You believe in more, in togetherness, even in fear. Our fears could unite us rather than divide us.

Allow for time.

Whether it's short or long, can we see what this is? If we stand a chance, or if we're only here to remind one another there can be more with someone by our side? If you see me pull back, don't let me. I'll face forward with you. I'll face it with you. I'll walk afraid alongside you.

I'm holding my breath. Please don't let go yet.

That new car smell.

It's like you have that new car smell- with all the feelings wrapped up in it. Excitement, nerves, fear, hope. It's a big purchase, it's a leap of faith, it's...

Well, I don't know what it is yet. It's too soon. So soon. And yet...

You say all the right things. You say you want what I want. To grow old with someone, a simple life with a family. We like the same things, our backgrounds are similar. You seem as excited and afraid and hopeful as I do...

So don't borrow trouble, I tell myself. Don't hold you accountable for the mistakes of those who came before. It isn't your fault I've been burned- you didn't make those poor decisions for me. You didn't cheat, or lie, or hurt me.

Even if this comes to nothing, you have no idea what you've already given to me. Knowing I'm desired, cared for, invested in. When you give, I believe you. When you speak, I listen. When you touch me, I respond.

Too soon? Too late? Too... I don't care.

Let's see where this leads. Something, or nothing.

Then there was nothing.

I don't feel you here anymore.

 I had let you in, I had let you take me over. I was consumed- but what did you have to offer me?

Nothing.

Nothing.

 Nothing.

I finally realized I held all the cards. I was the one who could offer the world to you- give you support, all of my love, children, a home to come back to. You couldn't even give me half of your attention. I would have given you all of me. You would have given me excuses. So much lip service- I see it now. We allow so much when we fall.

I look at the space we used to occupy together- the empty walls, the shadows of pictures there. I look at the few things kept, but remember all I threw away. I didn't want the things you bought me to touch my skin, to encircle my fingers... you tried so hard to buy me. To possess me. To take me. The minute I figured it out, the moment I used my long lost voice to speak out from the fog I'd been lost in to tell you I wanted more, you let go. You knew, didn't you? You knew once I realized all the power and control truly lay with me that the game was lost to you forever.

My body knew it- why didn't I listen? It fought so hard to tell me. It screamed to try to make me hear. It begged me in all the ways it could and I ignored it. I loved you. I had faded into you, my edges blurred by yours.

And now you seek something I can't give you- you seek the kind of support I won't willingly let you have any longer. You are finally understanding the ripples, the wake left behind. Now it's me who has nothing to give.

You keep mistaking empathy for love, caring for more. I can care, and no longer love you. I can wish you the best, and no longer be invested. I let go, and now you feel it. You ask if this is what I felt like in the end? You ask if this is real, if what you are finally feeling is what I felt? I reply all of that and more, but without the guilt. Your view of the world paints you as the victim, but you and I both know better.

You see, I know I tried. I know I laid it all out there. I know I can look back for the rest of my days and be at peace with all I had to give. Can you?

Please don't answer, I've already begun to forget the timbre of your voice. I thought I would never forget the way you touched me, or the way you looked at me... but it's all gone now. They say time is both cruel and kind. We both know I lean towards kind.

I can't say I miss the idea of you- we both know I struggled even with that. I knew all you could be, all you could achieve... maybe you still will. Funny how much you can be invested in someone, and then you fill the space with something else. You are no longer the tenant of my heart. You say you still love me, but where is this love? Again- don't tell me. The earth between us is scorched now.

All that's left is for me to walk out the door one last time, to leave the key and know- it all ends here. Not tidy. Not clean. Just done.

Just call me Olivia.

“You’re a fixer”- I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this, especially as it pertains to my personal life. I want to believe the best in people- but is it projection? If I make them “better”, will I be better? I’m over here, thinking I’m the Olivia Pope of my life, and to what end? What am I not working on in my own house?

I’m the person my friends call to edit papers, or to review their CV’s. I’m the person my partners and friends use as a sounding board- the mirror they can’t avoid. They know I’ll be honest, I’ll problem solve, I’ll expend all my effort to help them in their time of need. I’m the catch all. I’m the person who will get on the plane, pick up the phone, throw the blanket party, help hide the body...I’m proud of being that person for them. Proud to be dependable, someone the people around me know will always be there.

That all being said- I fall for takers. They aren’t necessarily bad people. To over-simplify the world, I believe it’s comprised of givers and takers. I’m a giver, someone who shows my love mostly through acts of service, and quality time. I’ll give you the world and back again, I’ll put your needs before my own, I’ll make you feel like you are the most important person, because to me you are. Takers are people who happily will take what is given to them. To be fair, it does take a pretty extraordinary person to not walk all over someone who lies down right in front of them… which is what I do.

One of my problems is that I do these things at the expense of myself, and of the relationships I’ve already established in my life. My family, my friends- they see the changes. It doesn’t matter some of them are brave enough to point things out, it isn’t their job to save me from myself and my own decision making.

