Rest in Peace to the person I thought I was and hope to never become.
Memorial Day 2018
2 months ago we agreed to form a Faith Study group. We call it Faith Study because all too often people get hung up verses, chapters and psalms that shut them down, cut off their questions and turn them away. We believe God is love, has many names, countless manifestations and leaves no one behind. We meet once per month to discuss our individual faith, God and spirituality, we apply our varying beliefs in divinity to everyday life, we teach other different aspects of spirituality… we learn from each other. Christian, Pagan, Buddist, Agnostic, Catholic even the ‘spritual but not religious’… all coming together to share ideas to understand love, heartbreak, crisis, friendship, conflict… LIFE.
I don’t want to grow up…
So, Toys R Us is going out of business, I’m not sure if I should hit my local store and buy up everything in sight. This was the center of my childhood universe, the scene of prospective Birthdays, Christmases and even my first paycheck. Yes, I said my first paycheck… as an adult, I am a Toys R Us Kid after all (don’t judge me lol).
When I was a little girl, I used to go out to the backyard and lay down in the grass looking up at the sky. I’d watch the clouds roll by and let the shapes tell me a story. Scenes with Dragons and Unicorns and Pegasus would play out before me (why doesn’t anyone ever talk about Pegasus? (Unicorns are great, but Pegasus… can FLY)
… admit it, that is pretty f*cking cool!
I didn’t have tea parties, I made mud pies… I’d go into the bathroom and fill bowls with water, troop back outside to my favorite patch of grass and go to town making mud pies like it was going out of style. I just knew I was the best mud pie maker on the block… in the neighborhood even. I used to take the blades of grass by the handful and grind them up with a rock. The scent reminded me of my grandmother chopping onions and singing hymns and reciting Bible verses in creole at the stove while she cooked. I used to be so excited in the first days of spring, those days when Mom would finally let me out of the house, when I could finally go outside to play until the sun came down… coming in only for snacks, drinks, to go to the bathroom then back out again.
Every summer I would plan out a treasure hunt, marching around the yard on a mission to find dandelions… every single dandelion growing in proximity to the house. I would lay down or sit Indian style in my special patch of grass; one by one holding them up in front of me, turning my face toward the sun I’d take a deep breath… and blow. My little heart beating fast, excited because… with every breath I’d watch as the soft fuzz that reminded me of loose flecks of cotton candy would float away on the wind. Sometimes I would jump up and chase after them laughing, throwing my little arms out and spin and spin and spin laughing watching the world as it sped by the whole time, stopping suddenly, happy, breathless and light headed I’d fall back down to the grass in fits of giggles.
About 6 houses down was the great white house on the hill. I would sneak over to that house, climb the hill, pausing occasionally to catch my breath. I always went alone, I would place myself in the center of the hill, lay down and look up at the sky, cloud watching again. I would slowly count to 10, listen to my quick heartbeat, take a deep breath and roll over… and keep rolling till my little body hit the bottom with a jolt. When I wasn’t skinning my knees, getting scratches on tree branches or banged up from rolling down the neighborhood hill… I read books; Encyclopedia Brown, Nancy Drew and Amelia Bedelia.
I know I’ve probably referenced some of this stuff before in other blogs, but how often does one sit down and really think about what it FELT like to be a little girl? The way the Earth stood still when you would hear that tell tale jingle approaching, the boom that was like thunder as the universal war cry was shouted… “ICE CREAM!!” And how the world would sped up again as every child in a 2 block radius would scatter in search of dollars or spare change.
… also known as ‘Heaven on Wheels‘
Despite some unknowns and major catastrophes my childhood was a happy one, a good one… it had its interesting moments, but I was allowed and encouraged to be a child. I took myself on adventures, thought I was Indiana Jones and my backyard was the Temple of Doom. I had my own inventions and a time or two I would tie the bed sheets together and throw them out the window and jump out, climbing down to parts unknown. Relax… we lived on the first floor of our multi family home, the window was only a few feet off the ground so I was never in any danger. When you’re five or six years old your imagination is so big that to you really do feel like SheRa or Han Solo in Star Wars, or Leroy Green from the Last Dragon (Bruce Leroy), and who can forget about the Incredible Hulk, or the A-Team.
