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Day 442 – Dreams And Words

June 5, 2016

I made it through that moment in my car…

The best is here and now.

There is always so much to write about.

I Love You, Allah. Last night dreams came. They have been coming for the past few days, clearing my heart out. This happens to me. Dreams come and clear out my problems. I wake up with movie ideas, songs, poems. I have conversations with people and resolve issues in my dreams. Last night it was my brother and Sir Deplier. Sir Deplier said the thing that he would never say in real life. He apologized for trying to use me, for asking me for a thing that he would never give to me nor any other human being. And then he touched my face, with love. Like a brother. Like a father. Like a friend. He told me that he was gonna be there for me. He didn’t want anything. He wasn’t trying to angle in on me and see what he could get. He was all right with me ending my agreement to help him. He acknowledged that he didn’t deserve that agreement – at least not from me. He had not been good to me. He had been bad to me. He had seen me only as a tool to be used, not as a human being who needed help herself and love and care. He had not even seen that I was dying right in front of his face, and instead had been trying to suck more life from me… And so he said sorry. And he said that he’d be there for me from now on. He would help me out with things. He would be a friend…

And I realize that’s what I really wanted from him. I didn’t mind helping him out, but I felt so used. He didn’t give a shit about me. And I didn’t care about him being my man. I just wanted him to slow down. He used to walk so fast, and I would be walking with him, sick as a dog, not able to keep up, head spinning, feeling like I was going to faint. And he would walk ahead of me and then look back at me, annoyed. And then he would keep walking fast, trying to make me speed up. And I just wanted him to slow down. See that I was sick. Care. Ask me if I was all right. Hold my arm so I didn’t faint. Don’t make me have to fight him so he doesn’t steal my life force…

My dream of him was a fantasy, I know. But I believe that when I have dreams like that, I see the best of what people can be…

And then my brother came to me in my dream. My brother has been one of the biggest male influences in my life until recently. He’s two years older than me and as kids, we were best friends. Then, when I thirteen years, my brother stopped talking to me all of a sudden. Like, literally wouldn’t talk to me. I would say something to him and he’d totally ignore me. I would pass him in the hallway of our big house and he’d look straight ahead and act like he didn’t see me. We would be playing in groups and he wouldn’t interact with me. At the time, we had a lot of people living with us, so there were about seven kids my age in the house. The other kids noticed and asked why we weren’t talking, and I said I didn’t know. Finally, my mom noticed. She made us have a meeting and when she asked my brother why he wasn’t talking to me, he said it was because I was bad and I liked boys… It was probably one of the most hurtful things that have happened to me in my life. And my brother and I spent a great deal of our adult lives fighting each other. I started telling him he was an ass and a loser (in so many words) and that he had no authority to call anyone bad or good and he would continually try to prove that I was bad and that I would be going to hell one day and that no one should listen to me… Our issues were deep.

A couple of years ago, he came to live with me because he needed some help. He stayed here for nine months and didn’t do shit for me besides torment me and bring a hostile energy into the house. Gave me $200 when I finally demanded that he give me some money or move out. And during that time, my brother and I had a conversation. I don’t even remember what he did. Oh, yes I do. One of my sisters was going through a challenging time and was coming to me for help. I reached out to my siblings via text asking them to help me help her because I couldn’t do it all on my own. My brother didn’t respond to my text. He came home and acted like nothing had happened. I asked him if he had received my text, and he said that yes he had, but he had chosen to ignore it. And that’s when it happened. Just in a flash I saw an image of me banging and banging his head on the wall and beating the shit out of him. I have a temper, but I’m not really prone to thinking violent thoughts, but he had triggered a rage in me. And I went off on him. “You just gonna ignore my text when I’m asking you for help? And then come sit up in my house and take up all the space? How exactly do you think I’m gonna react to this? Just act like nothing happened?”

My brother and I had a long conversation about all the things he had done over the years. He was in his early thirties at the time, and somehow, he perceived himself as a loving, doting brother. “When is the last time you’ve done anything loving for any of your siblings?” I asked. He gave a reference of things he did when he was 14. Almost 20 years ago. We talked and talked. I had to go and pray in intervals because my brother is an ass and I wasn’t gonna get swept away in his asshole-ness. I was gonna bring love to the situation, so help me God, and we were going to resolve the bullshit that had permeated our relationship all these years. And finally, after more than four hours, we came to an understanding. He never said sorry for anything (that would be too much for him), but he thanked me for talking to him. And a thank you from my brother is a big deal.

And so for the past couple of years, our relationship has been cool. He moved out of my apartment because I wanted him to. Although our relationship had healed, he still had a long way to go as far as how he treated people and I just didn’t feel like being abused, used, or taken for granted anymore. My days of being a martyr were getting lame and I didn’t really care what anyone said. I come from a culture where women take pride in being abused by men who don’t give a shit about them. We think it’s part of being a woman, and part of being loyal. We stick with you. You didn’t have to do anything to get us, besides be a man and say you want us, and you don’t have to do anything to keep us. In fact, the worse you are, the more we want to stay and try to prove to the world (and ourselves) that there’s a good man in you yet! We learn this way from our mothers and our brothers and our fathers. The men are hardly held accountable for asshole behavior and always rewarded for just being there. And, in my opinion, it’s a disservice to all involved. You end up with selfish, egotistical men who see everyone and everything in the world as a tool for their use and you end up with broken, bitter, unhappy women. And then we teach our children (through our actions) to repeat what we started…

But I digress. I dreamed of my brother last night, and I was telling him off again. This time, I was talking about my sister. He had treated one of my sisters really badly recently, and I was going off on him. How dare he abandon us at the times when we needed him the most? How dare he? In my dream, he started crying. I had finally gotten through to him. He finally understood how deeply his actions (and lack thereof) had affected the psyches of the sisters who he actually really loves…

And then I woke up. And I was left with this realization. We all have our gifts. One of mine are my words. They break things up. They cast out demons. They can bring light and love and understanding and peace. And it’s not just me. I’m not special or anything. I’m just a writer. They made us think that we don’t matter – the writers. But look around: the holy books, the poems, the movies, the songs, the conversations. These words sustain us. These words transform us. These words heal us. These words can break our hearts. There are dancers and painters and architects and doctors and builders and they have their tools and their things to do in the world. We, the writers have our words.

Let’s use them. Speak the harsh truths and coat them with love. Break open a heart so it can beat again. Write a song that will take someone through for generations to come. Tell a tale that will wake someone up to their own power, and breathe life into your own self with your words. Call yourself the names that you want to hear: Beloved. Demand that others use words of truth and love if they are to be in your presence. If we demand good things from the universe, then it will open it bowels and deliver. But oh, we don’t believe. We sell ourselves so cheap…

I thank You, God, for Your beautiful dreams, washing my soul out, washing my mind out, taking the frown and the pressure out of my forehead, healing wounds buried deep. You are making a woman out of me yet… Thank you so much. Ameen.

Day 442
Dreams and Words

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