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Day 551 – This Fire (Good Grief)

July 17, 2021

Lit or unlit? That was the question my therapist told me to ask myself when making a decision. That was over eight months ago. November 2020. It was the last time we talked. “Fight for your happiness. Or rather, allow your happiness” are the thoughts in the back of my mind.

Attachments. Like scary things on my back. This is the post. I am over myself. A word dump. This life has been a dump for me… The dumps I am down in. I am down in the dumps.

Unlit. That was what I saw when I looked around at my life. “You have gathered your self-worth now. You have passed the test.” I hear My People’s voice. My self worth has left me with nothing but myself. Misunderstood. Hated. Judged. Treated badly. Not always. I am aware that some of this is true and some I am taking too far, but all of it feels true. Everyone feels unsafe, taking, eating of me. Wanting. Always wanting. Not much giving of what I need. No awareness or interest in my needs for that matter. This is how I feel in this moment.

Low… Bitter. Most people think I’ve been bitter for years, but no. It is now, in these few weeks that I begin to know the feeling that I’ve seen on so many others’ faces for years. The bitters. Resentful. I am mad at so many people for asking so much of me that they never would imagine to give. I am mad at the world for not allowing me to be safe and sweet. I am mad at myself for taking so long to see. I am mad that I am not allowed to be mad even when I am mad. These strong girl tears are resented and the ones you have cradled while they were in the mud throwing mud at you are the same ones that have no arms for you in your pain. Instead, they lash you for not being their hero. They lash you for being low.

I am sad. And not delusional again. I say again instead of anymore because it is the thought pattern of the language I picked up from my mother’s land. Broken country. Broken language. Broken English.

“And what are we gonna do now?” My own thoughts taunt me. My own thoughts aren’t even nice to me. I swear to God, I can never get no pity. Not even from myself. So what will we do now?

I don’t really want to run away from anything. Go find some way to bandage pain. I finally admit I am too deep for that. I have been running for years in a circle. What is it I don’t want to face? My sadness? My failures? My inadequacies? They don’t scare me that much. So what is it?

My bigness.

I wanted to reach out today because today felt important. I was going to be brave and have all these talks, but I didn’t quite know what to say. Relationships have been falling apart, but I don’t want to save them. They were founded on shit. Excuse my language. But they just won’t do no more. Not as is. They’re full of shit and holes and so many things that no one wants. And maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the sh*tty part, and if so, I just won’t do anymore. Not as is.

But something in me doesn’t feel like I’m that bad. Because I am always the one leaving and others want me to stay and are always calling me back. But they don’t love me while I’m there. In fact, they mostly hate me, but love whatever I bring to them. And that is hard to know and feel. What is harder, though, is not knowing what to do about it all. Because I Love them anyway and I wish they loved me, too. For real. Like I wish that I could feel it. I wish that I could feel Loved. I really do.

I’m sure it’s there. I’m sure I’ve done something good in this world and I’m even sure that some of the people that I feel so hurt by Love me… but I wish that I could feel it instead of sitting here crying all the time. I wish I could be happy for real.

It’s been a long time here in the mud, thrashing. Moving but not quite. I will say that I have made progress and find a way to celebrate. I have made progress and come a very long way. I was not even in my body when we started this journey. Was just hanging out on the outskirts trying not to feel pain. A hypersensitive empath coming from a people that are probably the most gangster humans I’ve ever met. What a comedy, God. And then you made me a girl. And super ugly first and then super pretty but not even knowing that people think I’m super pretty. What a set up for quite a story. What I want to get to now is the next chapter. In fact, I want to close this book. The end. The girl died. Yep. Dead. She gave up trying to figure all this painful stuff out and just poofed out of this world. Freedom at last! The ones left behind were just fine. They were impacted by her life and she was impacted by theirs and all for the betterment of themselves.

She failed at some things. She was not the hero they all wanted. She succeeded at others, but she didn’t know what those were. It was not for her to know. The seeds had been planted. And the angels applauded. She had tasted the bitters but they passed through her and did not stain her heart… And then what?