I soooo wanted to be a singer when I grew up, I would run around the house with a hairbrush belting out ‘the Greatest Love of All’. I was fascinated by Whitney Houston… ‘I Want to Dance with Somebody’ and Tina Turner’s ‘What’s Love Got to Do with It’ and ‘We Don’t Need Another Hero’. Most little girls dreamed of being a princess, having a castle, kissing Prince Charming and getting married. For all the other little girls I was exposed to (my sister, cousins, little girls in school) for those little girls getting married was BIG. Wedding cakes and white dresses and a big party and then there was me. I was the one burning a hole in my easy bake oven and playing doctor. I had no use for weddings or worse… Prince Charming!
I played jump rope and kept chalk in my pockets for hopscotch, had 10 Imaginary Friends… characters from Sesame Street (the cowboy Forgetful and his Cow, the Count, Bert and Ernie Kermit and Ms. Piggy) … almost the whole Muppet cast, also Bo and Luke Duke, Uncle Jesse, Boss Hogg and Daisy from the Dukes of Hazzard. I loved watching GI Joe, (imagined I was a soldier with a big knife as I thought guns were highly overrated), lived for Thunder Cats, Rainbow Brite, Wonder Woman and the Bionic Woman. I would rush to the tv when I came home from school to watch Woody Woodpecker and Chilly Willy, Bugs Bunny and the Looney Tunes clan… Lord how I wanted to bop Elmer Fudd and Daffy Duck upside their foreheads. I most definitely was not a Disney kid, not then… Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Snow White, while cute, very pretty and very shiny, I preferred the Transformers and Voltron, climbing trees and playing in the mud.
It’s so easy to dwell on the negative, but I was a happy little girl. My dad taught me how to ride my bike and I viewed that as a source of freedom, I would take off with the wind in my face and would run around with my training wheels… think of the expression “ride it till the wheels fall off”. I rode that bike until those training wheels fell off lol. I rode until I had no business riding anymore. Eventually I was just way too big for it and no matter how much I loved that cherry candy apple red source of freedom I finally had to give it up, then they handed me my sisters blue 3 speed bike. It was huge and I had to climb it to sit down, smh my God there were no helmets back then, no helmets or protective gear whatsoever. There were no streamers on my bike, riding was serious business… I would get on that bike and think that I was additional member of the Justice League on wild adventures, it’s a wonder I never broke anything… not a finger, a leg, a wrist, an arm or any bone. Looking back, I realize that was a blessing.
It’s not lost on me that most of my childhood heroes were boys and men, back then leading women were rare things… but I had those heroes too, my mom and my older sister. I looked up to my big sister… she infuriated me but I loved her, she was 6 years older so she had no use for ‘little kids’. That didn’t stop me from looking up to her though, following her around constantly telling everyone “my sister said”. I used to watch my mom get dressed to go out… fascinated by the hair, the makeup and the perfume. I couldn’t wait for her to leave, I would try to be nonchalant… (or as nonchalant as a four, five or six-year-old can be) and watch her leave the house. I would go to the window, watch as she got in the car and drive away. You never know… sometimes the adults would come back so I would wait until the coast was clear. I’d wait an appropriate amount of time (hindsight tells me it was probably only half a minute but time flies differently for children). I’d wait whatever I thought was an appropriate amount of time to pass and then I would jump up and down like a crazy person and run back to her bedroom.
I would go to her closet and pick out one of her dresses to wear. I’d look over what felt like a million pairs of red pumps with heels that were ridiculous, sometimes pull out a hat, maybe a pair of gloves. I would go to her dresser and run my fingers across its surface, sit down and gather all her makeup. Sitting at her dresser, putting lipstick on, spraying her perfume; on my wrist and behind my ears. I had no idea what to do with eye shadow… the few times I tried to use it I made a holy mess and tried to rub my face clean with a lot of paper towels, trying to clean off the surface of the dresser with Windex. Of course, I would end up tying to do some explaining because ultimately, she would figure out that I had been in her stuff, so I learned that if I took just her lipstick and dabbed it across my eyelids I could make my own eye shadow. Lipstick didn’t fly everywhere like the eye shadow did, I would rub it in with my fingers to blend it, apply a little bit of lipstick to my cheeks for blush and then the lips… the lips were always last, because that was where the voice comes from.
