Malika ≠ Martyr

So I've talked a little about my current job. How much I love it, and how much I feel like I'm really make a difference in lives. Don't get me wrong, my last job taught me a lot, but the fact is that I was really burned out. I remember how I'd had a couple of bad dreams about the job at one point and how at another point, on Saturday nights, I'd feel angry and anxious about my weekend being over and having only one more day before I had to return. To be fair, things were pretty bad for me at my first site, largely because I felt like I spent my days babysitting, more than my designated job of teaching life skills. 

I thoroughly enjoyed my second site at that organization, to be honest. My goal was to create a food pantry, particularly one that could be used by clients all over the organization. I also wanted to hold a voter registration drive, both of which were held up by first the pandemic, then my getting laid off. I mean, it was cool at first, I took a nice 3 week trip to Cali, paid down my credit cards, and was able to pay down my car as well.

My plan was initially to move from Atlanta, but things didn't pan out, so here, I stayed. I didn't expect to land at my current job when I applied, more so because I thought they'd feel that my experience wasn't up to snuff lol. I guess I was wrong about that.

So anyway, my job entails working with women who are drug addicted mothers, with the goal being reunification with their children. It feels so good to be involved in a position where I'm actively helping people to work on themselves. 

As I move along on this journey called life, I recognize how much of my existence has been about helping others. The beautiful thing is that I now understand how much I've tried to help others. Quite often, I succeeded. Other times, not as much. The good thing about my last job is that I saw firsthand how various mental illnesses present. I'm genuinely fascinated by bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, trauma, and so many other things that impact the lives of others.

The interesting thing is that I now see the large impact of mental illness and trauma in the people in my personal life. Over the summer, a friend from high school came back around. I'll call this friend, "Sheila."  (here's a reminder) This particular friend told me that she'd wanted to become a graphic artist. I'm all about linking people with others that will aid them with achieving their goals. I introduced my friend to my cousin, a highly skilled graphic artist. Slowly, things happened, and I'd joined them, and we started working toward putting together a website run by the 3 of us. I was really excited to be part of this project.

However, while things started to move forward, something happened with her. She was fearful. She'd introduced me to a relative of hers who allowed me to get my first eye exam and 2 pairs of prescription glasses pretty cheap. My eyes aren't too bad, but occasionally, I have trouble focusing my eyes, so this deal worked well for me. Sheila clearly has eye sight far worse than mine (evidenced by her massive squinting whenever reading). Homegirl straight up refused to get her eyes checked. I couldn't make sense of it. Girl, get your damned eyes checked! If you can't see, get some damned glasses! She refused.

Another issue Sheila had was her attachment to a rapper she'd fooled with about 20 years ago. Dude has since moved on an publicly announced his wife/gf/fiancé. We aren't exactly sure about her particular role, all we know is that he has continued to publicly announce his love and devotion to this woman.  So anyway, baby girl is STILL all over dude. She's refusing to date, calling him her "twin flame," "soul mate," or whatever titles they call people we don't wanna let go of. 

I'd started to really observe that her issues were deeper than I'd previously seen. I also noticed that every time she came to my home, she went straight for the huge tequila bottle that someone had given me for my birthday. She needed like actual therapy, which I'd let her know. She gave me some  about pathetic excuse of not having insurance, but I told her that my previous job actually takes clients without insurance. She gave me more crap excuses. I'd forgotten that she'd proven to be a flake in our early 20's, but I figured that by our early 40's, she have moved past all of that. She hadn't.

First she started missing our weekly meetings. And then, as my cousin and Sheila and I started to move closer to our live date for the site, she started with the bullshit. She started to stall and suggest pushing back the live date. I talked privately to my cousin and told him that I wasn't with the shits and I knew she was about to flake. After about 2 weeks of radio silence from her, she basically told us that she wanted out (which my cuz and I had already suspected was about to happen). 

I'll be honest, old Malika would have tried to talk to her, to convince her to get help. I'm pretty sure that she had an anxiety disorder, which is easily treated with CBT, and possibly some meds. She refused. Old Malika would have tried to save her. To perhaps hold an intervention. But Malika now just doesn't have it in me. I got a job. I got a child. I have real life work and professional experience. It's literally my job to help people with their struggles. I almost wish I'd been able to be more sympathetic. But I've seen her patterns for 20+ years of friendship. I don't have the additional energy for a friend who doesn't want to put forth the additional work to fix her own issues. I just can't support that. I wish her well. But when she sent me a text message, telling me that she's working through her "healing process" I just looked at it. I wish I'd had it in me to respond positively and being supportive. But I couldn't. It was more bullshit. She'd done literally the same bullshit for 20 years. I looked at the text message and chose to say nothing. Because if I'd said anything, I possibly would have done more damage than anything. So I silently wished her the best and put my phone back down.

Whew, I'm exhausted just writing all of that. So anyway, next up. I'll call her Alice. I'd worked with Alice some years ago. She had a horrible boyfriend, who was abusive to her. She'd sometimes come to work with bruises on her. To make her issues worse, her 12-year-old son had died of cancer. Unsurprisingly, she'd had a lot of issues, as anyone would after the loss of a child. But I'd later learned that she'd had other issues prior to his death.

She was the product of rape, as her mother often threw into her face. She told me how growing up, as he darkest person in her family, she was often referred to as a "black bitch." While we worked together, I was often the only person to plainly tell her that her loser boyfriend wasn't good enough for her and to lose him. She held firm. 

I eventually left that job and we'd lost contact. One day, she and I started chatting again, and she admitted to me that he was still in the picture. I tearfully told her that if she stayed with him, he'd kill her one day. I even had her in my home as she called various family members to leave Atlanta to escape him. I encouraged her to pretty much leave with the clothes on her back. She gave me reasons that she couldn't. I should be honest and call them excuses. She did not leave Atlanta. At least, not at the time. Another issue she'd had was her roommate, whom I'd felt was way too close to her ex (not in a sexual way though). Basically, the roommate had allowed him to continue to stay there, despite his history of attacking Alice. But Alice remained firm that her roommate was a "good friend."

