Secrets Keep You Sick

I worked at a rehab a few years back. It ended up being the most toxic environment I ever existed in, but that's a different story, for a different day. Anyway, there were always these cutesy little statements to remind the clients to continue to walk the path of sobriety. One of those statements was "secrets keep you sick." And I agree, especially as Alcoholics Anonymous largely requires people to own their shit. I'm a bit of an open book myself (ironically, something I'm working on myself, I need to scale back being so open in my personal life), but I can definitely see how certain secretive behaviors can be bad for a person.

A few weeks back, I decided to take a walk down memory lane, and I looked back at my blogs from the last couple of years. It's kinda cool to look back on moments I'd completely forgotten about, as I focus on the here and now. One of the blogs I'd stumbled across was here. In it, my good friend Brandon was caught up with a woman who was a complete mess. I'd begged Brandon over the years to leave this woman where he'd found her, but he was determined to make this relationship work. I'd even said in the post that I felt like things were even worse than Brandon had let on, and it seems that I was right.

Brandon had told me some time ago that he was still living with her and occasionally sleeping with her. I'd hit him with the tried and true advice of "don't stick your dick in crazy." He assured me that there was no emotional attachment, just the midnight visit every now and again. I reminded him that even if he was done with her in his mind, in her mind, those sneaky links meant they were still connected.

I can't lie, I was pretty frustrated watching it from the sidelines. I guess it's my history with narcissism and abusive behavior in relationships, but I learned that those people cannot be saved. Nigga, run!! But Brandon remained hopeful in her promises to go to therapy and that "this time" would be different. 

Brandon finally admitted to me that not only were they occasionally midnight buddies, they were still very much a couple, until he'd finally had enough. Although he'd initially told me that he was done with her and only remained there as a her roommate, after xyz offenses, he had in fact held onto her for years. I do kind of wish he'd been open with me that he was still trying to make an honest woman of her, but I get it. He was hoping to work on things with her and emerge with the new and shiny version of her that he'd hoped to eventually carve out. But thing about broken people is that they have to actually want help. And no degree of praying, playing, or pretending will ever cover that up.

At some point, maybe a month ago, Brandon finally had enough. He concocted an elaborate plan, where he'd move all of his things out, while she was at work and completely block her on everything. I wanted to write about it before, but I decided against it, as it isn't uncommon for friends of friends to read my blogs, in hopes of finding out what their loved ones are up to. I didn't want the cat out of the bag until he was completely free.

More than anything, I was glad that Brandon had decided that he was done. I recall the stories early on, and I knew back then that she was trouble. But as my previous post repeated "he was in love." It just shows how much shame will keep us quietly glued to others. We revel in the secrecy, while trying to make sense of the shameful mess in front of us.

I'm not quite sure how I knew that things were worse than he'd let on. Perhaps it was my strong intuition, or the way he seemed to gloss over what most people would call glaring red flags. Out of respect for him, I'll refrain from sharing some of the most egregious behaviors she exhibited. But it just goes to show how love can blind us from obvious flaws and how shame can scoot us in to the closet of secrecy. Hoping to show a united front to the world, while behind closed doors, we do all we can to maintain our peace while walking on eggshells to keep who we believe to be the love of our lives, from having an explosive tantrum. And while that person may put on their best for the people they hope to impress, at home they're a ticking timebomb, who you do your best to not set off. 

As he'd decided that he was done, I sent Brandon a link to that particular blog, and to his credit, after reading it, he proudly proclaimed "I was a dumbass!!" and I appreciate his honesty and candor. It takes a big man to own that not only is the relationship over, but he ignored not just flags, he ignored red stop signs, flags, flashing lights and personally crafted billboards that told him that she was for the streets. No judgement, I've certainly made my own mistakes in love.

I'm just glad that Brandon finally left, but I hate it for my poor  friend that he had to endure what he did. The good is that he finally made it out of the clutches of his narcissistic ex and he'll be able to quickly identify those signs in the future. The bad is that, knowing what I know about being one of their victims, he will spend months, if not years trying to make sense of what the fuck happened and how lost he got in that mess.