(totally NOT me, image found online)
I would take the lipstick and very carefully slide it across my lips… that was my favorite part, coloring my lips with lipstick. I would imagine what it would feel like to be an adult, all grown-up; to know everything, imagine being able to do whatever you wanted with no need to ask mom or dad for anything. I wondered what it would feel like to be grown up and have my sister look up to me, I couldn’t wait to be independent and beautiful, and I would laugh… I would laugh so much. There isn’t anything quite like the sound of a child laughing and even though it’s me in the memory, thinking back on it now… hearing that laugh still takes my breath away. Those are the happy moments, maybe too happy. I compartmentalize a lot and different phases of my life are stored in different boxes. I keep the different people in my life in different boxes… I keep different feelings in boxes. I think that everybody needs a set of boxes just for happy memories and the great moments, we should respect them more.
Looking back, I see it laid the foundation for how I now put myself together. I have so much makeup now it’s crazy and the common denominator is the lipstick; in every shade, every hue, every type imaginable… and that’s always a Finishing Touch. I get dressed up, do my hair, put makeup on and then sit at my vanity table, my adult self… seeing the little girl I used to be looking back at me, eventually slowly sliding the lipstick across my lips… a grown up.
In 2013 I posted I Used to Love Her… http://www.novaonthemove.com/2013/10/16/i-used-to-love-her/
A blog about falling out of love with yourself and depression. I’ve been thinking a lot about this as of late, having been in relationships with women diagnosed with clinical depression or severe anxiety, having a best friend with Bi-Polar disorder and loved ones that are possibly running around undiagnosed. There is a layer of fear there that you live in…. it’s not something you can understand unless you have lived it, a constant concern for that person… are they ok… are they getting better… how long can they go on like this… do I need to get them some help… questions, always questions.
Over the last two years I took the steps to become a certified life coach, took the courses and absorbed the material… I wanted to help people. then life happened… sick relatives, a bad beak up, my own weird illness, moving, work… blah, blah blah… so I haven’t taken the official exam. I still want to help people, I’m just not sure what that looks like in this new reality TODAY.
I am at a peaceful phase in my life; work is a misery, dating and relationships are hit or miss, my friends are A*M*A*Z*I*N*G truly one of the greatest blessings I have and my family is back on track. I’ve reconciled with my sister, my mom is doing well, my niece is heading to college… there is a lightness here that has not been attainable for years. Don’t get me wrong, everyone is still insane… EVERYONE… and yes, I am counted in that number, but it doesn’t matter. I am in a still phase, the waters run deep and while I have storms raging within me I find solace in faith, family and love.
Have you ever listened to Logic’s song 800-273-8255? That is the actual telephone number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. There are several important people in my life that have contemplated suicide. I wish I could say it never crossed my own mind but I would be lying. Please do not jump to conclusions, mine was a passing thought not given much contemplation… something more common than people will admit. Sadly, that seed, that line of thinking is easy to fall into… as easy as breathing. Sometimes you want to stop and just be still, to hear nothing, look at nothing… to FEEL nothing.
I enjoy my alone time; self-contemplation is not practiced as much as it should be. We are taught that God is love and I believe in love. I believe understanding IS love so I try to understand. I believe to love another person is to see the face of God. I see his hand in all aspects of my life, in all of decisions I have made and in all of the outcomes. Taking these things into consideration when ‘coaching’ someone, using the tools I have learned to ‘hear’ someone, and working for the betterment of another human being is an amazing experience. I am propping my loves up, listening, giving advise as needed, passing out tissues when needed and helping to shoulder their burdens. It just takes a toll though, I have my dark days like everyone else.
Last night one of my friends said to me “you never unload on me”, and of course I asked her what she meant… “You never unload on me… I unload on you all the time, but you never unload on me. There are days I know you are stressed, or hurting and I unload on you… I know I shouldn’t because you are obviously struggling but I can’t help myself, but you never unload on me. You just sit and listen, give me advice and a kick in the azz when I need it, but you never unload on me.” I’d like to say that I vented then, but I would be lying, the answer is simple really, it’s just how I am built.
I’m an empathetic person not sympathetic, most people do not understand the difference so I will explain starting with the definitions:
Sympathy – feelings of pity and sorrow for someone else’s misfortune
Empathy – the ability to understand and share the feelings of another
I wish I could say I felt bad for how bad other people feel, but I don’t. Instead I work to understand how they feel as they do and ultimately come to terms with sharing in some of that feeling. People think me cold and uncaring because I am not warm and fuzzy. I don’t really know how to address that except to say I love hard and I always try to understand where people are coming from, if that makes me cold… well then, I guess you are entitled to your opinion.
