Accountability

I've been in my field for roughly 10 years. I've learned a lot about human nature from years of schooling and overall observation. Humans are fucking complex, there is absolutely no way around it. In some ways, it is beautiful how much we differ. In other ways, it is exhausting in how we present.

After Andrea's death, despite swearing off men, I dusted off the online dating to see if anything worthwhile would be there. The first dude seemed decent enough, until his second statement to me said that he wanted a busty woman. Um, what? I was gonna just block him and let it slide, but nope, not today. I responded by telling him "yo, that's mad disrespectful. You don't know me to speak like that." He apologized, but explained that he was "just being honest about his needs." I told him that just because he thinks something does not mean that he needs to say it. He tried to keep talking, but I blocked him.

Next up was another guy. He seemed nice. We asked one another several questions, which I thoroughly enjoyed, because so many people withdraw when you ask them about themselves. Come to find out, the guy lived in the same neighborhood where I work. I asked him to suggest a good park to walk around in the neighborhood and I waited for him to volunteer to join me. I'm not one for wasting time in dating, so I bit the bullet and asked him to come along, although I'd already picked up on him being hesitant.

He agreed to join me, and I was on the phone with him as he'd struggled to find shorts to go walking in. I assured him that in working from home, I was sure he was in sweats all day anyway, I was okay if he  met me at the park wearing what he already had on. I'd then picked up on his indecisiveness, but again, not necessarily a deal breaker. We met up, and he wasn't really my type physically, but I decided to give it the old college try regardless.

While walking, the conversation was pretty decent. I'd told him how while hiking at a park in Tennessee, I'd come across a huge cave and I was torn between walking into the cave and observing it from the outside. He told me that he absolutely would not have gone in. While walking along, we observed a small wooden bridge that went into a marsh. I immediately walked onto the sturdy bridge, enamored at being surrounded by the wildlife. He stayed put, refusing to attempt walking on the bridge. All I could think was that I was the same woman that drove cross country by myself during a pandemic, and in the midst of the greatest racial strife in this country in my lifetime. If this dude was too damned scared to walk on a wooden bridge, a half foot off the ground, no way in hell could he be for me.

At the end of our visit, he unloaded on me about painful things he'd experience in the past. Despite him telling me earlier that he'd be okay not having his own biological children, it was clear to me that he wanted Claire Huxtable. He wanted a woman baking cookies at home, and he wanted to be the sports coach/team dad. And there's nothing wrong with wanting what we want, but I've learned to be honest with myself and others. Rather than knowing we're different and trying to become what the other wants, we shouldn't kid ourselves and transform. Let's just look for what we want. I want to travel and see the world. My son is 13 and I have no plans for more. I want to see the world. He wants the Ebony Magazine family. Let's just call a spade a spade.

Right after the meeting, he contacted me to ask how I felt about him. I decided to be honest and not waste anymore time. I told him that he's nice, but he clearly wants the family life, and I'm not the woman for him, but we can certainly be friends. He was a bit let down, but he accepted it. As time went on, he'd still text me "good morning" every day. I'd ask if he wanted to hang out, but he always had bullshit reasons why he couldn't do so, while still texting me good morning daily. A few days ago, I started to consider if I really wanting to keep a friendship going with him. He seemed nice enough, but he'd already fallen into a pattern I'd seen far too often from men. The whole "I'm not really trying to be with you, but I'm going to maintain enough contact to fool myself into thinking that things are going well." 

If I've learned nothing else about men, it is that a man that is serious will show up if he's into you. Texting me "good morning" while making no plans to date or link up shows me that you got some other shit going on. Nothing wrong with being where you are, but I'm not going to hold the phone while you work through your anxiety. 

Being in my field, I've come to recognize signs of things being "off." Call it a gift. Or a curse. What can seem like no big deal to anyone else can be major red flags to me. A guy struggling to wear pants or shorts hiking can be small to a lot of folks, but after all of my time dating and learning, I know what to observe.

That said, I decided to reach out to a former co-worker yesterday to ask about substance abusers and their propensity for self-sabotaging behavior. We danced around to find a answer that addressed what I needed. My co-worker then said that it often boils down to "accountability." How people realize that when things are going well, they are suddenly held accountable for their actions, which scares them, so they self-sabotage.

I was telling a friend of mine a few days ago about the new guy and how I was thinking of cutting him off. I don't dislike him, but texting me in the morning, but making no real effort to see me doesn't sit well with me. I've had way too many men do this bullshit song and dance with me. If you don't want to see me or even talk to me on the phone, exactly who are you texting me in the morning for? Cuz I don't give a shit about your stupid morning text messages. So the only reason you're reaching out to me is for you.