While we're talking about secrets, I guess I'll let you in on mine. Ugh. So yeah, the Fine Ass Maintenance Man (a.k.a. FAMM) is still in the picture. I know I'd sworn him off. I saw those red flags that waved the first date and I knew that I needed to toss his gorgeous ass back into the sea of penises. And lord knows I tried. It had been months since we'd seen one another. And although I thought about him on occasion, I'd made up my mind that we'd run our course and it was time to part. I was very much making peace with being alone.

But as I learn to tackle home ownership, I found myself unable to turn off my lawnmower one day. I knew there was too much gas in it for it to run out on it's own. I called my cousin, Doc, only to remember that he was out of the country. There weren't too many men for me to call so that I could learn what to do. Ugh. I had no choice.

"Hey you" he answered in that jazzy, melodic voice of his. "Hey," I started. "I know it's been a while, but you told me to call you with any house issues and I can't get my lawnmower to turn off." He immediately knew that the spark plug was the answer and he navigated me to shutting off the power. I asked if he was still working at the previous apartment complex where we met, and he told me he was not. Since then, he'd just been winging it, doing solo HVAC and handy man work.

We'd occasionally shoot one another text messages or quick phone calls to check in afterwards. And I'll be honest and share that every time I'm in a room with that man, I want to strip him down with my teeth and tie him to my bed. Although I pride myself with how indifferent I'd acted toward his presence when we were in person.

But then, one day, I got that hankering. Against my better judgement, I called him one evening and told him that I had an itch that needed to be scratched. He told me that he'd be happy to help me with that. Yeeeah buddy lol.

I was kind of ashamed to post here that I'd backslid into his arms and life. We were doing just fine, on opposite sides of the world. He and I recently laughed about how different we are. To his credit, there are moments where he makes a "just fine" place holder. And other days, his inconsistency rears its ugly head and I remember what I'm dealing with and why I left him alone previously. I also remind myself regularly that he's really just a fun thing to do until something and someone real shows up.

A while back, I was out checking my mail, when a neighbor stopped me to point out the leak that was in front of my yard. I hadn't noticed it, as it had been raining a lot, I assumed the water in front of my yard was just runoff. I wasn't sure exactly where the water was coming from and I tried to call the county, but they were less than helpful in determining who was on the hook for the repair. One day, I was out in the yard and I saw an extremely lush area of grass that sloshed under my shoe. Shit. FUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK.

I'd checked again with my cousin, and he assured me that he knew a guy who could take care of it and give me a fair price. Another day, in passing, I'd mentioned to FAMM that I was about to have to pay for this stupid leak. He stated that he'd be willing to take a look at it, and if not too big of a repair, he could fix it. I was so thankful then that I'd been smart about squirreling away bits of money. Obviously I'd pay him for the work, although he agreed to charge me far less than I know others would.

He came to my home that first day, wearing all black. I watched as he dug a deep trench in my gorgeous grass. He was covered in mud, head to toe, by the time he was done. And I gotta be honest. I felt almost animalistic watching this man knowingly dig up my yard. Something about watching him know what he was doing was sexy af. Men are so soft these days that it's so refreshing to come across a guy who isn't afraid to get dirty and knows how to take care of a house and vehicles. I also appreciate knowing that he's able to make repairs and remodels, like my bathroom flooring and closet door I want installed. I even gave him a key, although he has no need for it at the moment. It's more so that he an access things to repair them when I'm away. But I'm always in awe watching him work. I told him how much I love it when he's in problem-solving mode.

Speaking of secrets, dude is absolutely not online and I'm a bit mystified by that, but I get it. When I first realized that he was my middle school classmate, I attempted to find anything I could on him. I reached out to friends from school, and none of them had been in touch with him. I recalled him telling me how he'd taken the acrobatics he'd done when we were kids, and he'd been flipping with the Atlanta Hawks as well. I loved hearing him talk about traveling during his teenage and young adult years.

