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Day 534 – About Love (Again)

May 13, 2020

Where to start? I’ve been avoiding writing because I’ve been afraid to deal with all these heavy feelings. Thinking they might come rushing in and take me over…

Don’t really want to be paralyzed with overwhelm… Writing this blog is like the thing that makes me face myself. I ask God to be with me. Let me know that He is with me, so I can face my shadows.

I feel like a fool writing this. Don’t think I’ll write in code today. My siblings. My family. A lot of them don’t like me. Or at least it feels that way. For different reasons. Mostly, they think I’m bad. It sounds so small when I write it, but it is so huge. Or they think I’m good. Or they are disappointed in me because they wanted me to be a way – a hero of sorts, and I didn’t save them.

Or they think I’m manipulative. Or just looking for pity. Or a bully. Or mean. Or cold… The wires in my head are crossed. Resistance to feeling all this stuff. I’ll push through, God willing, and get it out. Another sibling says I’m abusive and always trying to cut people with my words and not help them. One says I went off on her, when I swear I only said one sentence. “I don’t like telling you my problems because you never sympathize with me.” Another sibling made up a whole saga about me. Said I told the family all kinds of lies about her and I was the reason why she separated from the family. I never did it. In fact, I had gone to visit her to try and show her that I cared about her and never said anything but good things about her to the family until she disappeared based upon what she thought I had done.

A trouble maker that brings mischief everywhere, they called me. And yet they seek me out first for help with just about everything. They ask my advice and come to me for comfort. They want my approval.

Something is very wrong here. I’m sure there is some kind of psychological condition that I’m not seeing.

The other day, I was hurting. I can’t even tell you the deeper reasons why I was hurting so bad, but I was hurting so bad emotionally. I had come back to town and stayed with my brother for a couple of days. My brother has a new fancy place and invited me to stay with him. Nothing really happened. A small thing happened. He was just nit picky about cleaning up and anxious… I had cooked spaghetti one night and the water spilled over on the stove. Neither of us had cleaned it up. The next morning, he was in the kitchen and I heard him saying, “Uh uh”… He called my name. For whatever reason, that triggered something deep in me.

I became eleven years old again. Missed the bus for school and ended up staying home with the 20 year old not cousin who lived with us. I was an ugly duckling and no boys ever liked me and I didn’t have very many friends. The twenty year old used to call me pretty, though. He used to pump on his bike and buy me candies and joke and talk with me. And when we were home alone that day, I asked him if he’d ever kissed a girl. He had. He asked me if I’d ever kissed a boy. I hadn’t. He was my first kiss. Lionel Richie’s song “You Are” played in the background. I just found it online and tried to listen to it, but felt like vomiting, so turned it off… After we kissed, I got up abruptly. Didn’t say anything. Went to another room. I felt excited, but I felt bad, too. I had done something bad. But I had also had my first kiss. I went to the bathroom to wash my mouth and avoided my first kisser all day.

When my brother, my best friend at the time, came home, I rushed to tell him! I had kissed my first kiss! Guess who? My brother was not as excited as me. He was enraged. “You have to tell mom,” he said. “What?” I thought. I couldn’t tell mom! My brother said that if I didn’t tell her, he would. He did. That night, my mom confronted my kisser when he got off work. I was with her. I still remember being downstairs in the airport tunnel where we came to pick him up. He had worked at the airport. He was walking towards us with his bike. My mom confronted him and started slapping him. She kicked him out. Gave him a short amount of time to leave our house and said that he and I were not to be in the same room ever again while he was at the house…

I abided to the decree. Shortly after the incident, I noticed that my brother, my best friend, wasn’t talking to me. He would just walk by me and I would speak to him, but he would just brush me off and not say anything to me. He didn’t invite me to play or do stuff anymore. One of my girl cousins, who lived with us, asked what was going on, but I didn’t know. Finally, my mom got wind of the situation. She called us for a meeting. Asked my bro why he wasn’t talking to me. He said because I was bad and I liked boys… and that was how I lost my best friend.

Within a week or so, my kisser and I bumped into each other alone in the upstairs game room of the house. He said he wanted to tell me something. He said that he didn’t kiss me because he liked me. He said he actually liked someone else – my mom. Yep, he said it. Said he kissed me because I reminded him of my mom… I don’t remember what I said. I don’t think I said anything. Somehow, though, I made it downstairs to the bathroom. I got in the tub, ran a bath, and cried and cried for hours until I felt nothing…

I didn’t know it at the time, but I had left my body. And over the years, I would perfect the art of leaving my body whenever something painful tried to hit me. People would think I’m strong, but I didn’t really care about being strong. I actually resented the idea, because to me, it wasn’t a good thing. It meant you had to go through hard shit on your own. But I wasn’t strong. I just wasn’t there…

This writing is painful… I had to stop writing because my Essence was tryna rise up and just get up out of my body and I breathed so that I could be present through this… I’m going to finish it out. My brother and I fought over this core issue over the years. About me being bad because I like boys. We actually fought about me not practicing the religion that we grew up in. According to him, it was the only way to salvation and peace. And if I didn’t practice it, I was doomed. I interpreted this belief as me being bad if I didn’t practice it.