I unload plenty, through writing and reading and music and travel, and bookstores… Lord how I love bookstores (and libraries) … they have always felt like another form of Church to me. It seems like the older I get I go through long periods without putting pen to paper, which for me is a bit dangerous because it just means everything I have been taking in I have not been releasing. Even in my most burdened state I still try to BE there for my loved ones. It always catches up to me though… I get sick or just tired, or sick and tired. There are days I can’t or don’t want to get out of bed. Some of this I wrote, and erased, wrote again and re-worded.
There is guilt in feeling vulnerable, tired and having your choices taken from you. We all want to be brave, we all want to be strong but really… sometimes we need to break down before we can rebuild our selves stronger, and I so desperately want to be strong.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this, having been in relationships with women diagnosed with clinical depression or severe anxiety, having a best friend with Bi-Polar disorder and loved ones that are possibly running around undiagnosed. There is a layer of fear there that I live in… more people live in it than we realize, a constant concern for their loved ones… are they ok… are they getting better… how long can they go on like this… do I need to get them some help… questions, always questions. In the past year 2 friends of mine have discussed contemplating taking their own lives.
I wish I could say I talked them off of the ledge, that I made them see the light and had them counting their blessings (because really, they are blessed), but I can’t. I doubt much of what I have to say is acually useful but I do try to listen, and will continue to listen. Have you ever heard Logic’s song 800-273-8255? That is the number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. We never really know what someone is going through so try compassion as a default. The road to Self Love is not easy, it takes work and more effort than almost everything else in life. It starts with talking… talk, talk and keep talking. If there isn’t anyone there to listen… no one to hold your hand or hold you tight, find a phone… please use it.
(rough draft, still have some more thinking to do)
I Believe Part Deux
I spent the day tied in knots, haunted by memories of you… the rise and fall of your voice when you are excited, the infectious ring of your laugh… the likes of which for some unknown reason always remind me of coins rattling in a tin can… the way you always sound surprised and caught off guard when you are in the throes of it, even now just the memory of it makes me smile.
I don’t think I ever told you it was that laugh that set me on the path to falling in love with you… … the way you said my name cracked open the door… the way you looked at me like I was water in the desert blasted it wide open… and the way you called me your “WOMAN” forever carved this space for you in my heart.
I spent years seeking, seeking, seeking something elusive yet beautiful. It’s a wonder I made it this far, considering how often my views on dating and relationships have changed. You remained the constant, made me feel safe… and in my worst moments you are always the one I run to… home. We have to learn to crawl before we can walk… I am taking baby steps, have finally stopped to breathe and realize all roads lead to you.
Being honest I fully admit that I should have never dated you… the timing for it was all wrong. I was on the edge of reason, still licking my wounds from a very bad situation… made to feel that I was less than, unwanted, disgusting even. I could say that I am fully healed, but like PTSD the smallest things take make back to that place. I don’t think people ever fully heal from attacks on the heart and mind. The wounds may close, forming scabs that leave the skin tough and scared… war wounds.
I grew up in a household where none were considered beautiful, surrounded by relatives who either thought me stupid or made it clear that I was lucky to have passable looks to ‘get by’ on. There was no way I could believe you could want me the way you said you did. How could you? I was abrupt, brash, overly thick and no raving beauty… so, it was said… and so I believed. If I was discounted by family and discarded by someone I cared for, how could the one my heart beat for… want me?
It’s unbelievable how much time it took for me to get here. I’ve chased down my demons, let things go and acknowledge nothing worth having is ever easy. It took me so long to forgive you, too long really. I’m still not sure I’ve forgiven myself. Saying I’m only human, feels like a cop out… giving up is easy. So why does fighting for our blessings always feel impossible?
You made me want to be a better woman, what’s more, I wanted to be better for you. Every time I was with you was like getting struck by lightning… sharp and hot, an affirmation of something bigger than myself. Every time we argued I felt like I was spinning… round and round in circles, never able to stop it. It was like every ounce of everything that was good about us, everything that was good in us would collapse in on itself and lead us to the center of a hurricane. Baby, for the life of me I could never understand how we would end up there and still haven’t figured out how to avoid those storms when I see them coming.
