"How are you?"

The morning that the news of Dres' passing started to spread online, my best friend, Daisy, called me. "How are you doing?" She asked. I stammered. My mind went blank. I felt like an answer existed somewhere, I just didn't know where. She then said, "I see you're still processing, it's okay, I'll call you later." I continued to hunt for words. "No, I-" and I froze again. She responded with, "it okay, I know you're processing, I'll check in later."

Although his death was 3 days ago and I'm in L.A. now, I'm very much still figuring things out. I got a text from another friend, checking in. I looked at his text and struggled to answer. I'm normally pretty quick to respond to text messages, but I just looked at his. I wasn't able to formulate words until the following day, apologizing for the late response, and explaining that truthfully, I'm still figuring out how I feel and I just didn't have the words. How do I feel? I have no idea. I was also lucky enough to chill at one of the Apple offices with a friend of mine, a buddy from Atlanta. And once we settled in, he said to me "I know how things have been rough lately. How are you feeling?" I searched for the words, but there were none. My mouth hung open slightly, and my eyes started to water. "I get it," he said, before moving on to other topics.

A small part of me wishes I was at home in Atlanta, to be part of all of the celebrations. But truthfully, a larger part of me is grateful to be in a city where Dres tha Beatnik isn't a household name. I'm enjoying the anonymity of being able to walk down the street and not having people kindly ask me the most natural question you'd ask someone in my predicament. Another issue I've heard a few times is "yeah, this is rough, but I know you were really close to him, so I can only imagine how you feel." This isn't the grief Olympics. There's room enough for all of us to feel like shit.

Another buddy contacted me last night and asked how I was. The most I could muster was "numb." He went on to say that we should  organize a festival or large concert in Dres' memory. I still have the notes from the fundraiser, including the bands Dres wanted in attendance. I suppose I could make it happen, if I tried. But the fact is that right now, I'm barely holding it together. I do not have he mental bandwidth to put together a concert of some sort, or even start preplanning one.

I'm thankful to not be at work. The day before Dres died was Pete's birthday. And I managed to field two calls from people at work, who were calling for support with grief. I gave a small nod to my own pain in both calls by saying "believe me, I understand how you feel," without letting on that I was in my feels about my own angel's birthday. And I held it together pretty well, in part, because Pete died 8 years ago. I still miss him daily, but I can at least talk about it now. I can laugh about the good time and smile and be grateful to have gained another protective angel. But I'm just not there with Dres yet.

I'm currently sitting in Hilltop Coffee, in Inglewood, Issa Rae's coffeehouse. I never realized until today that it's literally around the corner from Sip and Sonder. It's wild to me that the more time I spend here, the more familiar this city is to me. I told a guy, just last night, how at home I feel with him. Atlanta will always be home, but I love knowing that L.A. is becoming my home away from home.

I'm leaving L.A. in a few hours, heading north, to Monterey, which is also on the long list of my favorite cities. I don't know anyone in Monterey, so I won't be met with glances from social media friends who somehow want to see me breakdown, in a show of pain for my departed friend. I get it, people loved Dres, and as a show of respect to him, they want to make sure that his people are good. And I'm definitely his people. I wanna say I'm good. But I can't. I guess something is forming, in terms of an emotion, but I have no clue what it is, just yet.

I've lost so many people close to me over the last few years. It's becoming unreal. I feel like my social media is littered with nothing but pictures of me and people that I've lost. One of the lessons that I've taken in grief is that no two losses are the same. I've had moments where I felt guilty about crying about one dead loved one, and not another, and I had to remind myself that all of the losses are valid, and crying about one person doesn't mean that the other losses aren't just as important.

Like when Ali died, I remember feeling like every cell in my body hurt. Like even my hair follicles were hurting. When Andrea died, I felt like something beautiful had been snatched from me. And when Pete died, I just felt hollow, like my right arm was missing and I struggled to fill in the void that his sudden absence felt. And now that Dres is gone, I'm just...