Anyway, the new guy texted me this morning. I was dry in my response, hoping he'd take a hint. He didn't. He followed up with "HRU." I finally mustered the guts to say "Can I be honest?" He responded that made him nervous because it meant that I was about to end things. I assured him that I wasn't trying to end the friendship, but I felt like he needed to hear what I had to say. He said that he understood.

I went on to state that I observed his nervousness and hesitation and that I think he should take some time to figure out what he wants. No need to be out here meeting new women if you're still figuring out what you want. He'd told me previously that he'd been to therapy, and I suggested that he continue with his therapy to work through things. I really wanted to say "clearly, you have a diagnosis of anxiety, and I'm not going to date you, just to treat you." But I didn't. I kept it light, so that he would hear me. But he didn't.

He accused me of using my clinical skills to judge him based on what he'd told me. Which was laughable, because I was already observing him in having a mini panic attack when he was torn about shorts or pants. I was 100% sure he wasn't the one when I couldn't even get him to walk on a small bridge with me. Those 2 things were sure for me, and that's before he told me about any childhood trauma.

I tried to explain to him why I'd said what I said but he'd stopped responding. I'm pretty sure he blocked me. Which I'm fine with, because now I won't be getting any bullshit text messages telling me good morning and good night.

But I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't disappointed by his response. I know that his upset response was more about his feelings of inadequacy than about anything. But just once, I'd like for people to be accountable for their shit. At least be accountable in the fact that you're trying to use me. Be accountable for the fact that you're attempting to use women to compensate for your own emotionally stunted development. At least now I'm finally being accountable for not being responsible for saving men looking for mother figures.

Addiction

Periodically, I'll assess my attachment to something and decide that I need to step away from it for a moment. My most recent thing to abstain from was Starbucks. I've had an obscene obsession with Starbucks for years. I craved it like a drug. I'd started treating myself with Starbucks drinks as a motivator on Monday mornings. On some Fridays, if I had enough time, I'd grab one on my way to work. I'd often leave work in the middle of the day to go up the street and get a quick fix. So at the end of 2020, I decided that a month-long sabbatical from Starbucks was in order. 

I'll be honest, the first 3 days were painful. The funny thing is that I'm not even addicted to coffee or caffeine. The fact is that in having ADHD, too much caffeine puts me to sleep, so I'm actually pretty careful about how much I take in. Anyway, by the forth day, I no longer missed the sight of those green aprons. But I still utilize coffeehouses to get work done, so I had to look around and find some smaller, local options. I managed to find a few local coffeehouses that worked, that I'd occasionally visit.

By the time February 1st rolled around, I thought I'd be at the Starbucks line bright and early, by 6am, anxiously salivating about getting a toffee nut latte into my waiting hands. But that didn't happen. I didn't actually get around to getting Starbucks until about February 3rd. And it tasted like soap. Real spit, my go to Starbucks favorite tasted like soap. I threw it away. I wasn't sure if it actually tasted like soap or perhaps someone didn't thoroughly rinse the equipment properly after cleaning, but it tasted soapy. 

I went back to Starbucks about a month later. I was having a day where I felt quite accomplished and I decided that a trip to my "favorite place" was in order. I'd gotten a drink and truthfully, it tasted kind of watered down. It wasn't as delicious as I'd sworn it once was. For the first time in nearly 20 years, I'd started to consider if perhaps Starbucks was actually as overrated as many had said it was. 

Yesterday, I'd taken home some paperwork that needed to be done. I knew that if I'd gone straight home, the work would only continue to pile up, as it had done since Friday, so I located a Starbucks in my neighborhood that had outside seating. Good enough. I walked into Starbucks for the 3rd time in the year, literally a record for me, and ordered another latte. And again, it came across watered down. It was then that I knew that I'd outgrown it.

While at Starbucks, Sky stopped in to see me. We began to discuss Andrea again. We talked about drugs and overall addiction. Sky stated that he feels that everyone has an addiction or 2. That was when I told Sky that by working at my job in rehab, I'd thoroughly identified my addictions. I'd always had a "thing" for these things, a strong affinity, but never had I considered them an actual addiction, but it's true. My addictions are spending money, food as a comfort/coping mechanism, and men.

I'm currently really tackling my issues with food. I've always been a lover of foods and considered it my coping mechanism, although I didn't always acknowledge that. If I was having a bad day, I'd tell myself  "girl, I feel like shit, go get a donut." Or "well, you're hanging out with friends, might as well eat those fries." Or the good old "my period is coming, I feel like shit, I'm going to eat this chocolate cake." And with those years of allowing myself to consciously and unconsciously eat my feelings, I'd developed a pattern of eating trash, which I swear I feel I battle daily. But on a good note, I feel like looking at this habit from this space puts me in the best place to finally defeat it once and for all. At work, I've learned about "dry drunks." These are people who have stopped using, but never fully delved into why they did what they did, so they continued with destructive patterns. My goal with food is to look at the "whys" and begin to be more conscious about being healthier in how I respond to stress.