No doubt in my mind that had the internet been around when we were kids, there would be dozens of clips of him doing backflips and summersaults all over Atlanta. He admitted to me that every now and again, he'll still do a flip, just to see if he can. All of those amazing acrobatic talents, coupled with his ability to rap, sing, and produce (his mother was a pretty well-known singer during the 70's), and he has zero online presence, except for the Facebook page he only occasionally uses for Marketplace. I'm trying to get him to be online more so that he can at least drum up business, since he's an entrepreneur now. The man is his own secret.

I guess at the end of the day, we've all got our own quiet thoughts and moments, that we protect for whatever reason. Sometimes, it's shame. Sometimes, we just don't want to hear anyone's mouth. Other times, we just want to exist in our own bubble.

Secrets can definitely keep you sick. But oddly enough, they can also keep you sane.

Snow Day

I've always loved a good snow day. For years, come the cold season, I anxiously watch the weather reports for 2 weeks out, hoping for the snowflake icon that indicates that it's coming. Whenever the much-desired snowflake is posted, I keep an even closer eye out for the hourly forecasts. I'd watched a few weeks back when it was posted that on a Monday, we were to get a dusting. I anxiously counted down every hour, and watched as the forecasts slowly changed. It got cooler, but no white stuff.

But as I watched for the week, I saw it again. The coveted snowflake. As always, I continued to keep an out for it. I checked in as frequently as I could, to make sure that it stayed on the websites. I sat back and watched how every hour, the weather shifted from warm to frigid, while also keeping an eye out for the needed precipitation as well. Nothing chaps my hyde like seeing super cold weather, while the air is dry and the sky is blue. It almost feels like the weather is taunting me, knowing that I'm like a junky, chasing the high that only that glorious snow could bring me.

When I saw that the forecast called for it on the upcoming Friday, I was elated. I'd already had a fridge full of food, but I stopped to grab a few snack for my larger than life son and a few fruits for myself. I worked through Thursday, occasionally stopping to look outside of my windows, to make sure the sky did what I needed it to do. Sure enough, the dark clouds rolled in, as I feverishly refreshed the weather website, to ensure that it was still coming. 

I woke up Friday, and I immediately looked outside. I smiled brightly as I saw the lush, green world I've known to flourish outside of my window, was suddenly blanketed by frozen perfection. I snacked only on fruits and salads, as my spirits gave me a good talking to about eating well. But suddenly, I was moved to do something I hadn't thought of in a while. I didn't want to risk wasting this anointed snow day. I decided then that I'd take an Adderall, to combat my ADHD brain and get to work.

And almost immediately, I began working on my bedroom. I'd been dragging my feet previously, but this time, the brain fog was clear and I was a woman on a mission. First, I tackled the clothes in my closet, dragging some items to the trash and clearing up valuable close real estate. Then I took out the floating shelves I'd purchased at Ross two days ago and placed them above my bed, with the color coordinated knickknacks I'd bought for just this reason. I straightened bookshelves and then went into my long-ignored office and began placing things in the right area. Just a few days ago, I purchased a bed frame, after my last one fell apart (last time I buy a cheap one), and I paid my son to put it together. I cleared my clutter, and even remembered to say a prayer, and light some sage at my alter.

I'm not a religious person, but I continue to feel like this snowy weekend was made just for me. My child and I trash-talked one another as I swept through my house like a tornado, cleaning everything in my path. I'm slightly annoyed by the pile of trash in my kitchen, but I know that it's all going right into the dumpster when I step outside again. I couldn't be more at peace right now. I'd been saying for the last few months that I intended to take a long-weekend for myself just to breathe and get some things together. And although I did leave work early on Friday, because my power went out for a few hours, it was a pretty easy day while I was there. I don't even feel the need for my long weekend anymore, even though I'll likely take one soon. I also decided that now is also the time to start planning another trip with some coworkers. We initially wanted to go to Europe this year, but because I'm trying to get up my savings to pay down my car and get ready to get Pumpkin into college in a year and a half. But once my little one is living on campus, it'll be time to do some big traveling again.