Friendship seems the only reasonable course of action. You deserve everything and more, and each day I pray you find it. Romance is easy… Faith and Trust… that is hard, can’t build a house of love without a solid foundation… lol can’t even build a shack of LIKE without some tools. I realize now that it was in the darkest moments of our relationship that I should have remembered you were my source of light.
They say people come into your life for a session or a lesson… for a reason, a season or a lifetime. You’re my lesson learned… your fingerprints etched in my skin and the memory of you forever embedded in my spirit. I miss the way you held me tight, your scent, the pretty pale blush on your skin when you are excited, the quickened pace of your heartbeat when I touch you, the way you arch your back seconds before you flood me with your release, the way you looked at me… like I was water in the desert, and that infectious laugh… coins rattling in a tin can…
There are good people in this world and then there are the ‘others’, you are one of the good ones. I’m proud of you and wish you much success in life. Everything happens for a reason and I believe God always finds a way… makes no mistakes, and holds us accountable. I hope you have found that elusive love that feeds your spirit and makes you a better woman… I pray you keep it, and I pray that you are happy. Just clearing the air, I have no intention to make life difficult for you. The difference today… is I am holding myself accountable.
God stood for a time in quiet reflection at the gates of Heaven looking down at Earth. The Angels approached him slowly, “Father, its time”. With heavy heart the Lord took a deep breath and replied “arm yourselves.” The Angels waited patiently for the Lord to pass, then followed close behind him. These were troubled times and the armory was in use more often than not. Solemnly they prepared for battle and while the Angels knew the events to come troubled their Lord, they also knew he would never abandon his children.
The roar of the crowd was deafening, the energy thick with adrenaline. The home team scored another touchdown and everyone was wild. The stands were full of students, teachers, parents and Angels. The refs whistle blew, players rushed down the field after the ball. The crowd was mad with excitement as the clocked counted down. It happened so quickly no one noticed at first… players kept playing… the crowd kept cheering… the coach screamed at the young player “Get up… GET UP…” the father stood in the stands cheering with everyone else fully expecting his son to get back up again, like he had thousands of times before this. In that next moment the world stopped. Everything shifted into slow motion and the world went quiet. As he watched his son lay on the field the only sound the heavy thump of his heartbeat. When the players closest on the field raced toward his fallen son time sped up again. “No, no, no, oh God no…” calling his son’s name he started pushing his way through the crowd to get to his boy.
God walked down the 50 yard line, his stride was sure and full of purpose. As they prepared to load the boy onto the stretcher God knelt down and covered him. The crowd had fallen silent, the Angels flanking the field, the only sound for miles a father calling his sons name. The boy’s eyes slowly opened as God took hand and said “get up.” The boy blinked looking up at the face of God as he said “Child… get… up” and with the Lords help he stood up. When his legs buckled as he tried to walk on his own God was there to catch him, in the arms of his teammates, in the arms of his father. “It’s ok, I think your knee is busted, you’re ok… you are ok” the boy’s father said with tears in his eyes. The crowd cheered as they led him off of the field, he was ok.
The heat was blinding, short of breath and sweat stinging his eyes the commanding officer gestured for his men to fan out and wait. As they positioned themselves the sand flew and churned as though a storm was coming. The Angels marched together quick, sure footed and in unison. The men were right, a storm was coming… WAR. Gunfire erupted, men began shouting and the commander raised his weapon to take fire. As his finger pressed against the trigger he prayed, “God help us…” In the midst of the heat of battle God stood beside the commander ready. The air filled with smoke, his men backed up against a wall the commander made a decision and planted himself between his men and the next wave. “Come on God they only need a few minutes” the commander whispered to himself as he aimed and fired repeatedly. The Angels strode into the melee surrounding the soldiers, surrounding the ‘enemy’. Where there were fallen the Angels shielded them… men and women… from both sides.