I'd also talked previously about how I'd been collecting clutter for years and as I began to part with it, I realized that I'd actually developed a deep attachment to having all of this shit with me. And I'd talked about how I just liked to spend money. I'd be bored and want to go to Target or Kroger, just to buy stuff, not realizing at the time that I was actually satiating a part of myself that I had no clue I'd been placating. I've actually managed to save more money and get my bills paid on time by no longer immediately buying shit, just cuz.

And then there was my addiction to men. It wasn't actually an addiction to sex. I can and have gone without sex. Sure, I liked sex, as do most healthy human adults, but it wasn't sex. It was men. Being around them, having them validate me. After feeling rejected and lonely for so many years of my young life, being able to finally get the guy felt powerful. It felt amazing to be in the presence of good looking and powerful men. Men that other women could only dream of being with. I hung out with them. It gave me confidence that I don't think I'd have had on my own. Men validating me made me feel powerful too. I had conversations with them. I nurtured them. Sometimes I'd sleep with them. But it was never just about sex. It was about the actual high that I achieved in considering these men part of my inner circle.

That attachment to men also led to something else I hate to admit to myself. How codependent I was. I really fucking hate to admit that to myself. It sounds so weak. When I thought of codependency before, I thought of women clinging to dusty ass bums in a desperate attempt to not be alone. Settling for crumbs from men, being down right abused and played to the left, all because of their refusal to learn to be alone. But I'm being honest with myself. I literally want to cry right now. It's important to feel this though. Because feeling it is owning it.

Learning this about myself has been so freeing. I'm still in a contemplative space, so I've been laying low on most social media. But I am thankful to now know that I had actual problems that I'd never previously acknowledged. 

When I decided going into 2021 that I'd scale back from dating/sex, I'd known that I'd kept a few guys in mind in case I wanted to get my "back scratched." I was pretty upfront with myself. I had no desire to entertain new men, so if it came down to it, I'd go to 1 of 2 trusted men to do the deed. But as time went on, I no longer felt like I'd need one of my "glass jars." One of the guys hit me up recently and asked if I wanted to get it in, and after nearly 10 years of friendship, I told him that I'm scared that having sex will cause me to get attached, so I'd have to decline. He understood. I'll be honest, I think I have a bit of fear of dating and the vulnerability that goes with it. I'll start dating again, when it feels right. Sometimes I'll talk to people who've told me that they've gone 2 or 3 years without sex. And they admit that life is actually a hell of a lot easier without the people and pursuits that come with sex. It was never my intention to go that long without it, but sometimes I think that might just be the route I take, whether I'd like to or not.

I'm sure that one day, I'll go back into the field. But I gotta own that I made a lot of stupid and fucked up decisions along the way. Right now, I'm just focusing on my recovery. On being a better woman. On making better choices and in being more intentional about my actions. I'm not sure how much longer I'll be in this self-imposed cocoon, but I don't see myself coming out until I'm ready. And for the first time ever, I'm not anxious about the process. I'm happy and proud that I made it to this space.

Death as a Motivator

My best friend, Sky, is a big follower of the zodiac. As a Gemini, I can't help but to be drawn to it as well, as Gems are often well-known, if not infamous for a lot of our attributes. When I meet men (not that I'm on that at the moment), I often hold my breath after telling them that I'm a Gemini. In reflecting in Andrea's death, Sky mentioned how he was once on her porch with her, when he noticed that she'd had a casket out there as well. She too was a Gemini. Sky pointed out then that Geminis have a certain preoccupation with death. I didn't notice the casket until after she was gone, but yes, a black wooden coffin was on her porch. Mere inches away from where we sat as she smoked cigarettes. God I miss that woman.

I hate it when Sky is right. I too have a preoccupation with death. I don't mean to. I try not to talk about my death often, as I know it can weird people out. But it's true. I probably think about my death daily. I remember seeing a therapist some years ago. He asked me if I think about death. I told him yes. He asked who's death. I responded along the lines of "my death, my parents' deaths, my sisters' deaths, my friends' death, my coworkers' deaths..." I recall him letting out a slight chuckle. It's true though. I think about death a lot. 

