1am Sunday morning after the Mayweather fight in my flying clothes on 3hrs of sleep and higher than I’ve been since 4/20 in Denver is not how I expected our first meet to go. 

I didn’t know what I’d feel when I saw you, but I wished I had been more alert. You even brought the kids. It’s hard to fake sober when you JUST put the blunt down. 

You were familiar but not comfortable. What I wanted was a sit down with just he and I, talking about our issues, addressing my emotional scars and coming to a mutual understanding of what it means to be “us”. Instead I got 20 Minutes in an awkward circle with a 46, 13 and 8yr old. I was happy to see the kids. I hadn’t seen my sister since last year and my brother in about 4. Shame, but also not my fault. Just life. I made sure I hugged them a lot and told them I loved them…they need to know that with me living over 800 miles away now. I’ll never have the relationship with them that they deserve. I’ll just be the “sister in New Jersey” forever. It makes me sad, but again, life. 

I couldn’t look him in the eye. I planned on not letting him touch me, but in the spirit of the moment, under the influence and in front of the kids, I let him hug me. I felt nothing. I felt like I hugged a stranger in Times Square, although I imagine I would have enjoyed that more. From the brief glances I took, he looked the same…dressed in his typical garb: Cubs Tee, black jeans and sneakers…bald fade and a light gut. I couldn’t look him in the eye. I wasn’t ready like I thought I was. We exchanged small talk (something I hate dearly), and I mostly just paid attention to the kids, sucking in the awkwardness of them barely knowing me and trying to make up for it in those minutes. The conversation was nothing to mention. It was the hug afterwards that has my mind shattered. 

He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tightly. I hated it, but I let him. To be honest, I felt…emotionally molested. I could tell his hug came from love, but all I felt was years of hurt and pain physically attacking my body. His hands were pressed into my back. When he let go, the feelings of disappointment lingered on me. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a negatively spiritual moment. There was a transfer of emotions and energies that didn’t mix well at all. The lingering has lasted through the day. I tried to shower it away, but I still feel it on me. I hate I let him touch me. All it made me do is make me miss my (step)dad as I’m reminded that my biological father’s hands didn’t feel like the love of the hands that raised me.

Outside of that, I felt nothing for him which was partially expected, yet devastating. How is it possible to feel no connection to the man responsible for your life? I didnt feel related or connected in any way. I think deep down I wanted to be able to melt in him and just cry…but I don’t trust him with my feelings, deepest thoughts and pieces of me…at least not until he acknowledges his wrongs, which may be never. 

My mental health is at stake now. I’ve been struggling with this lingering feeling of disdain and uncomfortability as one of the men who ruined my life has put his hands on me, fucking up my qi and balance. I’m discombobulated and feeling dirty with something close to hatred. I don’t want to feel that. The point of rekindling this was to come to some type of understanding so that we didn’t have to be estranged. Now I’m regretting my decision and asking God what I’ve done. I’m truly feeling like some spirit is on me that I can’t get off, and he doesn’t deserve for me to bear his burdens. 

I don’t love him. I don’t like him. I don’t care for him. I think if he died today, I wouldn’t fret besides feeling bad for my siblings whom he DID decide to care for. It would be ashame, but I wouldn’t cry or miss. We parted ways. I said I love you to my siblings once again, but he and I dare not. And it felt awkward not to, but I knew I wouldn’t mean it, and had already forced enough. This may have been too much. I don’t think I was ready. 



Real quick, I have a lot to say as I haven’t written (to myself) in a while…but right now I want to just take a moment to be thankful that people have acknowledged that I’ve been a target my whole life. 

I’ve always felt like the Devil has had his eyes on me since I was in the womb. I’ve always felt fucked and tampered with. I’ve had my innocence and happiness stolen from me. I’ve chosen paths that make no sense. I’ve been inflicted physically, emotionally, mentally…but I still fight for my joy. He KEEPS taking things I love away from me. He keeps taunting and terrorizing my life. 

In the past, I’ve been made to feel like I brought every bad thing that has happened to me in my life on myself. I didn’t. I’ve been under attack since I can remember. Sometimes it feels like it will never end. There’s moments in between where due to my faithfulness, God has blessed or kept me…but I can’t help but feel that I’ve had far more turmoil than blessings. I can’t understand why. I try not to think about it or take it personal and just move on, but it’s so hard. No matter how much right I do, how much I rebuke the devil, or a pray, repent, praise, worship, fight myself mentally, it never ceases. It’s like I have to accept that this is my life. Every blessing is followed by some form of disaster or unhappiness, and I’m just tired. 
I’ll keep going…but I’m freaking tired. 