A few years later, I started chatting with Alice again. At this point, she'd finally left Atlanta (YAY!) and the abusive slimeball (DOUBLE YAY!!!) She was a semi-truck driver. She and I would often talk for hours as she drove up and down the West Coast. At some point, she'd planned to fly out a guy from Atlanta (not the slimy ex), but he had a family emergency and was unable to attend. I was hoping to come out instead, but the airline would not allow her to change her reservation. So although her guy friend wasn't able to make it out, her roommate that kept her shitty ex around came instead. 

Alice told me afterward how her former roommate essentially showed her ass the whole time, ruining the trip. Honestly, after what she'd said, I truly feel that the roommate may have a mental health diagnosis. Unsurprisingly, she'd told me that at some point, the roommate's family had actually had her hospitalized for mental health (as they should). I warned Alice to separate herself from the roommate. She assured me after that trip, she would.

A couple of weeks later, Alice lost her job abruptly. I figured, what the hell, I'd let her crash with me for a few days until she landed on her feet. She slept a lot the first few days, which was fine, I figured she was decompressing and needed to rest for a few. A couple of days later, she went to stay with the roommate. Naturally, I was suspect on it, but I'll be honest, I was glad to have my living room back. Anyway, she essentially stayed with the former roommate and only came to pick up her stuff from my house a few days later. I'd had several conversations with her about the roommate and how she was clearly  shit show, but I figured that she knew what she was doing, and I decided simply "not my monkey, not my circus."

A day or so later, after she'd picked up her belongings, I got a phone call from Alice at 3am. The roommate had gotten angry with her over something and put her out in the middle of the night. The good was that she'd been let out in my neighborhood so that she could safely come to my home. The bad was that I'd reached my breaking point. The fact is that I don't have people in my life who put me out of the car, on the other side of town from where I'm staying, in the middle of the night. I shouldn't have to wake up at 3a.m. to pick someone up, all because of whomever she opted to hang out with. And I knew that mess was just the tip of the iceberg when dealing with the roomie. When Alice returned to my home, I told her point blank that she absolutely cannot stay at my home if she continues to be friends with the former roommate. The toxicity of this woman would eventually become my problem and I simply was not going to allow that. She agreed that she needed to remove herself from the situation and stated that being booted from the car at 3am was the final straw.

By this point, our communication had fallen drastically. It was difficult to communicate with her at times. Perhaps it was knowing about her past the way that I did and my therapeutic nature, but we talked about her deceased son sometimes, and other times, the abusive ex came up. Sometimes she talked about her mother, who had been diagnosed with a mental illness. She talked about the lack of affection she felt from her father, and she also talked about her recently deceased sister. She drank a lot. I got it. I felt bad for her. She carried a lot of pain. And I wanted so badly to fix her. 

A few days later, Alice asked for a ride to the train station. I obliged. She was a bit secretive when sharing where she was going. She eventually relented and told me she was planning to hang out with a guy, which was odd that she was hesitant to share, because our dating stories about men had be beyond vulgar. She didn't return that night. I was worried, but she eventually called. She'd stayed away more nights. Again, I was glad to have my couch back, but I hoped she was well. She never returned to stay in my home. She moved her stuff out while I wasn't home one day.

A month or so later, I saw a picture on Facebook of her in a nightclub with the toxic roommate. I unfollowed her. I couldn't bear to watch her bad decisions anymore.

I could easily take my laptop and put together a treatment plan and outline goals for her. But she isn't a client. She's a personal friend. And more than anything, it isn't my job to fix a woman that doesn't really want my help. With my training, I can now identify that Alice has issues with substance abuse and codependency, which often unfortunately go hand in hand. She was clinging to these toxic people and behavior, because that was all she knew and she didn't want to be alone. And all I can do is pray for her well being from afar.

So as I get ready to go into the new year, I'm armed with new knowledge of trauma, substance abuse, mental illness, and poor coping skills. And old Malika wanted more than anything to save the world. I really adore talking to people and them having that "come-to-Jesus" moment where they accept their own role in their issues and start to make better decisions. I get to talk to women 5 days a week and help them be their best versions of themselves. I'd do this for free, I love it so much.

But I gotta be honest y'all. I'm tired. I've spent my life saving siblings, friends, romantic partners, even total strangers, and I'm fucking exhausted. I wish Alice and Sheila well. And if either of them call me at this exact moment and tell me that they're really ready to really tackle their issues, and not just drink them away, I'd be there with bells on, to guide them to a professional, who is paid to help these women. Because I know now that it is not my responsibility to save everyone around me. And I'm learning to be okay with that.

Apologies and PTSD

Big shock, I'm single. Still. I'm okay with that. Sometimes. But I can say that my love life is and pretty much mostly has been top notch, and the men who keep me company all hold a special space in my life.

Needless to say, COVID-19 has created quite a few moments of reflection for most of us. Other than a man I dated briefly 5 or 6 years ago (really sweet guy, such a loss), I don't know anyone personally that has succumbed to it, although I do have quite a few peers who have lost parents to it. My father and stepmommy are doing well to avoid the public, so I remain faithful that my parents are safe.

In my reflections looking back, I didn't really see any regrets. Perhaps my fairly recent deep dissent into grief after Pete died helped me to work through my shit before we got to this point, but I didn't see much need. Naturally, I had some thoughts to sort through, much like the rest of the world, but truthfully, I just went through life pretty normally, considering the cluster fuck that is this country.

It appears that others around me have been in reflection mode as well. Back in June, I caught up with an ex from my early 20's, who I occasionally chat with. During our chat, my ex surprised me by stating that he sincerely apologized if he'd hurt me during our time together. He admitted that he foolishly thought in his youth that he'd find a better woman to his liking. Dude is almost 50 and finally acknowledged how wrong he was.

I was floored. Wow! Damn homie. I felt like a huge weight was lifted off of me. I was young and foolish, in allowing him to leave and come back far too many times. He's actually come through for me after we broke up, on a few occasions, and I appreciate that. 