I'm motivated by death in a lot of ways. I suffered from depression terribly during my teen years, contemplating and threatening suicide on numerous occasions. I had one serious attempt that landed me on a 3 day hold, followed by a couple moments of suicidal ideation. But getting older, I grew to appreciate life a lot more, but in appreciating life, death was never far from my mind. As a matter of fact, death grew to be a huge motivator for me to live my life to the fullest. Death is the reason that I tell people I love them, even if it makes them uncomfortable. I've seen people stiffen up when I utter those words, but I don't care. I'll gladly make this moment uncomfortable, even if I know they won't/can't say it back. I need them to hear it. Because I don't know when my clock (or their clock) will stop ticking, and I don't wanna go out with regrets. That's why I told Pete I loved him when I did. And I think that's why he responded in kind. Sometimes, we just need to hear and say it. I don't know if I ever said it to Andrea. But somehow, I'm okay with that. Because even if it was never said, it was felt in each and every interaction.

In being motivated by death, I try to be very intentional in my actions and words. I apologize when I lose my cool and/or if I'm wrong. I try to talk things out. I don't try to fall out over petty things. I maintain a boundary, definitely. But I don't end relationships that mean a lot to me over bullshit.

So anyway, I'd said before that what drew me closer to Andrea to begin with, happened to be that a woman I'll call Tiffany took an issue with something that she'd posted in my personal group. The post was deleted. But later, Andrea posted something else that she'd also found offending. To keep the peace, Andrea was asked to block Tiffany. The thing is, no one else in the group was offended. It was clearly a NSFW group, so that seemed like the best solution at the time. Welp, that didn't work, because Tiffany was offended that she'd been blocked. Honestly, no malice was intended, it was really an act to keep the peace. That's not how Tiff saw it.

Andrea and I both felt that a conversation between all 3 parties would be best. We wanted to talk and explain ourselves and hash it all out. Tiffany declined. I'd tried to have a conversation with her solo, and Tiffany was hurt. She barely talked to me. I'd tried to reach out online and she didn't respond. I spent a good couple of months waiting for her to come around. I knew that she felt like she'd respond when she felt like it. But I grew tired of waiting. I'd explained to a mutual friend how I'm sick of being treated like everyone's bitch, expected to wait to be acknowledged. With my hands held out, ready to hug at any given moment. So I unfriended her on Facebook and I removed her from our group chat that she'd stopped responding to.

And then Andrea died. I pretty much knew that Tiff would be feeling some kind of way about how she'd acted. But I was devastated by the loss of my friend and I didn't really care at that point. I'd posted on Facebook about my grieving Andrea and Tiffany responded in some way and I saw it. But I didn't say shit. What was I supposed to say?

Now mutual friends are encouraging me to reach out to Tiffany, as she's supposedly hurt to realize that I'm no longer waiting, hat in hand, for her to acknowledge me. When Andrea was here, we both acted in the moment to make things smooth. We weren't trying to wait for some kind of  "perfect time." She and I both knew that time is fleeting. We don't always have forever to apologize, make up, or whatever. I don't hate Tiffany. I wish her well. And if she chooses to reach out again, I'm down to communicate and squash things. But I'm sick and fucking tired of always being the one to apologize or waiting for people to come around. I put a lot of energy into my friends. I like peace and serenity. I'm always mindful that any day could be a final one for me and my loved ones, so I'm all about making the most of our time. I'm tired of being abused, because I'm the "nice one."

There's nothing sadder to me than listening to an older person who has regrets. My grandfather wanted to visit Africa before he died, but he never got the chance, because of his medical issues. I don't want that to be me. I want to see different people and places. I want to try new foods. I want to make love to beautiful men. I want the people I care about to know that I love them. And I want to be surrounded by people that love me as much as I love them. Andrea reminded me of that.

Please God, No. Not Again.

This weekend is the anniversary of Pete's death. While this time of year has historically been pretty rough, I did pretty good going into it. As I've taken on more interest in mindfulness, I've been conscious of my triggers and made sure to avoid jarring scenes. For instance, on Thursday, my boss took clients to the park, as the weather is getting nicer and as COVID numbers drop, we are now able to get out and stretch a bit more. I was considering joining them at the park. That's when someone announced that they were doing a balloon release at the park. Oh hell no. The last balloon release I attended was Pete's. There was no way that right during the anniversary of his death that I could stomach doing that. I declined and remained in my office.

Friday started out pretty normal. I was a bit annoyed that HR had signed me up for a virtual training. I wouldn't have been as miffed, but the day they selected me was the day that I'd already scheduled to get my second vaccine. Which meant I had to basically bogart my way into the office and beg for my second one on a later date and hope I can get it. I'm very fortunate to be a healthcare worker, therefore able to score one early.