You Feel Guilty

I was in church the other day when they mentioned a program for Mother’s Day. This would be my 2nd without one. And then I realized how much time I actually gone by since she died; one year and two months. And then it hit me: How have I survived this long without her? How dare you move on and function as if She wasn’t a major part of your daily life? You’re going to forget her, she doesn’t deserve that. 

I began crying and feeling like a horrible person and daughter. To move on was to forget  her existence. She wasn’t a bad person. Her legacy should be carried on and remembered, right? And then I thought how generations of great people have gone unrecognized and eventually become just a name mentioned in conversation about ancient family members you’d never know. #EndTangent

You feel guilty, and guilt is indeed a physical feeling as well as emotional. It was heavy on me, but I also knew if I took time to mourn her, it may effect me for days to come. You become truly stuck between letting their name live on and letting go. That’s where I am now in this process. My logic feeds both of these, so I don’t know which way to go or how to do both without putting my emotional thoughts in a frenzy. I’m hoping this stage of grief ends soon, but I also fear the next stage that follows.

I’m not perfect.

I never sit around feeling bad for myself. I get sad or frustrated or angry like normal human beings, but I don’t “woe is me” too often or too long. Someone is always worse off. The only thing that truly bothers me is abandonment…losing someone I care about physically, emotionally…I don’t take it well, being left. When people die, that pain and abandonment is self explanatory. It’s the ones here who purposely give up on you because it’s not easy being in my life. It hurts my soul. I need to find peace within myself when this happens because…it really messes with me. I can’t live with reminders of inadequacy. 

What You Think of Me

“She’s so strong.”

“She’s so annoying.”

“She tells all her business.” 

“I didn’t think she would make it.”

“There’s always something wrong with her.”

“Poor girl.”

“She’s so troubled.”

“That’s what she deserved.”

“She’s so different now.”

“She’s confused.”

“She’s crazy.”

“I feel bad I wasn’t there for her.”

“She has too much going on.”

“She’s faking it all.”

“She wants attention.”

“She’s so smart.”

“She’s cute, but she’s fat.”

“She let herself go.”

“I bet she’s still messing with girls.”

“She just left her brother/family like that?”

“She wasn’t even there for her mom the way she claims.”

“She still ain’t found a job?”

“How is she making it right now?”

“That bipolar thing is just an excuse.”

“She’s too emotional.”

“How does she call herself a Christian and does XYZ?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

“She went to school and doesn’t have a career.”

“How does she do all this traveling with no job?”

“She’s probably living off insurance money.”

“She’s pathetic.”

“She’s admirable.”

“She’s Buddhist?”

“She’s so outspoken.”

“She has so much potential.”

“She’s alone.”

“She’s a charity case.”

“She’s funny.”

“She’s lame.”

“How is she ok?”

“I bet she’s lying.”

“She’s inconsistent.”

“She drinks too much.”

“She’s unproductive.”

“She’s not my problem.”

“She’s manipulative.”

“She’s motivational.”

“She could be doing XYZ.”

“She doesn’t need my help.”

“She’s intimidating.”

“Shes mean/rude.”

“She’s miserable.”

“How is she happy?”

“She’s a bitch.”

“She’s arrogant.”

“She cares too much/too little.”

“She’ll be a great/terrible mother.”

“She’s just like her mother/father.”

“That wasn’t even her real dad.”

“She’s stubborn.”

“She’s too independent.”

“Shes selfish.”

“Her life is a mess.”

Everything I think has been thought of me in life. We all care. We just don’t like to admit it. 

Undeniably Chosen

My sexuality is something I have never been meek about or ashamed of. In fact, even with all of the experience I’ve had, I still don’t feel entirely fulfilled. The partners I’ve had have been basic compared to the desires I have for myself. So I went seeking and found myself at a swingers club in New York City.

I’m a Christian woman. That’s not up for debate, despite my hindrances to be fully committed to my walk. But at age 27 and with all I’ve endured, I’m not mentally in a position to deny myself of anything I want or feel I deserve. Those things have been taken from me long enough. If I want to do/say something now, I do or say it! I have to say that’s been a positive turning point in my life, that with moderate alterations, I intend to keep. 

A group of friends and I attend this Monday night event in Manhattan at a private location with all types of expectations. We thought it would be some big orgy like in the movies. However, as we walk in, people are simply sitting down, clothed, with drinks in their hands. With some drinks came liquid courage. I was the first to walk in, examining every room in the dimly lit red rooms filled with beds, chairs, gadgets…I came in ready to see a 50 Shades of Grey type set up. It wasn’t like that at all. Everyone starts to mingle. I meet a young lady who is later, under the influence of Pure White Hennessy from the Bahamas, going to be bait in a situation involving my male friend and I. With a long story short, we entertained her together. I enjoyed dominating the situation…something I’d never done before. 