Dres

I woke up 2 days ago, a normal day. I'd checked my text messages to see that a friend had sent me a sad face emoji. I had no idea what he was talking about. A few minutes later another friend called me, asking if the rumors were true. I wasn't sure what he was talking about. He said he'd heard that Dres wasn't doing well. I hadn't heard anything. I told him that I'd call Dres to check in and possibly drive by his house later on. My friend thanked me. I called Dres immediately. No answer. I texted him and said "are you okay?" No answer. I logged into Facebook and it smacked me in the face. The first post there was where his DJ had announced that he'd died that morning. I felt like my heart had exploded in my chest.

I had to process. It didn't make sense. Two days later, and it still doesn't. I called him my big brother. I know that he saw me as a little sister. My friend is gone. My big brother. The last time I'd seen him was around mother's day. He'd just gotten out of the hospital, and he'd been out doing favors for people. I reminded him that he was literally draining his life force by doing this, instead of staying at home to rest. I reminded him how much those surgeries take to recover from and that he wasn't doing himself any favors to be out, driving across town to help other people. I wish I'd known just how right I was. We were in a pizza joint in his neighborhood, and he was literally falling asleep at the table. I cautioned him that he was falling asleep and risked the headline "Dres that Beatnik Found Passed Out in Local Pizza Joint." That threat finally convinced him to go home and get some rest.

I first met Dres tha Beatnik at Apache Cafe around 2001 or so. My homegirl, Ayanna, first introduced us. I told him that he seemed familiar. I asked if his government name was Andre, and he said that it was. He said to me "I have a sister named Malika." I later added his sister on Facebook. Like a lot of other people, I'd seen Dres around Atlanta many times over the years. He was a staple at my favorite nightclub, MJQ. Whenever I'd stop in to see my best friend, who worked the door, I'd then go straight to the stage to hug Dres and tell him hello.

I suppose the time was when we first got tight, was around 2010ish. I lived near MJQ and I'd spend many late nights there. At some point, I'd realized that he'd lived nearby and he invited me over. Dres was naturally a night owl, as was I. I'd often go by house during late night hours and we'd talk about life. Relationships, he was dating a woman, and I was with my son's father. My ex often accused me of obviously being up to no good during those late nights, but Dres and I just sat on his back patio and talked. Later on, the woman that Dres was dating also expressed discomfort at my relationship with him and Dres, ever the gentleman, tried hard to balance his relationship with her and my friendship with him. We were just close friends. That was it. It was always funny to me that my own ex would say in a condescending manner "Oh, so you're out with Dres that Beatnik" with an eye roll, while accusing me of doing God-knows-what. I always thought it was hilarious that he would utilize his whole stage name, while everyone else knew him as just Dres. It just showed me how far removed he actually was from the rest of us.

Anyway, as time went on, we just stayed tight. We just were always in one another's space. We really leaned on one another. I was a large part of planning the fundraiser for him earlier, when he first started having issues with his kidney and was leaning towards getting a donor kidney. When I moved back to Atlanta, I learned that the same shitty ex tried to keep my child away from me, which was never the plan. I was sick to my stomach. It was the middle of the night, and I had nowhere to go. I called Dres and slept on his couch that night.

As I got things together, I landed an apartment on the other side of town from my son's school and I'd often be exhausted. Dres gave me a key to his apartment, with an offer to crash and sleep during the day, until my baby got out of class. Those millions of little interactions. It wasn't just nightclub shit.

And now, he's gone. My big brother is gone. My friend. 

I'm in L.A. for a preplanned birthday trip. Sitting in Sip and Sonder, one of my favorite coffee houses in Inglewood. I'm glad, to some degree. But I feel like I should be in Atlanta, in the same streets that he ran in. I went to his mural the day I learned that he was gone. He'd called me one day and said that he'd heard that there was a mural in his honor and he wanted to see it, and asked if I'd take him. We drove up and down that street, until we finally found it. My beautiful friend looked at that mural and wept. Tears flowed as he took in that he was taking in that Atlanta loved him back. And I was so proud and honored to be there with him, as he looked at the huge painting. I don't know if Dres was ever aware of just how much love he had and how much the city would collectively grieve his loss. Because I don't know. I just can't. My friend is gone now. And I'm not okay.