Next up came Steve. One day, out of nowhere, Steve hit me up and said that if he'd ever hurt me, he apologized and said that I'll always have a special place in his heart. Even going as far as to say that I made him believe in love again. Damn homie. That's deep and really appreciated. Thank you.

The third apology is really what turned the tide. I'll just start by saying that Atlanta is small. Damned small. I manage to know a lot of people. And it just so happens that the woman my ex ended up with after me was a former homegirl of mine. I wasn't even angry when they got together (I'd already suspected it), but I more so took issue with the fact that as soon as the cat was out of the bag, she became a complete BITCH to me. Damn, sis? Alla that? And in further small Atlanta news, I happened to be homies with her daughter's father (this is some Flowers in the Attic shit, right?!). Baby girl could have easily just come to me and we talked woman to woman, and I wouldn't have had any beef. But my ex thrived on creating beef and drama in my life, so she and I ain't been cool since. 

Anyway, I knew that she was a gold digger from some things she'd said in passing when we were cool with one another, so I knew that she was only clinging to my ex because he'd be dumb enough to pay her bills. And I'd always suspected that she'd leave him first windfall she got. And long story short, I was right.

I'll be honest and say that I had a few giggles to myself when their relationship ended in spectacular fashion (again, I know her bd, I saw the ending of their relationship before my bd even did). But after a minute, I genuinely felt bad for my ex, so I wrote him a nice text or two, encouraging him to keep his head up. My ex then surprised me by sending me an invite to the party he was throwing my son for his birthday. I don't typically do parties for my son, pretty much because the kid is an anti-social unicorn. The lil joker didn't even tell classmates when it was actually his birthday this year.

My ex suggested that we try therapy, just so that we could get along better. I'd literally begged him for us to go to therapy for years, so I said yes, just- well, just because. Going to the party, my stomach was in knots. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know who would be there. I saw him and I tensed up. I wasn't bubbly, happy Malika. I wanted to go home. Every time he talked to me, I honestly wanted to punch him. He tried to make small ice breaker jokes, and all I could muster was a painful, terse smile. He tried to talk to me in private while there, explaining that counseling would help us, and even thanked me in his toast, saying what a fine job I'm doing of raising our son. But I hated him. I've never been so glad to go home.

I told my inner circle that he wanted counseling for us. All of them had the same question. "Why?!" They knew. They were there. They knew about the lies, the drama, the games, the headaches, the tears, the fights. I guess my loved ones knew that going back into the circle with him wasn't good for me. My agreement to attend counseling stuck, but it didn't sit right for me. I didn't want to do it. I mean, my friends and family were right. "Why?!" What did I hope to gain? How will this benefit me? The truth is, it won't. My son is 13 years old. He's independent and has his own phone. If I need to speak to my ex, I text him. If he needs to speak to me, he can text me. We don't need to start spending holidays together. I mean, I tried so damned hard to make our relationship good, even as co-parents after we separated. He fought me tooth and nail on that. And now, just because he had his heart stepped on, doesn't obligate me to be the one to patch him up. I don't really want him to suffer. I don't really care if he does or not. I mean, be good, namaste, all of that. But I don't owe him yet another opportunity. I'm good on that.

I texted my ex to tell him that I'm not going to counseling with him after all. He said that he feels that counseling would be good for us. I told him that I'm actually good, I don't need it. He said that we can always go later on if I change my mind. My response? 

"I won't."

I guess I could say that it felt empowering to have these three men (and my son's father of ALL people) to apologize to me. And yes, it felt validating. I wasn't crazy. I wasn't the one at fault. That I actually was the good one in my past relationships. Yay! But wait-

I spent so many years, asking The Universe, "What's wrong with me?! Why doesn't he love me back?!" I've quizzed my guy friends so much. I've emotionally wrestled with so many men that sought to keep me in their bubble of sex kitten. Yeah, sex is cool. But what's wrong with me that that's all they can see? I've literally cried myself to sleep over this million dollar question.

So after these apologies validated that these guys were the ones who fucked up (one even posited the question to me "have you ever thought about marriage?" Bruh, I'm good on that). But once the validation waned, the anger set it.

I mean, hol' up here! You meant to tell me that I was actually doing every damned thing right, and now that you're in a better space, you wanna make amends? WHET?! I mean, are these assholes aware of exactly how much psychological damage was done to me with all of this gaslighting and game playing?  Another thing that's wild is that these men are all from different parts of my life. And they all treated me like shit and later came to recognize it. They all admitted that if they'd known differently then, they would have behaved differently.

That's well and good and all. But it doesn't uncry a single tear. It doesn't really rebuild my shattered self-esteem (I had to do that on my own with A LOT of work). It in no way goes back up to that woman that was hurt over and over again and makes things right. I mean, sure, it's better now, because I'm better. But I'm not better because of them. I'm better on my own.

Truthfully, these apologies just make me angry now. I know that wasn't necessarily the intended goal. I'm just pissed off, remembering all of the times that I shouldered the emotional blame for shit that men are only just now recognizing wasn't my fault. And that's not fair and it's not okay.

So anyway, a day or so ago, on Facebook, somehow a post was shown, and I don't remember the context, but I recognized from it that I have actual relationship PTSD. 

That came about because there's a guy I like. I call him Neighbor Bae. He's handsome, funny, financially secure, charming, we have tons in common, smart, well-traveled, honest. And I like him a lot. I started to wonder if I should try to enter into a relationship of sorts with him. But then I froze. I started to ask myself if I really wanted a relationship with him. And I couldn't say yes. Like if dude came to me and said "Malika, let's do this," I couldn't guarantee that I'd be down. What the hell is wrong with me? Ergo, relationship PTSD.

On top of this, I decided to cut the strings with my dad. I just can't take his gaslighting and shit either. I really held him down on some bullshit he dealt with recently, and he treats me like his cracked out daughter, not the educated woman that I am. Oddly, he and my mother both get their jollies bragging to their friends about how accomplished Malika has been as a single mother, while they both seemed to actively make my life harder. I just can't carry this load anymore.