That’s not what this was about. The night ended in pandemonium as one person in the group was simply not feeling the situation and left. As I chase after this individual, I find myself at the train station alone at midnight. A woman approaches me asking for directions as to which train to get on. Somehow after a talk about traveling, we land on the topic of her son who recently died. Intoxicated, I’m engaging her in conversation, sharing my testimony about dealing with the grief of my mother. In the back of my mind, I’m finally feeling the slight guilt of my sin. At this time I’m feeling unworthy of sharing what God has brought me out of after what I had just out myself in. But, our souls were kindred. She had to be in her mid to late 40s. A  Black, female Doctor actually.  I shared my experiences and then without pause, God led me to pray for her…right there…in New York Penn Station. In person intercessory prayer has never been my calling. I’m simply not good at praying aloud for someone else, but God led the way as she cried in my arms. When we parted ways, she told me she was filled and asked me if I was spiritual. I am, but with Satan reminding me of my wrongdoing, I again felt unworthy of saying yes. Instead I said I believe God will heal your heart in due time. 

Her train arrives. We switch numbers and part ways. weeks later and I’m still praying for her. Finally I catch my train. It’s a long one hour trip to where I live from New York. At this time my phone is dead, and I do not have a charger. I am now stranded at the station near my home with no way to get to my home. This was the last stop of the night, so no one was there to help me. I did see one car, with a young woman and a black man. After sitting on the steps in the cold for about 30 minutes, I finally decide to ask the young couple if they had an iPhone charger. The guy replied yes, but I must leave my phone in his car. I was so drunk that I passed him my phone and my wallet. He could have very well taken off with my items, and I would have never seen them again. Instead when the woman’s Uber came, he invited me into his car because it was cold. I’ve been trying to catch my own Uber, but it was way too far away. The gentleman then proceeded to offer me a ride home for which at this point I obliged. Here was another blessing I did not deserve. I showed him my ID to let him know who I am and that I’m not some crazy person and that I only lived 10 minutes away. We chatted quite a bit, and somehow we got on the topic of credit. And then assisted him with if you questions that he had regarding some items on his credit report. It actually was a very interesting conversation for which at the end he hugged me and told me that I may have helped him in a major way.

“Who am I that you are mindful of me that you love me, that you care. Is it true that you are thinking of me, that you love me… It’s amazing.”

And this very moment in my life, inebriated and drenched in sin, I never thought that God could use me. However, time and time again he has proven that in my darkest hour I am still worthy of his love, grace, mercy, protection, and to be used by him in any situation. This situation made me see that I am truly and undeniably chosen by him to for fill his will in my life, and what my purpose is. I am not perfect. I have needs, desires and wants that are not like Christ at times. I am a human being with fleshly desires that I do not always contain. I try not to use the excuse that God knows my heart and my intention, but most times that’s not good enough for me. I test my limits, but every time he shows me that I am so much more than what I allow myself to be. I am grateful that he continues to show me my worth and my purpose in his kingdom. Since this revelation, I have decided to do my best to read dedicate my life to him and to begin to work on denying my flesh and feeding my spirit.

I enjoyed the time that I had at the club. I will not lie about that, but I do know that there is more for me to live a Christian life style then there could ever be in the world. It won’t be easy to escape the desires that I am currently experiencing, but I’m doing my best. I recently became a member of a great church home that I used to attend when I lived here previously in 2013. This church feeds me spiritually, Mentally, and emotionally. It makes me want to be a better person in Christ, and to let go of my worldly desires. I just think it’s amazing how God can use you in your darkest hour to bless someone else And glorify him. I was undeniably unprepared, but it’s also a reminder that I am undeniably chosen to do the work of God and spread the gospel to his people. No matter how far or far behind you may feel that you are in Christ, no matter how bad your battle may be at this time, God can always use you. Sometimes he will even place you in situations that are not like him so that she can be a blessing to someone. While I find myself still conflicted about living out my desires before I decide to finally settle down, I realize that I am also wasting precious time with God that I could be using to build his kingdom and essentially missing out on my own blessings. I making a genuine effort to change. I know what God has for me. I know who’s I am and what I am. I love myself, I respect myself, but I also need to remember to put God first and examine the situation I place myself in daily to make sure that my walk with Christ is progressing and not digressing. After all I’ve been through, I know that I am a work in progress, and I am content because I know that God has my back, knows who I am, what I’ve been through, and who I aspire to be. Judgment from others is far past my mind, and I just want to try to do the right things but still maintain my freedom. It’s a thin line.