Speaking of long trips, before the fires in Cali started, I'd been considering taking a trip out there to float around for a few days. I'd already been so heartbroken by the fire in the Grapevine Mountains, outside of L.A., but seeing whole fires rip through Santa Monica is beyond devastating. I'll likely catch a plane out at some point and just rent a car and get a hotel for a few nights, just to take it all in. L.A. is still very much a second home to me, and even though I'm not as hyped about the Olympics there in a few years, I still wish nothing but healing for her. Who knows? Maybe in a few years, I'll still make my way out there anyway. I messaged all of my people in L.A. (the 3 or 4 of them) and thankfully, they're all good. 

I hadn't factored in purchasing a house a few years ago, when I made my plans to return to the West Coast. But this won't stop anything. It is quite possible to do and have it all. It's also possible to live the life you want and while you work toward following your dreams. 

Even if your dream is just as simple as a weekend snow day.

Spiritual Baddie

I'll never forget the first time it happened. I was in the family home in Decatur, I was about 18. It was roughly a few months after I'd learned that I had the ability to speak to the dead, when my dear cousin, Tracey, had passed away. We were in the kitchen, my mother and I. She sat at the kitchen table, and I stood at the sink. And suddenly, out of nowhere, a key that had been used to lock our sliding glass door flew into the middle of the room. Mom and I both froze. The key had been held up through a rubber band that we hung on a hook, and had the key dropped the way it was supposed to, it would have fallen straight away into the trashcan below it. But it didn't do that. It flew into the middle of the room.

My words were "that's physically impossible!" as I tried to process what had just happened. Out of nowhere, an item had just flown across the room in front of us. I immediately tried to make sense of it. I'd already spent a lot of time talking to my dead cousin, but I somehow knew that it wasn't Tracey because I could always feel when she was around. This wasn't her. My mom then said "alright, Joanne!" her recently deceased cousin. Yes! Joanne! That had to be it! That was the only reason that the key flew into the middle of the room, right? Right?!

At some point, that memory flew far back into my mind, replaced by other memories, just like the time I had a party at my apartment and unbothered keys flew off of my tv in a room full of people. TWICE. Another time, I was in my old apartment and I watched with my own eyes as a hat flew across the room. By this point, it was years later, and I'd grown a bit more accustomed to this happening, but it was still a tad spooky. I decided early on that I needed to lay some ground rules. Like look, we're in the same space, it is what it is. We won't have any problems as long as you don't physically appear (I'm okay with talking to ghosts, but seeing them appear in front of me is not something I'm ready to deal with) and my other rule is no throwing dangerous stuff. Like sure, knock some headphones around, but don't go throwing knives or heavy items. And to this spirit's credit, it has stayed within those parameters. Honestly, I never felt like he or she meant harm, but still, we gotta keep this above board. But with my recent move, I'd noticed it happening a wee bit more, including my pill bottle last night and my toothpaste this morning.

Up until recently, I'd kept these happenings to myself. I've come to accept that many people are uncomfortable with the topic of death, so when you start talking about proof of the afterlife, people really freak out. Plus, people start immediately asking you to speak to their loved ones and you gotta just explain stuff you don't feel like explaining.

But as the movements started happening more frequently, I figured that it might be time to look into this- to get answers about who or what this spirit is and what it possibly wants from me. I called my mother to ask if she remembers the moment of the key from the old house. She told me that yes, she did remember it. Must have left quite a mark, because she'll readily admit that her memory is not nearly what it once was. I'd asked her if she'd had any similar moments since then. She said no. I confessed to her that it has happened several times to me since then. Its a known fact in my family that I'm able to speak to the dead, so I think she may have been a little surprised, but given my spiritual gift, not too surprised.