Anyway, Friday, I was at home on my computer. Everyone else was pretty quiet, so I was making an effort to respond to the trainers' questions and get through this damned thing. Then I got a text from my best friend, Sky. "Andrea passed" My heart stopped. I threw the laptop off my legs and called him immediately. "What?!" I asked, in shock. His voice was low, but he said "they found her Thursday." I was thinking perhaps she'd been in a horrific car accident. Then Sky said "her and her boyfriend." I froze. I already knew. I felt a lump in my throat. I just happened to have met this boyfriend of hers for the first time last week. She'd been wrestling with the idea of breaking up with him. After the loudest silence ever, I mustered to ask "drugs?" He said "there was fentanyl in her cocaine."

I'd known Andrea for probably 10 years. She used to work at the nightclub that I frequent and she worked the door with Sky. She and Sky would often wear matching costumes on Halloween. I normally spend most of my time outside when I'd go, we'd often see one another and joke in passing, but not much more communication than that. At some point, she'd been moved inside to bartend. I'd still see her and we'd wave, but not much more was said at that point. She was inside of a loud nightclub, making her money, and there wasn't really much to talk about anyway.

About a year ago, I'd had an idea to start a Facebook group, where my friends and I could post some of the wilder stuff we see on FB, that we can't post publicly. Andrea was one of the first people there and she routinely provided the wildest material to the group. The group was pretty NSFW, and that's how we liked it. Andrea had started providing some material that featured religious stuff. One of the other members got offended. In order to attempt to keep the peace, Andrea blocked her, but that set off a whole 'nother reaction. 

I inboxed Andrea to see if she'd be willing to meet with the angry party. Andrea was willing to talk to the other party. But the other party didn't want to talk to her. She felt that the blocking was a huge slap in the face. Including not talking to Andrea, she didn't want to talk to me either. I tried several times to speak to her, but she'd shut off, which I respected. Yeah, it hurt, but life goes on (sigh). 

In the meantime, Andrea and I had grown closer. She'd donated clothes to the women at my job and we met up to eat and hang out. Then we started hanging out every weekend. Some days, we'd meet for brunch and coffee, brining our laptops so that we could get work done. I was so glad to have space to be creative. She'd be plugging away at her laptop too. It was beneficial for both of us. We were both quirky and outgoing. 

I could always count on her for adventures. Last month, I had a hankering to leave the city. I just felt my spirit calling to be elsewhere. I decided to get a hotel in Chattanooga for the night. I've long since stopped asking people to go with me on trips because they normally have anxiety about such situations and ask too many questions. "Where are we going? When will we get back? What will we do? Where will we stay? How much money will I need? What should I wear?" When you're a "fly by the seat of your pants" woman like me, those questions are irritating af. Sometimes you just gotta go with it and enjoy the journey. So anyway, that Saturday afternoon, I called her and said "I was going to go to Chattanooga tonight and get a hotel, wanna join me?" She immediately said yes. I told her that I'd planned to get a cheap Day's Inn somewhere, and she countered with getting a nicer hotel in the middle of the city and splitting the cost. Even better. She was and is the only woman I know and trust to join me, last minute, for an adventure like that. About a month ago, I remember feeling that I finally had a female bestie in the city that I could roll with for adventures. My BFF moved to DC about 10 years ago and I've struggled to have consistent female friends like that since then. It was nice while it lasted.

Last weekend, Andrea and I connected (as usual) on Saturday. We decided to meet at her house because she had maintenance things to tend to. I'd brought my laptop and tried to focus, but the spirit just wasn't with me. Meanwhile, I watched her taping up her dining room, and painting edges. I volunteered to help her. She'd been in decorating mode. There were wallpaper samples up, as she struggled with which pattern to use, and which paint to use with it. While she hadn't planned on it, we ended up finishing the whole dining room. That stubborn paint stayed on me, and is still there. We joked about how Gemini-like it is to start off intending to work, and ending up painting a room instead. I'd actually told her about my intention to have a prom for my birthday this year. Since her birthday is only two days from mine, we opted for a prom on June 19th, right between our two days. It was going to be epic. The next day, we went to IKEA for more decorating ideas. That evening, I returned to her home to pick up some laundry I'd left, in addition to brining my son, who'd been tasked with fixing her router extender in her home.

When I returned, her boyfriend was there. Something didn't seem quite right about him, but he was nice enough. They were planning meals for their upcoming camping trip. I joked about how poor they sounded, planning out meals that could be cooked over an open fire. Eventually, Pumpkin finished his task, and we'd left. Nothing seemed off at all.

The following Wednesday, I was having an issue at work and I was hoping for insight on the best way to deal with a patient. I called Andrea. No answer. I didn't sweat it. She normally texts me back and explains that she can't talk or will call me later. I didn't think much when I didn't get that call or text. I focused that week on the upcoming anniversary of Pete's death. Which was also pretty close to the anniversary of my aunt's death last year. I had no idea what I was in store for.

