While trying to Explain to the Kelly why liking someone is creepy and awkward to me I had this revelation:

It feels like my body has betrayed me.

It does weird shit. Like have heart palpitations and give me jitters and that whole fluttery butterfly stomach bullshit

If I didnt know better, I’d think I was having an anxiety attack.

But what’s worse—-and this is the part that angers me most—Is that this feeling makes me feel uncomfortable in my own skin

I feel unsettled, Ill at ease. I feel exposed in my own skin. at all times. Staring the person in the face on an average Tuesday afternoon feels like being naked in broad daylight. Which is awkward because they’ve seen me naked already anyway.

 My body has become a foreign environment. An Area where I cannot hide from everything anymore.

I’ve been compromised. 

When A person tells you who they are, believe them

seriously folks. If they say they dont want to be attached, dont be. They say they dont want committment, dont commit. They aren’t looking for love—then don’t try to love them past their comfort level [[not YOURS. but theirs. ask first]].

cuz at the end of the day. that’s who they TOLD YOU. they were. why would you expect anything different??? 

i hate

needing to talk to someone

like feeling the need. to talk to one person

and attempting to reach out to them…

only to get no response

i dont know how to say these things….i dont know how to physically say that I need to talk to a person specifically.

not out of romantic inclination or clingyness or anything of that nature…but because there is an element of conversation that I can’t attribute to anyone else in my life…that I feel the deep urge to fill.

I rarely need to talk to certain people. but when I do, its a strong feeling…and when I can’t get to them…I always feel a bit more lost than i did in the initial stages.

consequently…i end up trying to block these people that i feel this need for….simply because I know that I won’t ever be able to reach them if I truly need them…and therefore cannot depend on their presence in my life.

which will only disappoint me later.

so, to avoid all of that. I shut them out.

but god, it still hurts. 

the term “behind closed doors” has always intrigued me

cuz people assume it means what someone is like in their private time, their intimate spaces, during sex, or just when they are damn near certain no one is watching

and people sometimes like to think that they know who you are “behind closed doors”

when they really dont…they only know what you’ve allowed yourself to show them.

i just find that laughable

Sentiment warning: Mushy stuff in this post

idk…sometimes I sit back and all i really want is someone who would be excited to see me any old day of the week. Someone who would want to see me anywhere, whenever, how ever….and isnt afraid to say so. “I know its 12 a.m. aaand you just got done hanging with your friends but i dont give a DAMN….i’d really like to see you later…are you free? will you be too tired?”

shit like that. eh. idk.

Honesty post: before I turn this homework in and get an hour [or two] of sleep

I’m not perfect. I bitch, rant, complain. I side swipe people who piss me off without saying names….

but if you’re my friend…you know who these folks are…and why they matter enough to even hurt me in the first place, let alone get mentioned.

But seriously. All in all, if I cared about them they can’t be all bad. I have to admit that. Every person that I’ve ever had to simply walk away from has their endearing qualities…part of the hurt is leaving that behind. 

Another part is shock. Never saw this coming, did i? Or maybe i convinced myself to believe it wouldn’t. either way, the shock factor is there.

Then there is the actual hurt. that sucks too. I’ve never been good at telling people who want to leave or walk away or distance themselves that I’d much rather they stay because I do care. This is partially because I’ve been used to people high tailing it in the other direction once they say those things. Its also because in my past experience when you let someone back in they hurt you again. In either case, I tend to react in anger when i’m hurt deep enough. The less I want to do with you…9 times out of 10 is equivalent to how much I cared.

Like I’ve said before…in this post and in life. I’m not perfect. I never claim to be. Not many people understand me enough to see through all my bullshit. I think my best friend and my grandmother are the people who are best equipped.

I know I’m a mess, but I’m better than I have been in a very long time. My life is good. I’m grateful to be alive, for once. Glad for new experiences. Happy that I can complain about lack of sleep. Even in my hurt I stop to appreciate the fact that I’m still standing enough to be hurt, every now and then. It aint perfect. But nothing is perfect. An imperfect life for an imperfect person. seems fitting.

I only wish that I could tell people exactly how I felt about them…without it getting messy, without there being mixed signals, without me feeling the urge to add on to the sentiment later…without anyone feeling any sort of way. just. statements of sentiments and facts. maybe discussion, if necessary.

I’ll never want to deny someone else’s happiness either…no matter how hurt I may become. I know too well how hard it is to find a place within yourself and your life where you are legitimately happy and/or continent….to wish that denial of happiness on someone else. Its taken me 22 years to learn how to love my Self a bit more completely and its been real. I wouldn’t wish any of that on my worst enemy.

but all this is to say…that after being completely blown by numerous incidents, circumstances, and outcomes…that i may or may not have brought upon myself….a part of me still remains optimistic about Life. Its hard. but I have got to find out where this thing is going…

Here’s to tomorrow….May she be wiser from the mistakes of yesterday. 

If i ever get to the point where someone manages to get me in a wedding dress and down an aisle

i’ll probably cry. the most horrid tears in life.

joy and pain and hurt and anger and disbelief and shock and amazement all at once.

all of the shit.

The memory of all the bullshit and dead ends and “end of the roads” and “this is supposed to be statistically impossible for me. no one in my family is married or has been married happily” 

the “i remember when s/he told me i would never be good enough…s/he called me a tramp/slut/victim…s/he told me that i was worthless…i’d always be his…that i belong to him for x,y,and z reasons….that no one would want me after”

and how i believed them. and how wrong they were,

I’d cry. I’d cry. I’d cry.

if i ever get semi involved with anyone in the near future

I’ve realized that there are some things they are going to have to know about me.

So I’m keeping a running tally.

  • I drink. I drink and I get giggly and ignorant. I dont get irresponsible. But damn it. I drink. You’re gonna have to be okay with that. I dont expect you to love it or think i’m cute while drunk or anything like that. but accept it [[i had a guy curse me out everytime i sipped something once.]]
  • I am passionate. While this translates to strong lover, protector, etc for some. it translates to crazy bitch for others. I’m not psycho. but i can become vehement about my causes. [[they include women’s rights, children’s rights, education, abuse, and mental illness fyi. TRIGGERS]]
  • I speak crazy ass wtf nuyo-chicagoRican spanglish frequently. When I’m inebriated, sleepy, or just not thinking. sometimes my words become bilingual blends. stop me and ask what im sayin. or brush up on your spanish
  • i write. all the time. at work, in class, at night, while everyone else is asleep. i write at awkward moments. im fine, let me be great. and let me write lol
  • i read all the time too. and sleep. and play videogames. let me be great lol

thats all i got for now thooo….i need to keep track of these

African Americans have been so harmed by these relations, the question of the intimate love relationships of Black men and women takes on added importance. In this context, resistance consists of loving the unlovable and affirming their humanity. Loving Black people (as distinguished from dating and/or having sex with Black people) in a society that is so dependent on hating Blackness constitutes a highly rebellious act.

Patricia Hill Collins

(via chrilliams)