“Now… now, NOW!” the commander shouted at his men as he stepped forward taking the brunt of gunfire. When the first bullet struck him he didn’t notice. God wrapped himself around the commander as his body jerked from the impact, shielding him from the pain. Blood running down his body in sheets the commander felt nothing as he continued to hold off the ‘enemy’ and give his men time to get out. Blood roaring in his ears the commander pulled the trigger… again and again, until he fell. The world went dark for a few minutes and when he opened his eyes God looked back at him. The fallen soldier tried to speak as God picked him up. God rose with the commander in his arms as all around the battle field Angels picked up the fallen. Their arms weighed down with their precious burdens, heat rising from the ground in waves as the sun blinded those still shooting. The ground shook as God and his Angels carried the fallen out of the battle, as they carried his children home.
“Father forgive me” she whispered as she stepped into the water. She lay back and rested her head against the back of the tub. Tears streaming down her face she couldn’t think past the pain. Her heart was broken… breaking still with every breath. Love and loss had taken their toll, she was tired and could not go on hurting. He left her… after years of struggling with her anxiety, years of working through her mental illness he left her. Enveloped in her pain as she was she didn’t notice the Angels come into the room, didn’t see them surround her.
Picking up the razor blade she began to pray, every breath harder than the last. As she touched the blade to her skin she closed her eyes… breathing in the steam from the bath… breathing in deep, building up the courage to end her pain. Strengthening her resolve to stop the constant fear, to put an end to the never ending roller coaster of her depression she clutched the razer in her fist and God wrapped his arms around her. As blood streamed from her hand into the water her pain eased. God held her tight as she cried… cried for all that she had lost… cried for what she had been about to do.
The Angels smoothed back her hair and gently took the blade out of her hand. She cried for every bit of pain she had endured and wrapped her arms around her God as he held her close. “Child… you are loved” he said to her as he again smoothed the hair off of her brow. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” she stammered, but God just smiled and wiped the tears from her cheeks as the singing started. She sighed as the room was filled with the voices of Angles as they sang… to her. She looked into her father’s eyes and felt a blanket of peace come over her like nothing she had ever felt before and she was filled with a new certainty… troubled times were ahead, she was anxious, but she was not broken.
She came into my life when I was searching… for something… ANYTHING. She thought I was exceptional, beautiful and a living dream. She loved me… really loved me, and decided that was enough… no consideration and no effort was needed. She loved me… just not enough to work for me… not enough to work for US… a waste of a love just for lack of trying.
She came into my life when I was starting over… working toward being a better person. She was focused and full of spirit. She loved me and turned that focus on me in constant battle… every day, all the time until I just couldn’t do it anymore.
She came into my life when I was young and free… looking for something (someone) to believe in. She was beauty and strength and amazing. She helped me figure out who I really was, she showed me my truth and then she left.
She came into my life when I was focused… she was young and free. She made me feel again after a long while of being empty. She was sweetness and candy… and in an effort to protect her from me… from what being with me at that young and vulnerable time in her life would do to her… I left.
She came into my life at a time when I was vulnerable and seeking… looking for love, looking for peace. She was wild she was smoke and some kind of wonderful. She looked at me, she touched me and she found me lacking.
She came into my life when I was comfortable… with myself, with my life. She was passion and heat. She was vulnerable and light. She loved me… oh how she loved me. She had me too but she didn’t trust me… which I took as a rejection so I rejected her… a waste of a love never allowed to thrive.
6 great women… 6 degrees of love… in no particular order… you made me better and I carry you with me always.
Introspective, that’s me… self-awareness… that’s the key. I haven’t written in a while so this is going to be a random rant, possibly confusing and definitely all over the place.
I spend so much time looking inward, checking in, seeing how I feel, and working to understand why I did this or that. I’ve looked inside of myself for so long, well… I can actually say I no longer have any idea what I’m looking at. I trust my instincts, or at least I used to and I am honest with myself… brutally. It’s amazing how much outside influences affect us, shape us… change us. Bridget Jones, the character Hannah from the HBO series GIRLS, the character Alice Pieszecki from the Showtime series The L Word and of course the character J from the web series Awkward Black Girl… these are the touchstones I find relatable. They are all variations of wild, rude, impulsive and yes, awkward… versions of me.
I am a black, lesbian with weight issues… wicked smart, dumb as a brick and wildly foolish. I give of myself to the ones I care about. I work hard, play hard and love with everything inside of me. I am difficult, independent, strong willed, not easily read or relatable. Did I say difficult? I can see 40 bearing down on me and find myself learning lessons now that I should have learned a long time ago. People will look at you and judge you… they will speak with you and decide whether you are worth their effort or not. The truth is many will find you lacking; no matter what you do for them, no matter how much you give to them and no matter how well you treat them.