My mom reinforced this belief. I mean, it’s essentially written into many religions. Religious people will say it’s not, but it is. If you don’t believe this path and follow this path, you are not chosen or saved or going to Heaven. Ergo, you are unchosen, cursed, not saved, going to hell. Bad in so many words. In my estimation, this kind of thinking allows to kill each other in the blink of an eye. “If you don’t believe what I believe, then you are wrong. You are destined to the worst place you can imagine. A hell of hells. I am not to associate with you.” It’s hard to have compassion with one another with this kind of programming.

Over the years, I would fight my brother and my mom about whether this was true. We would try and find the worst things about each others’ lives in order to prove that our beliefs were correct and that’s why the person with the correct beliefs had a better life than the person with the incorrect beliefs. We hurt each other much…

So, the other day, when my brother said, “uh uh” and called my name after seeing spilled water in his brand new apartment that he wants to keep clean, it didn’t feel like someone just being protective of their stuff like they should be. It felt like I was being called bad, abandoned, not wanted, a burden, and never quite good enough no matter how hard I tried.

I cried and cried and eventually I left my brother’s place and came back to mine. My mom called, meddling, until I told her what was wrong. She essentially told me how my brother loved me and then advised me that I’m difficult to live with and went on to recount how I had bullied her into accepting one of my friends during our recent time living together, and how, although I used to be lively and vibrant, I was mean and cold now. And she advised that I stay from my friends. There was no “friend” in particular that she could name, but just advised that most of my friends were deadbeats and I should stay away from them in general. She said I had hurt her deeply by being mean to her during our last time living together. Said I should try being the religion I grew up in and my life would be better.

Yesterday my brother called to see what was going on with me. I think he genuinely wanted to help. I told him I felt lost and confused about my next steps in life, and I told him that what I wanted most in life was good relationships. He asked if I wanted his advice and I said yes. He advised that I should set goals, make a plan, and that the most important thing to me shouldn’t be good relationships. The most important thing should be my religion and trying to do what’s right by it. I rebutted against his usage of the word “should”. He said I said I wanted his advice and should was what he advised. He told me eff my feelings. Don’t worry about what others think of me and don’t worry about relationships. Eff my daggone feelings up. Make up my mind that I’m not gonna cry and get to work with whatever I need to work on. His tone felt angry to me, but somewhere in his intention there was some love. I could feel it. The interaction did not feel good, though. My tone was defeated.


I wonder if I am this person. This mischief maker. This bully. This bad person who won’t submit to Guidance. This abuser who tries to cut people and put them down. This hellbound heathen. I wonder if any goth people have made a song called Hell Bound yet… But I digress. What if I was all of this? What would I do then? Change? For who?

My brain swirls. There is nothing to hold on to. One of my new friends, whom I met at my spiritual center the other day, told me that I’m an awesome sister. A gem. I don’t know if I am who some of my family members think I am or who my friends think I am or who I think I am. I don’t even know who I think I am… Maybe it’s official. I’m coockoo at last… What to do?

After writing all this, I’m not feeling as emotional as I was feeling when I started. I think what I’ll do is I’ll just make my own opinion of myself. Take an honest inventory. It’s time. Maybe I won’t focus so much on changing as I will on accepting and forgiving. And I’ll do the same for others.

I’m tired of this game of bad and good. Fed up, actually. I’m tired of being seen as anything but a Blessed gem. I know I ain’t perfect and I can say some cutting words. I’ll accept that. Usually, though, it’s in defense when someone has deliberately crossed over some boundaries that I explicitly asked them not to cross or tried to bully me or hurt me. My cutting words is all I got to keep me safe.

I’m afraid that if I tell my family sorry for stuff, then they’ll think they’re right for all their abusive, manipulative, insensitive, codependent, disrespectful, judgmental, not trying to understanding nobody’s point of view, condemning everyone including themselves, expecting someone to give them what they’re not willing or able to give nobody bullshit that they expect from me.

Something about all of it doesn’t feel right. Like, it doesn’t come from Love. I don’t know how to explain it, but most of all of what happened has nothing to do with Love. It’s about ego and identity and self worth and unmet needs, but it’s not about Love.

How do I process this? How do I process me?
-Pick it up and put it down. Walk. Through. This. Darkness. And. Know. The. Truth. About. Yourself. How do you know the Truth? Just ask to know the Truth. How do you know what to do next? Just ask to know what to do next. Give them all their opinions back. Just give it back to them. They are theirs. In fact, lay even your own opinions down. This is grown folks work. In everything, slithers of Love exist. Pick. Those. Up… Give. Those. Out. This in an intentional practice. You have been instructed. Now proceed…

And so it is.

Day 534
About Love (Again)

From → moving on

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