So all of this brought me to the decision that I need to deal with my parental issues (and probably relationship issues) in therapy. I don't want to, but I don't really have a choice. I'm great in so many aspects of my life. I'm a great mother and have a great relationship with my child, I just landed my dream job, my bills are paid, my friends/support network couldn't be anymore top notch. It's about time for me to free myself of the bonds of toxic relationships. I hope to have a successful relationship at some point, but my paralyzing fear of the idea needs some real work.

Funny enough, I was in therapy a bit before Pete died and then after. I'd initially gone to this therapist while I was in grad school, as I needed to work out this fucked up relationship with my mother. And then later I went back after Pete's passing. I wanted desperately to continue working with my therapist after school, but she warned me that if we continued to work, we'd have to start delving into my mommy issues. Woo child, I most certainly was not ready for that. Nope, that's years and YEARS of shit to wade through.

But now, things are less hectic. My son doesn't need me as much. Work is less stressful. I'm not in school. I'm not even trying to balance a romantic relationship at the moment. This seems like the perfect time. So I can stop picking men that will need to apologize in the future.

I'm 40 and an Empath

I turned 40 this year. The plan was originally to get my passport (finally) and spend my 40th birthday on a beach in Jamaica. For the last two years, I've told everyone that would listen that I have every intention to be toes down in the beach in that beautiful island nation. But then COVID-19 was like NOPE!

Given the massive changes that accompanied this horrible virus, I'd say that I've been pretty lucky. Being able to stay home for so long has done a lot for me. Definitely an unexpected blessing. I debated on the best way to spend my big day. Clearly leaving the country was out of the question. But traveling wasn't. Or was it? I decided that the best thing to do was to cross another item off of my bucket list and with all of my free time and unemployment money. It took a few weeks of research (not like I had much else to in the meantime anyway) but I decided on the perfect route. I was going to drive to the other side of the country. Los Angeles and San Francisco, two of my favorite cities, and whatever cities I come across in the meantime.

Deciding on the best days to travel became an issue too. In early June, unless you were living under a rock, you know about the curfews and lock downs as the result of a lot of racial strife in this country. I've been nursing a knee injury that I feared would be worsened by marching or running in the case of a protest that went awry, so despite my years of protesting in my 20s and 30s, I opted to sit the protests out. While watching from home, I lay somewhere between "oh my God, please be safe and go home" and a feeling of "BURN ALLA THIS SHIT DOWN!!"

But it hurt. It hurt to watch, it hurt to know that it was going on. I understood the necessity, but it physically hurt to watch. I was confused and sad. People hurting, being killed. Social media became my primary news source. All I wanted was answers. 

In the meantime, I slowly approached my birthday. A few of my Facebook friends had the misfortune of celebrating their birthdays on lockdown. I had the utmost faith that by the time my birthday rolled around, I'd be free to safely travel about the country. I'm lying. I was terrified. Some of the cities I planned to drive through had some pretty gnarly riots from what the news was reporting. Thankfully, as the time drew nearer, things simmered a bit. I was truly nervous about being a lone Black woman driving through a bunch of new cities, during a time of the most racial tension in this country for the last 50 years. But I'm still Malika.

As the birthday drew nearer, I experienced the loss of a previously good friend. The friend didn't die, thankfully, but they started dating someone else and their friendship essentially vanished. I could have held on. But after that friend doing something similar in the past, I knew that our friendship was over. I even decided not to invite them to my 40 celebration. I knew that it would be awkward for them to see it online, but I wasn't going to change up my plans, just to make them feel better.

 I decided to do it up Malika style. I started the actual celebration at an open, outdoor ice cream shop, for the friends that preferred to socially distance. Followed up by 6 friends having the time of our lives at my apartment. I won't get into the tawdry details, but there was more than a little alcohol consumed. It was definitely good times.

Now I'd been previously warned that turning 40 creates a new level of not giving a shit. But I can say that going into 40, I was pretty at ease. Feeling amazing even. And roughly a week later, I was on the road. I'll keep it brief, but the cities I went to were

Baton Rouge

New Orleans

Austin

Amarillo

Denver

Salt Lake City

Reno

San Francisco

Los Angeles

The Grand Canyon

Albuquerque

Santa Fe

Oklahoma City

Little Rock 

Memphis

It was- well, amazing. It's no longer the therapeutic trip that I needed when I originally started traveling. I mean, there was still some therapy and healing, but not the same level. But at some point, one of my friends wrote a despicable thing on Facebook. I called him out and posted a screenshot on my page. He texted me, outraged. I let him know that what he wrote was wrong. Long story short, our friendship is over. That's 2 people.

By the time I hit Oklahoma, I was ready to get home. I missed my bed, my cat, and my child. My final stop in Memphis was a bit emotional, as I went to the Lorraine Hotel, the site of Dr. King's assassination. From there, I drove straight home overnight.

I got home and crashed immediately. I was exhausted. It truly took a few days of decompression to get back to myself again. During my period of re-acclimation, I watched the news and social media to learn that the governor of Georgia intended to sue the mayor of Atlanta over mask mandates. 

I felt physically ill. My life seemed like it was no longer mine. I was tired, angry, confused. I knew that I no longer wanted to call the South home. I made the decision that the moment my son graduates high school in 6 years, I plan to move to California.

While home from work, I continued to utilize social media to entertain an inform me. To make a long story shorter, a good guy friend, who I'd always thought of as an ally of women, downplayed the shooting of Megan Thee Stallion. He and I fell out, I went off on him, and he called me a bitch. I spent days crying. I took to my bed. My heart and every part of my body physically hurt. That's 3 people. I took to a private chat to vent to my frustrations. A friend in the chat took that particular time to come down on me, stating that I'd sworn off dealing with the guy for the last few years. I began to swear at him. I'll admit, my nerves were heightened at the moment. I was raw, I was hurt, I was angry. I kicked him from the chat and blocked him. That's 4 people.

I opted to go offline at that point. Truthfully, I wanted to go offline previously, but I kept it up, primarily to record my birthday celebrations and trip. But I knew that I needed to scale back. I needed t be away from people. Too much people-ing. I needed to be near less persons. A few loved ones checked in after noticing my absence, but I assured them all that I was fine, I simply needed a moment. They understood.