On Christmas, I was with my family, Ali's widow, his brother, and our other cousin. Since his death, we've gotten much closer and spend many holidays laughing and catching up. Anyway, later in the evening, as we sat around, I'd asked if any of them had encountered having items at rest suddenly fly across the room. They all paused briefly, before assuring me that it never happened to them. I mean sure, since Ali died, there have been signs and dreams, but nothing so vivid.

I was always able to put it in the back of my mind, but the more it started to happen, the more I felt like I needed answers. I took to Google and looked up items flying around a room and learned that this particular spirit is called a poltergeist. Another thing that threw me (ha!) was that this spirit followed me to several places. It didn't happen in the same house or apartment, I literally went all over, and it still happened. That being said, if the homes I was in weren't haunted, it's gotta be me or something, I guess.

I know that my bestie, Sky has some gifts as well, so I decided to see what he thought it might be. He agreed that it sounds like a poltergeist. I told him that felt so weird to say, especially since everything I saw online said that poltergeists tend to be evil spirits, but I don't think that mine is. Or was? Sky joked that the movie wouldn't have been nearly as big of a hit if the writers decided to make the ghost a bore. I guess he was right there. But he didn't have answers much more than that.

Next up, I decided to all another homegirl, I'll call Anna. I knew that Anna had gifts as well and might be able to get more insight. Anna said that she felt that the spirit might be trying to tell me something. She shared that she felt that the spirit was telling me that I needed to go back to doing my spiritual work, which I can agree with. I have an alter in my room that has traces of both Ali and Tracey, but I have not done enough to honor my ancestors in ceremony recently. I haven't even saged my home yet or lit a candle in remembrance. Coincidentally, I'd been thinking recently that I wanted to learn more about African spirituality. At least more reading up on African gods and goddesses, or even African astrology.

Anna also stated that she feels that I am protected by several spirits, connected through lineage, that do not play about me. And although I'd never outright thought or said it, I've long since felt the very same thing. Anna never mentioned her, but from a very young age, I've felt my father's mother looking down and protecting me. I always felt that she and I would be very tight, had we walked this planet at the same time. I even remember talking to her spirit when I was a child. She died before I was born, but that never stopped me from feeling close to her. 

Anna went on to share that there are quite a few people who feel very perplexed by my ability to seeming slide through some really tough situations, things that would destroy nearly anyone else. It seems that my angels have practically picked me up and dragged me out of some real doozies and people who wanted or expected me to fall flat on my face can't figure it out. Crazy thing is that I can't exactly figure it out either. I've known for years that someone or something bigger than me was making sure I was good. I also don't consider it much of a coincidence that most of the people who have done me dirty have suffered on a deep mental, spiritual, psychological, and even physical level, after the fact. And I've always been thankful for my spirits. And whenever I make it to the other side, I plan to continue the mission of looking out for others.

So I guess Anna inadvertently gave me the answer that I needed. Yes, I got some spirits watching my back and telling me to get my spiritual life in order. Be thankful. 

And I am.

***

So yeah, my pumpkin is a young man now. He's 17. He's kind, loving (in his own way), thoughtful, and highly intelligent. We've started discussing college and I'm so thankful that he's been cooperative helping me put together minor projects on the house, as we make it an actual home.

About a month or so back, The Boy and I decided it was time to get a second cat, to keep our first cat, Oliver, company. Pumpkin came with me to the shelter. We'd seen a large tabby, and were seconds from grabbing it. But decided to look around a bit more. And that's when we saw him. A huge white furball, 17 pounds. The Boy and I immediately knew that he was coming home with us.

In the car heading home, the massive creature managed to claw his way out of the box and walk around the car. I couldn't stop, so we had to pray that the kitty didn't do too much, until we could safely get home. Crazy enough, the lil rascal jumped onto my son's lap during the ride and very much let my son play with him. I pulled up to the house and my son anxiously walked behind me, afraid that I'd drop our new friend. I got him in, and the lil jerk went straight to my son's room, hiding under his bed and in his closet. He eventually came out, and even let me pet him once or twice. But it was clear that he belonged to Pumpkin. I served to merely empty the litter box and buy the food.