I can't believe I made it through that damned training. My first impulse was to close my laptop and deal with my emotions, but I was already halfway through it, and if I didn't finish, I'd just have to do the stupid thing later. But I checked out. Coincidentally, one of the training videos we watched featured a woman named "Andrea" and I couldn't stomach hearing the counselor say her name repeatedly. I private messaged the trainer, told her what I'd just learned and explained that I couldn't bear to watch the video. She let me slide. I logged out as soon as I could. I sat on my couch and tried to make sense of what I'd just learned. Like there's more Andrea? Like none? Like I'll never see her again? Andrea? But, I just saw her. We were just together. I was just at her house. We just painted. Andrea?

I'd been texting Sky back and forth. I needed something, but I didn't know what. A hug. I needed a hug. I arranged to meet him for the hug. I walked up to the bar he was at, which is next door the club she worked at. I ran to him and began bawling. I loudly wept into his arms. We remained outside and talked. He told me what he knew. I couldn't believe it. "But we were just at her house," I kept saying. I remember sitting on the curb, rocking back and forth, trying to make sense of it. A bartender brought Sky a couple of drinks. He tried to introduce me, but I burst into tears again. The woman offered to bring me a drink, but I asked for water. She quickly brought it back and asked if she could hug me. I nodded. She told me that she'd worked bartending with Andrea, but wasn't close. She gave her condolences.

The following day was Saturday. A day that had kind of become "our day" by default. We'd normally text one another anywhere between 10am and 1pm to see if the other wanted to hang. I looked at my phone, my heart breaking again that I'd never get that text from her. I felt like I needed to honor her that day, but I didn't know how. I decided to stop at Petit Chou and get a croque monsieur, the sandwich she'd put me onto, at the restaurant she'd put me onto. It felt so lonely being there by myself. I don't normally mind dining alone, but this time was different. To make it even worse, I happened to be at the same table she and I had sat at the first time we visited together. It was unreal.

I decided next to go to her home. I drove there, and sat in her driveway. I wanted to go in, but I didn't know her roommate like that, so I sat in the car. A few minutes later, the roommate's Lyft appeared. He looked into my car and I said "I didn't mean to be a creep, I just felt like I needed to be here." He nodded in understanding and invited me in. 

It was so odd walking in. Seeing all of the sights and sounds I'd seen before, but she wasn't there. I walked into the living room, adjacent to the dining room. I looked up at the wallpaper samples. I walked into the dining room, where things were still taped up from last week. The tarp was still on the table. I couldn't help it, but I took pics. I needed to remember this, for some reason. Because she was just here. Her roommate offered me a drink, and I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. I saw the leftover salad container from the spot we went to last week. Here are all of the remnants of her being here. But she's not here. How is this possible?

We sat on the couch, and he told me what he knew. He described how he'd found them. He told me how he'd found his father, the same time last year. A tear came to his eye as he described how horrific is is to walk into a room and find someone dead. He said how it's an eerie feeling, how the moment you open the door, you already know. I was thankful to be a counselor in that moment. I was able to give him comfort and say the right words to allow him to process.

Wildly enough, it all took me back to Pete's death. His family was nice, but they made it clear that they weren't really trying to entertain his friends like that. I get it. They dealt with his shit for a long time and they just wanted to grieve in peace. But I felt so invalidated. I felt like they told me in so many words, that they don't give a damn that I was hurting too. Again, I get it. They lost a brother and son, while I lost a coworker/friend. And I've lost family, I know how that goes. But I'd wish I'd been given a space to be when he died. My supervisor told me that he'd be going to Pete's home, to clean out his stuff. I begged to go too. He told me no. He told me later on that he'd had one of Pete's work shirts. Again, I begged for it. Again, he told me no. I'd felt so much that my grieving would have been helped, had I been given access to his space after he died. Just a space to bask. All I had was a few scant reminders, such as the fish bowl he took from my hands as he walked me to my car one afternoon. I still cherish that bowl, as it sits in my living room. But that, the hourglass I never got to give him, and a few papers is all I have left. We didn't even get to take any pics together. I remember after Pete's death, screaming to the heavens that I didn't have it in me to stomach the death of another good friend, and please God, don't do this to me ever again.

But now, here I am, in Andrea's house. Among her possessions, thinking about all of the memories. And it didn't really help. Oddly enough, it seemed to bring out the cognitive dissonance even harder. I struggled to find how she could be gone, but her car is here and her cats are here. So you mean, I'm in her house, her stuff is here. The space where she was trying to figure out if she'll paint this room this color or that color, and she's gone now? How is that possible?