I was anxious about plans that I was making for the future. Some friends and I started working on a project that I was excited to be part of. It kept me occupied, during a time where the world seemed to be on fire. There was a friend who has a long history of disappearing and reappearing. I stated to my friend that in the future, I'd appreciate him telling me if he needs to disappear. I assured him that he doesn't have to tell me exactly what he's going through, nor do I need an expected date of return. I simply need to know that his disappearance is not tied to something I've done, so that my anxiety is not chewing at me from the inside out.

He accused me of trying to keep tabs on him. He continued to play dumb. He asked me to explain myself several times, despite me speaking plain, clear English what I needed. I eventually hurried off of the phone with him. I was deflated. I hurt. My stomach physically hurt. I relayed the conversation to friends of mine, asking if my request was outlandish. My friends assured me that asking someone for a basic heads up was not outlandish or selfish. I'd been friends with him for years. Over a decade. But my thought was simply that I've already lost 4 friends, what's one more? That's 5 people.

I wish I could say that I'd been brave and casual about the loss of 5 people I loved enormously. To be fair, I didn't completely ex out my last encounter, but I definitely opted to scale back my contact with him. But still, I consider him the 5th. I went into a low-grade depression. I found my body again physically hurting. My stomach literally was in knots. I wished I could sleep all day. I was glued to my television, watching Mad Men, just wishing it would all go away. Why was I losing friends? What's wrong with me? The more I looked back at the issues that just occurred, the more I knew that I was right. I realized that I'd let people get so okay with being shitty to me, that my tolerance of it was no longer. And the shock came because they'd essentially done what the'd always done, I just no longer wanted to be victimized and disrespected, so I exploded. 

I just wanted it to be better. I wanted answers. Why did this hurt? How can some people have major beef with others and 10 minutes later be okay, while a falling out with loved ones leaves me feeling like a part of my soul is missing? That's when it hit me. I'm an empath. I feel. I feel deep. I suck up the energy of others, whether it be good or bad. And some people enjoy unloading all of their negativity onto others, knowing that their victim will eventually implode from the pressure. They get off on it. They think it's funny or entertaining to leave me depleted, hurt, and confused. And I've let them. For all those years, I allowed people to leave me drained. And worse yet, when things were healed, and I was better, I allowed them to come back and do it all again. I gotta own it, I can't blame anyone but myself at this point.

Oddly enough, learning that I was/am and empath was freeing. It all made sense. Why I was so sensitive. Why I avoid arguments. I'm an empath. Wow. 

The other morning, I awoke and something suddenly hit me. I needed to be grateful. I needed to stop questioning why the universe was taking these people out of my life, rather than being thankful that many people that I'd known were toxic were leaving my space. Now that I'm learning to show gratitude, rather than hesitation, I can allow my life to flow more peacefully, rather than dragging my feet and blocking my progress.

Since then, I'm learning more so to protect my space. I thought I would have gone back on social media by now, but I still can't bring myself to go on my Facebook page. My time has been taken up by Reddit instead, which is far less personal. Plus it allows me to follow the pages I support, which allows me to avoid seeing things that jar me. I'm far more aware of who I spend my time with, and I give myself permission to leave moments and places that make me uncomfortable.

I'm not sure how much longer I will be in this space of reservation from others, but I feel whole for the first time in a long time, I feel in control. I made a conscious decision not to text back someone who broke my heart when he responded to me yesterday, and I feel proud of that. Now that I know what's at stake, I'm a lot more aware and I'm able to make decisions that serve me and move me forward. I'm 40 and I'm an empath.

Inching Along

Like the rest of the world, I'm adjusting to the current new normal. No damned clue what life is going to be like after this virus, but for now, it is what it is. I'm blessed enough to have been allowed the opportunity to sit down and collect unemployment in the midst of all of this. I'm certainly enjoying this, but even more so thankful that once all of this is said and done, I'll still have a job. A lot of people can't say that. Weird that I got my stimulus money, and there was no need to buy new clothes or shoes, or plan for a vacation. Instead, I just put some money toward paying down my car and my credit card, and saving the rest of the money. Such a far way from being beyond broke and struggling 3 years ago.

Since I'd talked extensively about my thing with Ted, I guess it's only fair to say that I ended it. For good. I finally reached my breaking point when he made some kind of offhanded statement about not celebrating Valentine's Day with me this year. I was done. I was literally bawling. I couldn't believe that this man that I'd spent the last 5 years with could be so callous. After five fucking years, you don't want to spend the day and get me some goddamned candy?! And it ain't that he's married or got a secret chick, I've spent countless nights at his home and even once ran into his exwife while leaving his home. He just didn't want to commit. But he wanted the warmth and comfort of having a girlfriend, while putting in none of the work. I was completely over it. We haven't slept together since. Sure, we still talk on occasion, and I know that he'd be down if I were willing, and as much as I've weighed the idea of it, I always go back to Valentine's day. I just can't. The very vivid memory of Valentine's Day is etched into my brain.

And truthfully, that's why I'd scaled back from him initially. I loved him immensely. I still do. But being a friend with benefits was getting really old. I mean, I'm almost 40. I want to travel. I want to combine homes. I want to combine our money and retire together. I want a partner, and not just a sexual one. I want more. Ted did just enough to keep my fucking him, but no more. And the more aware I became of what I wanted, the less he started to fit the bill.
So in the meantime, I decided for the umpteenth time to check out Tinder. Honestly Tinder has been kind of crappy for me. I tend to get on it, get irritated with the shitty men, and delete it after about 3 weeks. But this time when I downloaded Tinder, I saw another dating app that I'd never seen. It looked pretty interesting, so I decided to give it a shot. I cannot lie, the men on there looked pretty interesting. It was definitely way above Tinder, in terms of potential candidates. I'd started talking in passing to a few men, when the unthinkable happened- my Aunt Sister passed away. I was devastated. I didn't talk to my aunt as much as I should have, but I definitely loved her. She was a lot like myself, living life on her own terms, and showing up for her loved ones whenever she was needed.