Happy Birthday, Pete

Hey Pete. You left me just over 8 years ago. And as cliched as it sounds, it really does feel just like yesterday. I wish you were here for me to tell you how much you taught me. I'd give anything to hear a dirty joke from you. I'd love to tell you and show you how much I've grown since you met me. And how bittersweet it is to know that your passing is a big part of what got me here. I'm preparing to spend my birthday with a homegirl of mine, and I want to thank you for encouraging me to chase my passions and to enjoy the beauty and simplicity of art and travel. You'll never know fully how much you've changed me, but I'll always cherish our limited time together.

One day, we'll meet up on the other side, and I'll get to tell you all of my stories and adventures. And we're gonna hold hands and you're going to show me all of the beauty that meets me on the other side. And you will also hopefully explain what the hell is following me around my home and why it keeps throwing shit around. And I'll get to tell you all of my freaky ass stories from my hot girl days. I just miss you so much. And I'm grateful for all you brought to my life, both in life, and in death. You were, are, and always will be the definition of a hot mess and I will always love you for that reason.

Forever yours, 
Malika

Apathy

I'm in a strange space right now. I'm thankful that I meet with my therapist in less than an hour, because I've got some emotions to process, and I just don't know how. I wish I knew what or who to attribute it to.

I've talked a bit about how I've stepped away from the dating game, and the longer it goes, the better it feels. Coincidentally, I stopped at breakfast eatery earlier, and started chatting it up with a fellow sitting at a nearby table, and when my food arrived, I asked if he was okay if I moved over to his table. He said he didn't mind, but immediately informed me that he's married. I gave him a gentle smile and assured him that I had no intentions to get fresh with him. He seemed relieved, and I  joined him and had a great breakfast. It was a nice change of pace from seeing men around me as potential dating partners, and now just seeing them as homies or possible friends.

Anyway, as I'm stepping away from dating, and growing more apathetic about the possibility of living out my last days on my own, I've seen that the apathy is sliding off into my professional life as well. I've been at my job for nearly 3 years now, and I feel comfortable saying that I am both loved and respected by my supervisors, colleagues, and the population we serve. I bring a friendly approach and emotional support. I've had people say to me that some people are all book knowledge, and some people are just friendly and natural at this job, and I'm blessed to fall in both.

The issue is that within the past few weeks, I'm starting to feel my light fade. I'm notorious for being the bubbly jokester, but I'm finding it harder and harder to pull from my reserves and bring that woman to work with me. I've even wondered if it is the fact that I've been picking up extra shifts the last few weeks to cover my upcoming birthday celebration, or the lack of sun, due to all of the rain, but I'm just emotionally and mentally exhausted at work. 

I genuinely don't know if how I'm feeling is due to overall work stuff, or if the emotions from my personal life or sneaking on in to how I perform at work. I realized early in my social work years that most people don't want to do the work. They simply want to no longer receive consequences, while engaging in the same degree of fuckery. And people will come to me for support, and I'll give them all I have, all for them to reject it, because they don't want help like that. Reminds me of working at a drug rehab facility, how some of the women would want their children back, while basically keeping up the same toxic patterns. Sure, they wanted their kids back, but they didn't really want to give up drugs.

So after working on mental health for 15 years, you come to see many people who come in saying what they want and hope to achieve, only to bail the first time you expect something from them. Another example is a young woman I met at TJ Maxx. She seemed super sweet, and one day, she told me that she's in school, studying psychology, with the hopes of being a therapist. I immediately started talking shop and throwing around some phrases and words, and she admitted that she had no idea what I was saying, as I'd been the only person in her life who actually worked in the field. I offered to mentor her, and she said yes.