Speaking of food, the kid's new passion has been popcorn. Ironically, the smell of popcorn is one of my least favorite smells on this planet. I can honestly handle cigarette smoke way before I can handle popcorn. And God help you if the popcorn is burnt and leaves that horrid smell in he house.

Anyway, recently the Boy decided that he wanted to experiment with popcorn from a few seasonings he's heard about online and he's always careful to make sure to air out the house, so he doesn't have to listen to his mother complain about the smell. We'd also taken on the task of cat sitting my baby sister's cat, Evie, for the holiday. 

Evie and I were in my bedroom when my son came in and said "she's in here, good" and walked back out. I heard him cursing. I immediately jumped up to see what was wrong. My son had left the back patio open, and Oliver and our new white cat, Louie, had gotten out. I feel like I literally watched my child deflate in front of me. He apologized so hard, and I assured him that it was okay. Although I wasn't really sure, I assured my child that the cats would be back. I could genuinely see my son's heart break as he feared that both of the household cats were in the wild and may never be seen again. Watching my baby weep about those cats being lost absolutely destroyed me. And while I wanted so badly to rescue him from what he felt, I felt so proud in seeing how much my adored both of those cats. My baby loved those cats with his whole soul, as evidenced by how he felt at them being gone.

Naturally, as a mother, all I wanted was to protect my baby, and have him feel better. But making things worse, I was on an important call at work and couldn't immediately stop to take care of this. I assured my son that I was wrapping up a call and that I'd get with him as soon as I could. As I worked on finishing the paperwork, Pumpkin came in and informed me that both of the cats were under the house, in the crawlspace. Whew!!

It was bad for the cats to be outside, obviously, but I could deal with at least knowing where they were. A few minutes later, my son walked in holding Oliver. I felt relief for the first time in what seemed like forever. I can't front though, I cursed at the little bastard. Because I know Ollie and I know that he was the ringleader in their little escape. And in true cat fashion, Oliver looked at me like he had no idea what I was mad about, as he fell asleep at the foot of my bed.

When I was free of my call, I bundled up and walked outside with my son. He'd been keeping an eye on the entrance of the crawl space and he indicated a desire to stay out there for at least another 20 minutes, to see if Louie would emerge. I convinced my son that we'd lock the entrance when we were away, she he couldn't get out without one of us being there to grab him. Afterwards, Pumpkin came back inside. I knew that he worried about his cat and this was the first night since we'd gotten him, that he wouldn't be asleep at the foot of my son's bed. But at least we knew where he was.

As Pumpkin got ready to lay down for the night and my call was done, I decided to walk outside to see if I could get him. I'd stomped around in the house, hoping the noise would scare him. I even attempted to crawl underneath the house, only to learn that I am not, in fact, about that life. I made it about 5 feet before I knew that wasn't going to happen. I locked the crawlspace door for the night, and went back inside.

I called FAMM. As an HVAC technician, it was literally his job to go into crawl spaces. I was desperate. I know cats are pretty smart (some of them), but I was terrified that the jerk would somehow get hurt down there and I couldn't live with myself if my baby's cat died from a simple mistake of leaving the door open to air out the smell of popcorn. And I knew my child would never forgive himself if that cat got injured somehow. I texted FAMM "I'll pay you $100 if you come over here and grab my kid's cat from under the house." No response. I figured he was asleep. Nothing else to do but wait, I guess. I went to bed.

At 7am, FAMM called  me back. I explained the dilemma. He told me that I had nothing to worry about. He told me that he had some appointments to get to that day (the coldest and hottest days tend to be his busy season), but if his schedule cleared or if he had time, he'd come see what he could do. That sufficed and I went back to bed. Around 10am, my son announced to me that he'd gotten Louie out. The natural order was restored in my house again.

I was glad that my baby got his cat back. But I was so proud to know that my son was capable of loving someone or something so much. Not to make it about me, but the fact that my son has that level of love and compassion in him shows me that I'm doing okay over here. Way to go Malika, you Spiritual Baddie.