One day I attempted to go to work, but while driving out of my parking lot at my apartment complex, this loss of my aunt hit me and I just couldn't do it. I apologized to my peers and decided that I needed to drive. I took a quick nap and woke up and decided that I needed to hit the mountains, my preferred place to be when I needed to clear my  head. My plan was initially to return early, when my ex returned my child, and then make it to meet with John, a man who I'd connected with on the app. My ex decided to keep my child for the night, causing me to extend my time in the mountains. I'd texted John to apologize for my lateness. I'd tried to converse via text with him while driving, but naturally speeding through mountains while texting isn't the best idea. So for the first time ever, I called John.
What was supposed to be a very short apology and reschedule actually resulted in me being on the phone with John my whole way home, a full hour. He was funny. Kind of a country boy. Charming. And he stayed on the phone and comforted me while I talked about the loss of my aunt and problems my father was having. He was warm and silly. I really appreciated how he talked about his children and some of his own problems.  I heard him say to me "a lot of women on those apps like me, but something is intriguing about you." In feeling guilty about my pushing back our date, we agreed to meet the following day. He'd told me that he was planning to move to another city in the southeast for his job within the next few weeks, and I suggested that we visit IKEA so that he could look at furniture.

The following day, we were on the phone for nearly an hour as he navigated Atlanta traffic, which he was unfamiliar with. We met at IKEA and immediately bonded. He'd told me a bit about his previous relationship. He was vulnerable with me. I loved that. I'd dealt with so many men who refused to acknowledge, let alone work on their own issues, that it was refreshing to hear a man admit to his own struggles, while not sounding like a bitch.
After IKEA, I agreed to give him a tour of the city. While in transit, I noticed that he'd had Marvin the Martian as his phone background, a thing I loved, as Marvin has been my favorite cartoon character since childhood, to the point where my work computer and work mug both prominently feature Marvin. We rode in my little whip all over town, as I drove him around downtown, Buckhead, and even tried to take him to the Juicy Crab in Austell (far away lol). We settled on a Zaxby's for dinner because of the long line. He'd talked a bit more about his intended move and a bit more about his previous relationship. He was dealing with a lot. And I saw it. But I was enthralled.
My aunt's funeral was in another 2 weeks and in North Carolina. Since John has a fancy job with a major hotel chain, he allowed me to use his discount to get a room. I was smitten by the gesture. We were supposed to see one another before I left, but our schedules never allowed that. He moved while I was away. I asked him how the hell we'd manage to stay in touch if he lived 3+ hours away. He assured me that we'd be able to.

He made it easy to adore him. He would text me "good morning" every day. I made sure to tell him that I loved waking to the greeting. He made sure to continue doing it. We'd finally settled on a time for me to visit him. In my haste, I decided to drive on up a day early. Apparently, we did not communicate well about when would be the best time for that. I'll be honest here, John was a dick the whole time. What was supposed to be a 3 day boo fest with my #HotelBae ended up with me leaving after exactly 24 hours with him.
                                 
I was beyond perplexed. What happened? Where was the John I'd gotten to know? Where was my #HotelBae who was loving and funny? I didn't know. I talked to several of my friends, trying to figure it out. No one knew exactly, but the consensus among my loved ones was that they were glad I stood up for myself and left early, as soon as I knew it wasn't serving me.
I'll be honest though. I missed him. I missed sending him random text messages and memes throughout the day. I missed his good morning text messages. More than anything, I simply missed us.
We agreed that we'd stay friends when I left his home when I was angry, but I had no idea how that would look. Against my better judgement, I texted him hello a few days later. An hour or so after, he responded to my text. We were both kind of standoffish initially. But soon into our texting, we were back in the same space. A few days later, I began receiving my good morning texts again. I had no idea what it meant for us, but I welcomed it.
Soon after, we'd began talking about visiting again. I wanted to, but I was cautious. I told myself firmly that if I went back and he was an asshole again, there absolutely would be no third visit. I insisted we talk first to find out exactly where things broke down. John immediately apologized to me, and admitted that he'd have to do better in communicating with me. He shared that he was having a difficult time at work and (clearly, hotels are struggling right now) and didn't communicate directly some of the things he was feeling, and he was further irritated at my lack of the hints he'd thrown. He identified that I don't really do well in recognizing hints,  because I honestly require people to be pretty blunt with me. I admitted that yeah, I don't do well at catching hints, signs, or innuendo, you have to damned near draw me a road map to explain yourself. He stated that after our row, he took time to reflect on having to communicate with me better in the future. I really appreciated his candor, apology, and recognition of my communication style.

So we were good again. In the midst of all of this, on top of all else, one of my favorite singers/songwriters, Bill Withers passed away. I wept. Not Bill. Anyone but Bill. In my emotional haste, I texted John and asked him to be my boyfriend, and we'd simply figure the rest out later. He responded that he wanted us to spend more time getting to know one another because he didn't want to have another moment where I walked away. I told him that I would not ask again (and I mean that!), but I was touched at hearing him say that he never wanted us to experience a blow up like that again. Damn yo, this guy really seems to want things to work out with me.
The time rolled around for me to visit John again. And he was an angel the whole time. When I arrived, I'd brought dinner for us, which he promptly plated and served to me. The following morning, he'd made breakfast for us. We cuddled and sat around his house the whole day, watching movies. We'd talked about our favorite movies and songs. We both shared our love of the music group, The Temptations. He made me laugh the whole time. He was on the phone, dealing with family issues, but he never made me feel neglected or ignored. It was definitely the #HotelBae that I'd come to adore.

So that's where I am currently. I don't know if John is my "one" but he's definitely a sign for me that leaving what no longer serves me, standing my own ground, and standing up for myself will get me closer to where I need to be. John made a statement that if I hadn't left early the first time, we would have had a great trip to Birmingham, where his family is located. I reminded him that we were both pretty irritated at the time, and further time together would have just led to arguments and resentment. Plus, if I hadn't left, there would have been no further reflection for both of us. I left because I clearly needed to. It actually brought us together. He too admitted that my leaving early was a good thing.
I am finally learning the proper time to listen to my brain and my heart, and let my vagina just chill and let the other parts of me lead. It's about damned time.