I eventually left and couldn't decide what to do next. I wanted to drive to Chattanooga, but I didn't feel like it. But I did feel like it. I checked the weather, which was supposed to be mild that day. The last time that Andrea and I were in Chattanooga, that morning, she and I got dressed, and walked right down the street to the riverfront. That's where I felt like I needed to go. So despite me telling myself every few miles to turn around, I kept going. I got to the riverfront, and tried for the umpteenth time to make it all fit. To make it all make sense. How can I look at you, hang out with you, eat with you, wash clothes at your house, and 3 days later, you're gone? How is that possible?

I still don't know.

Thank you so much, Andrea. Thank you for everything.

Soaking

I'm a social worker. I love the field, but I continue to be surprised by how much research and upkeep the field requires. Society and culture constantly shifts, as does the research that goes into it. I'm quite thankful to be at a job that allows me room to grow. I've pissed quite a few colleagues from my graduate school off, by being honest in sharing that I wasn't fully prepared for the field when I graduated. My program at the time was lacking in a lot of what was needed to make me sufficiently ready for what I was about to encounter. And I'm the kind of person that appreciates honest criticism of me because it allows me to become a better version of myself. But I had to learn that not everyone appreciates being told "hey, get your shit together."

My first job out of grad school was at DFCS. I was fired 2 months later for something I didn't even do. I was devastated. I wasn't particularly connected to the job, but it was the first "adult" job I'd had. I worked my ass off to get a degree, to be fired later on for something I didn't even do. That was in 2017, the year Pete died, and a year that will always go down in history as one of the worst years of my life. My plan was to just work at Petsmart until 2018, but I had a boss that I could no longer stomach and I finally started applying in my field again. 

I landed a job in social work, but I was sorely underpaid. I loved that job. I loved the clients. I loved the culture of the organization. But my money stayed funny with that job. Who gives a damn how much I loved it, if my bills were constantly paid late? But I learned a lot there. Well, not a lot. But enough. I finally landed another job. That job ended up keeping me for 2 and a half years. I learned a hell of a lot at that particular job. But the fact is, that I was winding down. I was starting to look at an exit strategy. I was no longer fulfilled, plus my relationship with my boss tanked. Then a lil old thing called COVID-19 (you may have heard of it) hit. My program was suspended.

I traveled the country in a kick-ass mid-pandemic road trip, got back and started my current job. All and all, I'd say that things are going well. But every now and again, I am reminded of how much I don't know. My boss and co-worker are quite skilled at being familiar with so many diagnoses, while I've primarily gotten my feet wet with the basics (such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and some trauma). But there is so much more for me to pick up on.

One of the requirements of my job is that I must get my social work license. I took a few license study tests, and the good thing is that my knowledge on field applications is pretty good. I know how to properly respond to difficult clients and clients in crisis. But my knowledge on social work theories is fuzzy at best. And theories tend to come in handy when you're doing therapy and searching for modalities that apply to different people's situations. I'm good. But ultimately, I'm hoping to be great.

I love that jobs in social work and therapy often provide materials that allow you to grow as a clinician. We have access to so many workbooks, worksheets, and files that build our knowledge. A few years ago, while still in school, I worked a job that literally paid minimum wage, at a YMCA camp. That job was trash. But one thing I liked about it was doing the craft projects with children. One day, I took a bunch of colorful foam letters and glued them onto a piece of blue paper and spelled out the words "MALIKA IS DESTINED FOR GREATNESS." I always held onto that sheet. I was able to keep it by putting it on the cover sheet of binder. I'd never put anything in that binder. Until now.

I've been thinking about my career lately. The things I'd like to accomplish and where I hope to go one day. I want to be knowledgeable and educated. I want to be able to recite from memory important details of various mental illnesses. I want to be able to accurately talk at length about the best modalities for various issues. As I've been building onto my clinical know-how regarding my current clients, I've decided that it's about time for me to start soaking it all up.

I've started making copies of various worksheets given to me. Things that I know will be applicable further down the road. Kinds of therapies, questions to ask clients, things to look for. I've started to make copies and leave them in my binder. Today I was talking to a woman who is still working toward going to school and I was able to describe to her the difference between cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT). I was quite proud of myself, as I've been familiar with CBT for years, and I'd often heard of DBT, but it wasn't until a few months ago that I decided to look it up and buy a workbook for it that I was able to accurately describe it to a peer. I felt good.

So now, here I am, collecting all of the information that I can. Soaking it all up like a sponge, so that hopefully one day I will be able to regurgitate what is needed on command, in order to be not only a kick ass clinician, but also able to help people who need my expertise on their particular issue. Even as I pasted letters to a sheet of paper some years ago, I may have just been onto something. Because I definitely see greatness in my future.

The Con Game

I started my job back in October, and since then, I've often heard my boss speak of clients attempting to "manipulate" a situation. I work with women in substance abuse recovery, and although I didn't quite understand what she'd meant, I've learned to watch and observe, rather than trying to interject. As a big believer in signs, I've kind of marveled at how the world around me has worked to bring about lessons for what I need at this stage in my life.