My family loves me… they accept me exactly as I am. We don’t always get along and they don’t really like me much (What? I said I was honest) and we don’t usually understand each other. My friends… now they get me, they have the uncanny way of pushing me to always keep trying, they dig deep and pull out the best of me. Lovers… well lovers are a whole other story.
I have heard a few things to consider lately… “Stop dating people who are beneath you”, “Stop giving people so many chances”, “Stop giving so much of yourself”, “Stop giving people the opportunity to hurt you” and “Only date someone who loves you more than you love them.” Almost everyone close to me keeps telling me I need to find someone who can ‘do for me’, someone who can buy me nice things, take me nice places… someone who is financially my equal (or better). The truth is I have never looked at dating from that point of view… I’ve always said I don’t mind if you are a janitor, but you should WANT to own the broom. I work hard to make my own money and buy myself and those that I care for nice things. I ask for equal EFFORT, not money… I ask for affection and LOYALTY, not disinterest and lukewarm sentiment. I only ask for someone who sees me and accepts me flaws and all. I don’t think that is asking for too much.
These days I find something as simple as a hug can change the course of my whole day. My family is not an affectionate bunch, hugs were rare… hearing “I love you” rarer still (nonexistent really) and my first picture with my mom was my junior high graduation. So yes… the one that will hug me; close, tight, long and often… that’s the one I will marry. HUGS (and kisses on the forehead) are magic. Years ago I looked in the mirror and did not like the person that was looking back at me. While I am not quite there yet I find myself looking back into that dark place… where it’s isolated and comfortable. I find myself surrounded by people suffering from anxiety, and I work to put them at ease. That’s important to me… having the ones I care for at ease.
Oddly enough the past few years I have made new friends (that stabbed me in the back), had lovers that lied to me, stole from me, cheated on me, accused me of cheating on them, used me, discarded me for being; too blunt, too open, to serious, too standoffish, too independent, too abrupt, too insensitive, too overweight, to easy going. “You make things too easy for me” was the single most life altering thing my most recent ex ever said to me. Constantly being put in the position to prove yourself to those who would use you and bleed you dry is exhausting.
So I am on a journey… funny how much people say that.
Why do lesbians (women who are attracted to other women) date women who look like men?
In my spare online entertainment moments I run across this question quite a bit. It is one of those ‘hot button’ issues that sparks both animosity and controversy. You can watch an intelligent conversation between a group of people devolve quickly with just a few clicks of the mouse and some tapping of happy fingers on an unknown keyboard.
We spend so much time baiting each other online for something we really have no control over… something where ultimately our individual opinions DO NOT matter. Being lesbian, gay, transgender etc. does not add or take away from the quality of life someone lives, it does not limit a persons contributions to this world and it is not a reflection of a person’s character. Shouldn’t we know these things already? You know… given that the masses of straight folks are created equal and are all saints and such.
For those of you that missed it… that was sarcasm.
To be clear… not all lesbians are closeted bisexuals, not all lesbians were sexually abused, not all lesbians hate men, not all lesbians CHOOSE to be lesbians and no… LESBIANS are not confused.
They can love men and everything a real man stands for without wanting anything more than friendship, an appreciation for a father, uncle, or brother figure and affection for a son. Lesbians can and sometimes actually do love men. They just do not connect with them on a romantic or sexual level. That does not automatically make men ‘less than’ to them it just makes a man an inappropriate choice for a partner… if anyone cares about happiness.
Simply put, while a woman may appreciate masculine attributes she may not be mentally, sexually or emotionally stimulated by a man.
Masculine identified women (those more comfortable appearing or behaving as less feminine than the average woman) may appear masculine due to the window dressing of their wardrobe but it is their nature that is appealing to a feminine woman and in some cases… a not so feminine woman. They tend to be attentive and respectful of their partners in a way most men will never understand because they have being a woman in common.
We hear men in ‘straight’ relationships complain all the time about ‘chick flicks’ and other girly things their women try to make them do. With a not so feminine woman the attraction may be kindred spirits, or the appreciation of their nature or ‘like attracts like’. With a Feminine and Masculine lesbian dynamic that ‘something extra’ straight women look for is already there… because despite the masculine wardrobe her love interest… IS STILL A WOMAN.