I guess why I am here today is to answer that question. Then what? I can’t really be here forever, in my brother’s room, hiding from decision and action. I mean, I could, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the answer anymore. I gotta say thank you, God. This is what I needed. I needed space where it was okay to be sad and mad and feel and see what was in me and take baths and not be bothered and have clean stuff and food around and at least if I wasn’t loved, to be around someone who didn’t hate me and was appreciative of whatever little I could give. Who would have thought that my brother whom I beefed with for years would be my saving grace right now? He gave me money, too, just because he thought I needed it. And I’ve been helping him, too. He needed help with stuff right now. I am glad to help him. I am realizing as I write this that we have made amends. This is our amends, isn’t it? … Thank God…

I took a break from writing this post. And on the break, I read a Facebook post by a lady claiming her age. She’s older than me, but not too much older. And she acknowledged her “Holy sadness… Sadness (she)… is actually feeling because (she)… knows better than to stuff it.” And I am saved. This.

This part. This is about holy sadness. Not just holy sadness, though. Good grief. Grown up stuff. This is about me finally accepting that I am grown up. I have lived a bit, and in it all, I have learned a thing or two. Not everything. But I have learned how to get out of this sh*t. I ain’t do all this crying for nothing. And yes, I could poof away. That is an answer and that is the answer for some people. I’m not judging them. I have learned, finally, not to judge.

I am not going to poof away. I have already poofed. That Laydie from just some months ago, from years ago, is no more. Nope. She has transitioned and I have been trying to hold on to a ghost. She has become a butterfly, but not really. More like a moth. Or a dragon or something without name. A beautiful wing-ed beast. I can paint the story however I want, you see? This is the freedom. The question I have now is do I want to paint or do I want a story to be painted through me? I am still intertwined in many’s lives and I will always be. I am the one to break the generational curses, I know. My momma been pushing it on me since I was a kid. I don’t know how or why I signed up for this sh*t, but it’s ok. I don’t have to accept this bullsh*t mission, but I can. We’ll see…

Maybe I’ll have sex. LOL. I don’t know if this post is going to make it to published, bc it’s maybe bit realer than I usually share. But, from the start till the end of the post, my mood has changed. The change in mood was instigated by reading an older lady claiming her age and not wanting to be identified as young and infantile, and realizing that that is an issue for many of us. We don’t realize that we are not kids anymore. We are old. Grownups. Not only that, but we don’t realize that we’ve learned a lot and it’s a good thing. We can solve problems differently now. We don’t need to be moored to a bed for years because someone we hoped would feel a certain way or treat us a certain way doesn’t. We can be hurt. It’s ok. This we have learned through our age. We can feel things now and it won’t sink us. We don’t have to escape our bodies like we did when we were little. We can be right here and feel, and the magic is, when we feel the stuff, it passes through us, and then we can feel good stuff again, too. Sometimes it takes a while to feel good again, but we can wait. We know this because we are old and we have learned patience. And wisdom. Wisdom has come. It has always been there, but we accept it now. Slowly. At a pace that doesn’t break us or make us feel manipulated. There are some urgent things, but most aren’t. Tend to the urgents. Just do it already. You don’t have to be happy about everything while you do the right thing. You can do the right thing and be mad. I learned that overseas. It’s a cool realization. But mad and resentful are not the same things. You can have feelings… I hear all my mentors and advisors clapping for me as I write this. I have passed some sort of test, it feels like.

I am finally flirting with the idea of letting go. Finally I felt the pain I had been carrying. I’ve been carrying a lot of bullshit pain. For a long, long time. It was a lot. Mine and so many others’. I had been afraid to let it go. But this will no longer do. I hear my guardian angels telling me to be careful. Just because I have let go does not mean others have. So be discerning. This has been my mistake before. Open up to everything, including the hells of the Earth, or shut down to everything. I can be discerning, because I am a grown up now. And I don’t have to do it all on my own anymore. I passed that test, too. I am so proud of myself! I passed. I was willing to be alone rather than betray my own knowing. I knew – I didn’t have the words, but I knew how certain people felt about me. They would not admit it, until I poked the bear and then they spit it out. I am this, that and the other and so I deserve all the malice and bad treatment in the world. That has been the nasty root of all this nonsense shitty shit shit. And I am sure that somewhere in me, conscience or sub, I have believed the same about them and about myself. That we are this, that and the other and so we deserve bad treatment.