So I spoke in my last blog about Fred popping back up, and how I was conflicted about his presence. How we've been through a lot, but I'm starting to change in how I receive people and what kinds of behaviors I tolerate now. I was willing to overlook the last time that he'd disappeared, but my tolerance for behaviors that I dislike is starting to wane, quickly. I wrote a while ago about how I'm decluttering a lot in my life, and I'm not sure how it happens to work with people, but yes, I'm decluttering people too. It wasn't really my intention, but once I started to recognize my value and started to observe the behaviors of the people around me a lot more closely, I started to declutter the people that bring chaos as well.

Anyway, Fred came back. We'd been chatting, almost daily, since he returned. I'd told him that I'm not dating or sexually involved at the moment, and how that cleared energy is allowing me, for the first time in years, to focus on my creative endeavors.

When I last saw Fred in October, he mentioned a young lady he'd been keeping company with. I was pissed. Not that he was keeping company with a young lady, I too had a friend at the time. I was more pissed because if she was a woman he'd considered more than just a casual fling, I wouldn't have flown my ass across the country to see him. I'm not mad, we're adults, and as we get older, it's only natural to want to enter into a relationship with someone we can go into our golden years with. But don't have me flying cross country, if you have a boo. Real shit, I'm not here for that.

So anyway, I'd probed a bit when asking about his recent birthday, in addition to Valentine's Day. He mentioned spending time with "a girlfriend" and I already knew. I asked if he had a girlfriend and his response was "something like that." I was furious. I kept it cool for the rest of that conversation, but I was livid. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't mad that he has a girlfriend, I'm more mad about how that information was presented. We'd been talking for a week since he'd re-entered, and despite the many conversations we'd had, he never mentioned a girlfriend. We got off the phone like everything was okay, but I was stewing. An hour later, I texted him and said "I'm getting off of this merry-go-round. I can't do this anymore." He didn't respond. Which is good, because I really didn't want him to. The next day, I was still stewing, so I sent him a few more text messages, one of which read "STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME." Again (thankfully), he didn't respond. I couldn't quite figure what exactly it was that bugged me at the time. It wasn't the girlfriend. It was how he handled it. I was just done.

Around the same time, I also happened to get extremely sick for a couple of weeks. I swore it was COVID-19, but 4 tests determined that was a lie. But still, I had fevers, body aches, headaches, and a cough that kicked my ass. I'd been fucking up at work (my own fault, really), but in correcting my performance, I finally checked out a training book I'll be working from. The course and book is called "Criminal and Addictive Thinking" and it was designed for men in prison. I'd dragged my feet on reading the book, in part because my coworker talked about how crappy and non-applicable it was. But I was really enthralled by it. 

One of the things I'd seen in the book was a discussion of various manipulative tactics used by these men, again associated with addiction and criminal behavior. My mouth hung open. It's one thing to feel in your gut that you're being taken for a ride, it's another thing to see all of these tactics written in black and white. Things such as playing dumb, minimizing what a person is saying to you, gas lighting, and many others. It was like being punched in the stomach. As I read through, I found myself thinking about men from my past. David, my son's father, Fred, Ted, my own father, and many other men... unfortunately, it was a lot.

And that's when it hit me. That's why I was so angry. I wasn't angry about him having a girlfriend. I was angry at the manipulation of the situation. Had he just said to me in the beginning, when we first started talking again, "hey Malika, I got something to tell you. I have a girlfriend. I still want you in my life, but in a platonic way," I would have respected it. Yeah, it would have stung, but I could have dealt with it. But instead, he talked around it, and gave some sort of half-assed explanation, only after I'd asked about it, a week after we'd been talking again.

The workbook helped me to understand how manipulative he really was. He was intentionally vague, so that he could continue to control the situation, and so that he'd continue to have me hang on his every word and adore him. And then I got mad at myself. The fact is, this man and I have been dealing with one another for a decade and a half. This wasn't the first time he'd  done some bullshit like this. It was just the first time that I was able to identify it for what it was, call it out, and separate myself. But this time, quite possibly for good.

I talked to my bestie yesterday, and she said that Fred had called her, and left a voice message. My bestie, much like myself, doesn't check her messages, so she was unsure of what he'd said. I just thought it was interesting that he'd called her, particularly because they don't have that kind of relationship. Granted, he stayed with her for a while in DC, because of work, and he may have just been checking in. But his timing is suspect. Nevertheless, not my monkey, not my circus.

I'm just thankful that the Universe continues to declutter for me. My home is coming along nicely, and I just emptied out a closet yesterday. And thanks to spotting bullshit behavior, Fred has been thrown out as well.