There is no “choosing” involved, no matter what a man is bringing to the table a lesbian’s preference would not just magically change. It wouldn’t matter if any man had those afore mentioned things. She would still want a woman. It may be a choice for some but for others (the ones I have heard people classify as ‘real lesbians’) men are just not an option, they are not desired and they could never meet the needs of a woman that loves and desires other women in that way. They know what they want and they are very clear about it… it’s not MEN.
I respect the fact that it just doesn’t make sense to many, however… how often does anything to do with love and relationships actually make sense?
It is easy to throw religion at a question or problem one simply can’t figure out or wrap their heads around. Name calling is easy as well, even violence is easy… but understanding that requires patience, and a willingness to learn about something outside of your comfort zone? So how about maybe not necessarily trying to understand it… why not just respect someone else’s choices?
That’s the stuff greatness is made of.
It’s cold out, still and wet… there is thunder in the distance, brief flashes of lightening. She is quiet… going through the motions of releasing the stresses of her day. When she gets this way it’s like a hurricane trapped in a bottle. She is tense with an energy that is tightly reined in. Her body language, and her gaze, the tone of her voice… is predatory. I will wait.
I am silent, letting her go through her process… she isn’t ready. So I go through my motions, giving her space, preparing for the tempest I know is coming. Doing busy work while I give her the room she needs to work through it. I will wait.
Just as the rain starts outside I hear her long exhale… the slow release of a hard day. I can hear all of the pent up frustration in that one quiet puff of sound. The wind is howling as the storm gathers… I will wait.
I turn and take in the sight of her on the sofa leaning forward with her face in her hands, eyes closed. Slowly I tip toe over to stand directly in front of her and slide my fingers into her hair. At first she stiffens at my touch, her body coiled tightly like she’s ready to pounce. I will wait.
Suddenly she relaxes as my fingers work to knead away the tension at her temples. I smooth my caress over her scalp and she sighs again, resting her face against me as she wraps her arms around my waist. I will wait.
We are like that for a time… she is starting to unwind and I’m focused on her, just her. I wait until she is on the cusp of sleep, then gently work my fingers through her hair to give a firm short tug. Her breath catches and in a flash she comes to life, head snapping up as she drags me into her lap for a kiss that is both forceful and hungry. I will wait.
I straddle her hips as her hands reach down to cup my ass. Liquid fire pooling between my legs, my body aflame in a response that is for her and her alone. On a moan I grind down on her… and she rolls her hips up to meet mine. I break our kiss to gasp for air, as her hands dip under my shirt. Short of breath I slide my lips across her cheek to nip at her ear, rub my lips down her neck… then slide my tongue over the sensitive spot between her neck and collar bone. I will wait.
I lean back and unbutton her shirt, pressing soft kisses into her skin. Her body is feverish under my caress. My lips roll over her ribs, tongue sliding down her side… nails grazing her lightly as she trembles with hunger. She will wait.
She pants my name in a tone that is harsh and demanding. Her body is tense with an energy that is tightly reined in. Her body language, her gaze, the tone of her voice… are predatory. She will wait.
I am silent, letting her go through her process… she is almost ready. So I go through my motions, preparing for the storm I know is coming. Lips and tongue doing busy work while I give her the space she needs to work through it. She will wait.
Lightening crashes and the rain beats against the windows as I sigh into her skin… the slow release of expectation. I can hear her excitement in the steady thrumming of her heart. Thunder booms loudly as she snaps… Finally.
Suddenly she growls and flips me onto my back, grinding her hips inside my open thighs as I pant with need. Eyes closed as her lips kiss my neck, her hands on my breasts, tugging my bra out of the way. I push my hips up to meet hers as she unleashes the full force of her passion at me… Finally.
I try to catch my breath between pants, feeling devoured, her lips tugging on my nipples, as she rips open my pants. Her fingers sliding into the moist heat between my thighs. At first I stiffen at her touch… her fingers quickly flick back and forth over my heated flesh, teasing my clit. Outside the storm rages as my body coils tightly with mounting need as she slides a finger deep inside of me… in and out… in… and… out. I moan her name right before I lose control. Throwing my head back as my body bucks beneath her on a wave of long… hard… orgasm. She rocks against me, holding me down… cumming hard and fast, pouring all of her pent up energy into me… Finally.