Don’t give pearls to swine, my teachers voice whispers. I don’t know if I agree. If you give pearls to swine, just know that they are swine. Don’t expect them to value them and know that you have given something of great value to someone who will not value. Just do it on purpose for a purpose… I guess what I’m saying is that writing this entry has helped. And I have moved from feeling unlit to lit. Lit inside. I don’t know what to do about my relationships at all still, but I am excited about the thought of forgiving my own daggone self. Letting go of every Blessed debt. Every single one. I have been a hostage to these emotional debts for so long. I feel a bit freed up. And letting go of all debts I felt were owed to me. I have poofed and vanished. LOL. Debts canceled. No kids to take them on.

I will set a new intention now. To be intentional. This is what grownups do. I did not get to see what fathers do too much, but that’s OK. My father loved me anyway. But I know what mothers do. I know what my mother did. She made intentions for us. She didn’t get eight kids out of the ghetto by doing nothing. She planted some good seed in us. She made her own mistakes, but she has my forgiveness, too… I am rambling now.

I’ll post this. I’ll accept this opportunity to start anew and give others the same chance, too. It’s called Grace. But everyone doesn’t get to come back ’round. You gotta be nice to me to get this new frisky smile that’s forming. You gotta actually like me and act like it. And respect. Ooooh, I can’t wait to see what it feels like to be respected by someone near me. Awww man, that must be so awesome. I wonder if I could be one of those women who is cared about by a nice man. Someone who thinks they’re worthy of being held and puts up with all their issues. That would be so super. I keep thinking I gotta go get ready or do some healing to be worthy of like, even thinking that I dare be lit up, but it’s not true. I’ve already done the work.

Can I just say one more thing? I failed. Yep. At many things. Some things are salvageable, but some aren’t. My grandma is dead. Six days before she died, she was robbed and her security cameras were disable. I told my mom, “You need to send someone to the house. They are trying to kill (grandma)” the minute I heard she was robbed. But no one made it to the house. I didn’t make it happen and no one else did. And she was dead six days later. I don’t know if she was killed. Only the people who were there with her truly know how she died… I feel like I failed at keeping her safe and like I failed at so many other things. Like my life should have been better than this by now. So many people looked up to me and look up to me to save the day and pave the way for so much. I didn’t fully realize the scale of superhero-ness with no support that people expected of me till this recent breakdown in relationships. But I get it. I’m big. And people see it in me even if I don’t see it in myself. I’m finally starting to see it. I just want to say something, though, for the big people who fail. For the big failures. I’m not going to sugarcoat it and say you didn’t fail because you learned some lesson or blah blah blah. It’s not true. You failed.

But what is true is that you can forgive yourself. You don’t have to beat yourself up for it for the rest of your life. You can forgive yourself and try again. And if you aren’t able to try again, if it’s too much, that’s ok, too. Sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes you really will die if you try to do certain things in certain circumstances and the thing is not what you’re willing or wanting or needing to give your life for. So forgive yourself, K? Even if the person you hurt won’t forgive you. Say sorry if that’s what you feel in your heart. Make amends if that’s what it’s supposed to be, and let yourself go. Let yourself be free.

I’ve talked a whole big fat mouthful in this blog and I don’t even know where I was going or coming from. I’m not rereading or editing this. Not even going to scroll back up to see where I started. Kind of want to share something raw because I think it helps. This time, it will help someone. I know. I started off thinking about being lit and unlit, with no hope for lighting my fire. But before I finished writing, I see a small flame in my belly that is, in fact, still lit. I’m going to go and find someone to have sex with now. That’s it. To light this fire. I know I’m not supposed to say or share that, but that’s the doggone Truth.

Be Blessed. Stay Well.

Love,
Me

Day 551
This Fire (Good Grief)

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