I think I’m not compromising that much of myself, that I’m really just loving and supporting my partners. I wouldn’t end up crippled by anxiety, experience weight gain, sleep issues, or any of the other fun hints my body throws my way in these relationships if they were the right ones. I’m loyal, I want to believe these people could be my person, and I give them chance after chance- chances and excuses I wouldn’t give to anyone else.

I can’t lay the blame at the other person’s door- the fault lies with me. If I work hard enough, if I pour my heart and soul into someone, then they’ll stay. Or at least that is what I thought in the past. Why not meet someone whole, someone who doesn’t need fixing, doesn’t need me to help bolster their ego, their career, their self esteem…? Instead I see the person with the sign flashing over their head that says, “I need you”. Not, “I want you”.

I know I’m still learning. I know I need to give myself some grace. I also know I don’t need anyone in my life. I want to have someone. I want someone who will take care of me the way I’ll take care of them. That sees I push myself, and my expectations will always be the highest for me. Someone who makes me check my fixer hat at the door. Reminds me I am as important as they are. I am a priority, I am important. We’re partners, not just me bolstering them.

I’ve got to look in the mirror and know I deserve better, no- the best. If I give them the world and back again, I deserve the same in return. Let them be the fixer too.

Supporting Beyonce- and calling it as I see it.

I want you to ask yourself a serious question- if you were offended by Beyoncé’s performance at the Super bowl this year… why?

Was it her unapologetic blackness? If so, and you’re a longtime Beyoncé fan- then you haven’t been listening for quite some time. She has never hidden her roots.

You were comfortable when she was “whitewashed” enough for you, singing lyrics and dancing in ways you could emulate, in ways that transcended color or gender. Now her gloves are off, and she’s using the platform she’s built over long years of hard work and determination to spread a message near and dear to her heart- something artists have been doing from the beginning.  But you’re uncomfortable with her doing it.

Is it because as one blogger put it, “this isn’t your party”? You’re right- white people, this isn’t your party. You can sympathize, you can even possibly relate. But you are not black. The American economy was built on the backs of slaves. Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X were men from our ranks. The fact that most of you don’t know whom Emmett Till, or who the four little girls were, shows this isn’t your party. But you don’t want to talk about that. Is it because it makes you uncomfortable? The truth? Too bad. Get the hell out of your comfort zone.

You’re ok with emulating a culture we built- from jazz to rap, from clothing, all around style, to vernacular, and yet when a black woman stands up and says to the world, “I’m black, and I’m proud” you try to tear her down. Notice I say try- because a lesson those who want to oppress never learn is- that we will not be silenced. We will not be overlooked. We will not be pushed back into the shadows, walk on the opposite side of the street, allow grown men to be called “boy” so that white dominance can be seen and heard from afar. Jim Crow is dead. We killed it. And if it ever had the audacity to rise again, rest assured we would overcome as we did before.

So you’re upset she used a sports platform for her message? You mean the same way Tim Tebo used it as a platform to practice his religion freely? You mean the way white artists like Kid Rock and Ted Nugent use the confederate battle flag in their shows? Beyoncé took a moment when the most people were watching, (more people watch the Super bowl that show up to vote for the president of the united states) to spread a message of solidarity, of pride. Beyoncé is smart- she wanted to be seen and heard, and what better place?

You who are offended by this, and by songs like the one written by Ben Harper called, “Call it what it is” need to call this for what it really is. We can hear it- the death throes of ignorant white dominance.

 Get past your discomfort, and look at the facts- Supporting Black Lives Matter does NOT mean we think all cops are the enemy. Black History month is not meant to segregate- it is meant to educate. Let's be serious- every ethnic group in the United States knows there is nothing more white washed than an American history book. Paying homage to the Black Panther party isn’t even beginning to be on the same level as supporting the KKK- so let that ignorant shit go right now. Championing MLK Jr. and Malcolm X is not something that should be done on one holiday- and also, do your homework. Malcolm X was not a militant bully. He was a direct product of his times. He was not just the violent counterpart to MLK.

I am a mixed woman who is treated as if I wasn’t mixed at all. I support Black Lives Matter. I also support good cops. I do not support your continued ignorance, nor will I acquiesce to it. I am a product of those who came before me- an educated young person, who understands her history, and refuses to allow all they fought for to be lost in the bullshit rewriting of history that makes others feel better. I don’t feel better.

 Young black men are dying at the rate of an endangered species in the United States, but you want to act like we’re just being sensitive, or that we’re just making it all up. We have the highest rate of incarceration in the U.S., higher than the amount of slaves that existed at the height of the old south. I am still treated differently than my white counterparts- and my story is not rare. But you don’t want to talk about any of this.

Stop being part of the problem, and be part of the solution. Stop bitching about Beyoncé’s performance and ask yourself why she chose to perform that song? Believe me, she didn’t just do it to ruffle your overly sensitive feathers. It was an act of defiance, a battle cry, a love song to an entire people.

Ask yourself again- why were you offended? Then ask yourself- am I part of the problem, or part of the solution? Most likely- you’re part of the problem.