Coronavirus Stuff

I haven't been on here in a while, I am aware. Like everyone else on the planet, this damned virus swept on in and changed the game. The good news is that I am still employed. I'm healthy, although truth be told, I had a wicked bug that kicked my ass early in the year. I spent New Year's Eve and New Year's day at home, in bed, eating ice cream because my throat was on fire! Pretty sure that was this shit that's killing everyone now. I don't get down and out sick very often, but with that bug, I can see how someone with a weakened immune system would suffer. Thank God I got my diabetes under control, plus I've been sticking to being physically active this year. The bad news is that since my clients are no longer able to report to the site, after today I will have to report to work at a different site. In the meantime, stuff has kind of stayed the same. No Fred, no Ted, a few potential suitors, but no one I'd do things long term with. My son is healthy. My lights are on, my rent is paid. I'm trying my damnedest to pay off my car by this time next year. Thus far, my birthday plans of being on a beach in Jamaica have been foiled (then again, anything could happen between now and 3 months from now, but I'm definitely going into hunker down mode, so I'm mentally preparing for the worst and the best). I'm currently at work studying videos about schizophrenia (a very fascinating disease), while working on my budget for the rest of the year. I'm good. I'm blessed. I'm as ready as I can be.

Wait- Weight?!

So my goal in life (outside of general happiness, being a good mother, etc.) has been weight loss. Even while in the midst of my 30s, I knew that by the time I hit 40, I wanted a fit body. I'd always think to myself #FineBy40, my mantra to remind me that I had to get my shit together.

I've had my moments back and forth with diabetes, and those only intensified my knowledge that I had to eventually get my body in check. Entering into 39, I swore that by 40, I'd have the body I'd always wanted. I spent my 39th birthday (summer) in Reno Nevada, pigging out at Carl's Jr. By the time I returned from my birthday  Fall season hit, and despite my best efforts, I gave into my sugary cravings. Thanksgiving, I was with family and naturally I only went in on all of the junk food provided. Christmas hit, and I was moderately in control of my diet, but New Year's Eve hit, and I happened to be home from work and sick. Something in my spirit just knew that my favorite ice cream would be on sale at Publix, and I was right! I killed off a half gallon in one day, and went back the next day and finished off another half gallon. But then January 2nd happened and I knew it was time.

No more holidays, no more excuses, it was time. I cut out the carbs, and I upped my water intake. I weighed myself and I shook my head in disappointment. I rejoined my local gym, started walking in my neighborhood and hoped for the best. "Fine by 40!" I'd tell myself or anyone else around me. I'd started planking and just being overall ready. I'd pace heavily around Kroger and Target, all in an effort to complete daily step goals.

Two weeks in (mid January), I started to see small results, but I'd started to wonder if this could really work? I mean, my goal was to be down to a size 12 (from a size 14) by March first, and then on to a size 10 by May 1st. It seemed difficult, but in my mind, I knew it was doable. But then something happened. Over the weekend, I was out with some girlfriends, and I was warned that I needed to wear a dress for this particular outing. I was lost, but I picked on that I felt would do me justice. But then something happened. I looked, like good. I twirled in the mirror at home and wondered when I'd started to look this slim. I was legit killing the game! Another major shock came when I looked at a pic of myself and my comrades, when I noticed how small I looked in my profile. Damn, Malika, we like that?! Then to further my surprise, I noticed the next day that all of my jeans were looking a bit big. I mean, it happens, and all, but hmmm... what if?

I looked at all of these large pairs of pants and wondered, exactly how small am I? There was a Target up the street, and I knew there was only one way to find out. I hit up the cavalry, but no one was available. It would have to be a solo mission, but I did remain on the phone with a girlfriend, alerting her to my quest- is Malika a size 12 a full month ahead of her goal?! I looked around for the jeans section, before I finally found two pairs of size 12 jeans. I wanted to be sure that it wasn't just a fluke and I didn't just pick up a forgiving pair. I held my breath, and waited.

I walked into the dressing room, still on the phone, and read aloud the "size 12m" written on the pants. It was now or never. I slide them up and buttoned them. Holy sh- wait. I pulled them on and BUTTONED them?! I didn't struggle to do it, they fastened naturally! A pair of size 12 skinny jeans fit me?! After only a month?! WHAT?! I whisper yelled into the phone "holy shit, these jeans!" But then, quick to remember that they could be a trick pair, I pulled up the other pair of jeans to slide on. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, THEY FIT TOO!!! Oooh lawd, I'm a size 12 a full month before my goal date! I've been a solid size 14 for the last 2 years, and now look at me! I stared in the mirror, instantly recognizing that there had been some definite slimming to my waistline, and even my face looked a bit slimmer.

Size 12 ain't a super model size at all, still kinda fluffy, but with 4 and a half months to go, and with an undeterred goal of #FineBy40, I know that my goal of size 10 (possibly even a size 8) by my June birthday is possible. The wild thing about weight loss is how it messes with you. I haven't even lost all of my weight, but there are feelings of guilt, feelings of pride, feelings of "I did it!" and feelings of anxiety, all wrapped up inside my early accomplishment of my goal of weight loss.

What I'd realized made me so anxious is how much I'd always had my fluffy exterior, and now here I am without it. I mean, it's still here, but definitely shedding. I have no desire to give up my weight loss routine, I fully intend to march toward my #FineBy40 goal, full throttle. Because at the end of the day, I'll always be that pudgy insecure girl deep down, and no weight loss goals will ever take that away.

Reality Bites

I can't really complain about a lot in my life right now. Things are going well at my job, my son is flourishing at school, my goal has been #FineBy40 in time for my trip to Jamaica for my birthday and I'm doing an amazing job of sticking to this diet, which is resulting in weight loss, increased health, and my skin is looking clutch!

