I’m fighting against the stereotypes of being
a Black woman.
a single mother. a co-parent.
a plus sized woman or
“not that big” woman.
a leader questioning mainstream ideals.
a follower that wants to feel loved.
a young woman with Daddy issues.
a woman with the “Mad Black Woman” syndrome.
I’m suffocating & grasping at freedom. I’m dying to break free or maybe I’m simply dying.
I laid on my back and drifted in the sea. My skin was numbed by the cool water immersing my skin. And my hair framed my face as the sun warmed my eyelids. Such freedom.
There is a pain that lives in me. It has taken permanent residence in my soul for as long as I can remember. I don’t know how to describe it without using the words “inwardly excruciating.” My insides are writhing around and whimpering and there is nothing I can do about it. I find myself constantly pulling for my sanity.
Battling mental illness is hard. It’s even harder when you don’t know what you’re battling. I often feel like it’s me against the world and I’m armed with pride and sarcasm. Neither of those get you very far. In truth, one minute I feel like I’m on a raceway zipping through life in first place. I will feel good and feel blessed. I feel honored to have given birth to the most gorgeous set of Irish twins that I have ever met. But the entire time I’m sparring with a monster. Sometimes it is big, other times it is small. When I’m jumping hurdles and dodging bullets, it’s small but it doesn’t take much for it to grow. Things like waking up late, not eat breakfast, being reprimanded at work, or any form of interruption to my routine will cause the monster to grow. Then I’m battling Goliath.
I try to fight it off by thinking about things like caring for my kids and keeping my job. Those are the two immovable aspects of my life that keep me centered. The monster wins sometimes. Sometimes it will eat me alive but I’m still fighting and struggling to get out. I have to get back to my life, my kids, and my work. I CAN’T BE EATEN! Then I give up. I give up and curl in its belly. I stay curled in its belly feeling extremely defeated and overwhelmed.
While I’m in the belly of the beast, I think about my spending habits, the wrong turns I’ve made in life, and the missed opportunities. I wonder what I have done wrong and why my peers seem to be excelling but I feel like I haven’t budged. I consider what I could do differently going forward and then I kick myself in the back for being such a hard learner. What the fxck is wrong with you? Why do you keep doing this? You’re clearly an idiot – or are you just insane? This is the beginning of the cycle.
Then someone, it could be a friend or a family member, will try to help me out of the monster’s belly. Even though their voices are muffled, I can still hear them through the monster’s belly. But it doesn’t always help. In my mind the Chaos Theory starts to run its course. I begin to imagine all of the things that will go wrong if I don’t manage to get out of the abyss I have allowed myself to trip into.
There’s a sense of responsibility that doesn’t allow me to wallow. My kids are usually the end point for me. I can’t struggle with being a single mom and having some form mental illness. I have to pick my battles and I choose not to settle in the the monster’s belly because I have something far more pressing to attend to. I want to see my girls grow and excel. There’s a burning desire to give them everything I didn’t have. They need me far more than I need to feel sorry for myself. The pit in my chest that weighs me down gets lighter around my babies but what happens when they don’t need me anymore? I try not to think about it.
So it’s settled – this isn’t mental illness, it’s life. Right?
ok, so i’m going to briefly tell you a little about me. i am a loving mother of three. . . or two depending on who you ask. all little girls and they are three, one, and finally my youngest is four months.
i am unemployed and have been for quite some time. I like to write though; and i love reading even more. i decided that from this moment on, until i find myself on someone’s payroll (my payroll – but we’ll get to that later), i will refer to myself as a writer. To some writers, that may be an insult. “i’m not unemployed, i’m a writer!” yea, well so am i then. and don’t be offended because i am actually pretty good.
“excellent writers are excellent readers, and you are an excellent reader. i can tell by the way you write that you read your work out loud. it has to read well and you won’t be able to tell if you cannot read,” prof erlich announced to my freshman college english class. professor erlich was my ninth grade journalism teacher and then as if the universe wanted me to prove him wrong, i was his student my freshman year in college. i slept through my journalism class. never turned in an assignment. i was haphazard and disconnected. i’m sure they assumed i was on drugs, which i was not!
“you have really surprised me,” he continued with a smile. i will never forget him for that. i will never forget him for a few reasons. he was very sardonic and seemed extremely sad but light at heart still. i think i was in the eleventh grade when his son committed suicide. he seemed weary there after; he would offer weak smiles often. that was the second time it had come to my attention that teachers were people too. anyhow, before i get too off topic, he is the reason why i know that i’m purty dang good at my craft.
stay tuned while i construct this blog. i’ll move my work from tumblr to here and you can skim and chew on those while i figure out how to design this thing and add seo plug-ins and whatnot.