I've made it a goal to begin a support group for women and I'm just looking for a good site to let me host it. I'm observing a lot of women that are struggling, and I would love for us to come together to uplift and begin to heal. I can definitely see that the worst thing about growing older is being able to decipher the ugly and selfishness that exist in a lot of people. I'm even to the point where I'm able to see it a mile away and cut it off before it gets too close and damages my peace and my spirit. It is a pretty immaculate place to belong in. I'm still all about protecting my peace and there are still people I wouldn't touch me with a 10-foot pole.

But the thing that sucks about being awesome is that men see it. They want to possess it and own it. They bask in it, they glow in it. Men love how open I am. The bullshit is that I've had numerous men that still attempt on a regular basis to leave me neatly in a closet, until their bullshit with the other chick goes left. I'm so over that shit. I was about to write a little anecdote about some bullshit that I just encountered, but it ain't even worth it.
On another note, a girlfriend from high school and I have been hanging pretty tough lately. By an odd twist of fate, in our early 20's, she and I happened to live in the same apartment complex, on the total opposite side of town from where we grew up. During this time, naturally, she and I hung out, and I happened to meet the guy she was dating, a guy I'll call Dwayne.
Over the years, I started to see Dwayne more as he started to blow up and do big things. And recently, Dwayne landed on a reality show. Needless to say, I'm not saying who he is, so don't ask. Anyway, my friend has always held a candle for Dwayne, as they've maintained their on/off thing for nearly 20 years. The only thing is that Dwayne has publicly stated that he's heavily involved with another woman. This woman is prominently on his social media and featured heavily with him on the reality show. Bottom line, he gotta girl.

On a recent bored outing, my homegirl and I managed to go to where we knew Dwayne would be. He initially looked me in the face and ignored me (which I'm not at all okay with, but whatever), and I had to chase him to tell him that an old friend wanted to say hello. He promptly turned around and greeted my friend with a long, warm hug. As he departed, he held her hand a bit longer before he walked away. I witnessed this. It was kind of sweet, actually. My friend and I left shortly after.
Yesterday, my friend started to say that she thinks dude is her "one that got away." She wants nothing more than to tell him that she's ready to be with him. Thankfully, since I was there to witness the fuckery, I had to remind her that their early relationship wasn't exactly all roses. She lamented and agreed, but still feels that they may have a chance at something.
I told her that I was glad that we were on the phone during this conversation, because otherwise I would have hurt her feelings with the look on my face. I pretty much said "Far be it for me to tell you that you can't fuck a married man, if you do, that's between you and your god. But the fact is, at least in this juncture, that ship has sailed, and he's made his choice, and unfortunately, that choice ain't you. If you wanna be his side chick (not that I recommend it, because his role on a popular reality show would blow her shit up if it gets exposed, plus that's just not an overall good look), accept that's the role you'll have."
She knew I was right. She's still battling it. She stalks his Instagram page, looking for subtle signs from him (I think these are just random coincidences/messages). She'd even considered going to where she knows he'll be and just get if off her chest that she knows he's moved on, but apologizing for some bullshit that she'd done in the past that hurt their relationship. I recognize the importance of speaking your peace (hence this blog I've been venting to for 10 years), but the thing about having "those conversations" is that you can never anticipate how they'll go. It may go swimmingly, and you and the other party hug and embrace, and all is forgiven, etc. Or the other person could curse you out. The other person could absolutely hate your guts, and rather than them letting you pour out your heart and soul, tell you how filthy and horrible you are. Or in their case, as I'd said to her, he could leave his current situation (which he ain't but whatever), go be with my friend and throw her and her kids into the spotlight as his side chick and have her and her whole damned life on the internet. Messy boots. Even she admitted that she'd hate to be on tv and gain fame/notoriety for being a side chick on reality tv. Certainly not the best way to build a loyal clientele.

It's coincidental that she and I are going through our bit of grieving these old relationships together. Ted is dead. At least to me. I could take him back, but I love myself far too much to subject myself to anymore of his shit. Fred is still in L.A. and despite the fact that I'm planning for another pilgrimage this May/June, I've pretty much blocked his ass, so naturally, I don't anticipate seeing him. L.A. is pretty massive, so the chances of bumping into him are minuscule. I still spend time with Justin, whom I adore, and who happens to be a perfect blend of both Fred and Ted, but I know that Justin is not in an emotional space to give me anything more and I respect that.
So while my friend and I go through all of this, at least in the meantime, she plans to join me in my pilgrimage to Chicago, my birthday trip to Jamaica, and she may even join me for my Cali trip and hit Vegas with me. We can't just start neglecting ourselves just because shit ain't the way we want it to be. Sometimes I wonder if my homegirl is enamored (at least in part) by Dwayne's fame and being on the show. I mean, don't get me wrong, she was there before the cameras and the cash, but I'm pretty sure that seeing him play the role of the doting loving love interest has only piqued her curiosity and guilt about what could have been. In the meantime, I'm reeling from being the woman who men always seem to want to return to after they fuck up (I now have a no return policy because clearly these Negroes are just really getting to full of shit) and my home girl is battling what is, versus what could be. Introspection is a hell of a drug.

New Year, All That Jazz

Has it really been nearly 2 months since I posted? I guess I'm back to my pre-Pete writing schedule. I like to write when new an exciting things are happening, and unfortunately, that has not really been the case as of late. I thought I was going to be able to write about Ted, but yeah, that's definitely a wrap. *sigh* I was upset and hurt initially. I was fucking angry, hurt, disappointed, all of that. But I'm not any more. I'm just over it. No Fred, no Ted... Not much of a coincidence that they both fell off within 6 months of one another. I'm all about this season of shedding and becoming a better version of myself.
At least I'm doing well in being active in this diet. The goal is #FineBy40, and not like I'm having to try hard for it. The goal is to be on a beach in Jamaica to ring in my 40th. Totes doable. My spirit is good, my will power is good, my stomach is flabby... such is the game, I guess, but hopefully not much longer. Got this gym membership reactivated as well. Now is all about the execution and countdown to 40.