A few days later, I brought my DSM5 for her to look at. Long story short, the DSM is essentially the bible of the mental health field. If you have an actual clinical diagnosis, it comes straight from this book. The original is hundreds of bucks, but I lucked up on this one for $35, so I lent it out to her. One day, I saw her crying at work and tried to get her to open up to me. She couldn't. She wouldn't. I'd asked her if she'd ever gone to a therapist. She said no. I asked how she planned to go into the field if she'd never learned about it? She shrugged. I didn't want to pry, so I let it go.

About 3 days after, I dropped her a text message, asking how she was doing overall. No answer. I get it, life is busy, whatevs. I called her, the phone went straight to voicemail. Oh. Did she block me?! Two days later, called again. Straight to voicemail. This bitch blocked me! I texted her again, gently asking about my book. Cuz heffa, you can block me or you can keep my book, but you damned sure aren't gonna do both.

And honestly, I know what this is about. I've encountered this before. Feelings, thoughts, emotions? She doesn't know how to show up in them, so she bowed out. And old Malika might have fought harder to make her feel seen and heard. But I just don't have it in me to give a fuck. Babygirl, this is your journey, and yours alone. I no longer have the extra emotional energy to pour into her or anybody else. I feel like a washcloth that has been wrung dry. 

Like I'm physically tired. I'm exhausted. I hope I'll be better after my birthday celebration, when I scale back on the extra hours at work. I hope that works. I miss the Malika that always showed up for others. Maybe that's my problem? Time to scale back and pour into me, and me alone?

Broken

I said a while back that I'd stop writing about men. I don't want to be defined about who I am or am not fucking. My life is so much bigger and more expansive than that. I love this space that I'm navigating. And even though I've been sex-free for nearly 6 months now, I'm still so shattered in many ways that I'm not even interested. And I have two die-hard examples of just how far gone I really am.

I'd said before that when FAMM came to fix my air conditioning, we were good. We didn't feel the need to rehash anything, we were where we were, and we both seemed pretty good with that. We chatted and checked in with one another, but neither of us were pressed for more. But then, a couple weeks back, he called me out of nowhere. He told me that his favorite uncle died and he was pretty fucked up. I could hear in his voice that he'd had a beer or two (or way more), and I didn't want him in the streets like that. I told him to come to my house instead.

He got there in 15 minutes and thanked me. He admitted that he wasn't really good with emotions, and since my job is what it is, he figured that I'd be the perfect person to talk to. I was actually quite flattered that he chose to come to my home when experiencing so much distress. That meant he felt safe with me, which I appreciated. He lay in my bed, and we chatted a lot, not much about the death though. I felt like I'd let him guide the conversation, and discuss things when and if he wanted to. He stayed the night and squeezed me the whole time. I'll be honest and admit that I liked the time and affection, but I was also clear with myself that he was over here like this, because he was emotionally fragile, not because he wanted me, Malika, as a person or woman. But nevertheless, it was good. We didn't have sex, although the proximity was certainly there. I mean, we were thisclose, had he sneezed too hard, he would have slid in. But I was on guard the whole time, and at no point in that interaction did I want sex.

The next day, we sat around in bed again, I went and got us Jamaican food (that he paid for), and we sat in my room, watching YouTube videos. It was nice, and it felt intimate. But again, I reminded myself that his presence wasn't about me. It was about his own emotional needs, but even still, I enjoyed it.

Next up was the surprise of all surprises. A homegirl, whom I'd met through Fred, moved to NYC, but she and I managed to stay in touch. I made it a point to have discussions that had nothing to do with him, to build our own rapport outside of him. I even saw her when I went to NYC in October. She reminds me of myself, a bit too much at times lol. We both have our ratchet moments, combined with a heart of gold, and open for adventure, pro-Black creatives with a penchant for fucking the wrong men.

I'd been meaning to check in with her, when she texted me to let me know that she'd be in town for Memorial Day weekend. Sucks that I had to work that weekend and Monday, but I was still down to see her when my schedule would allow. I grabbed her from her son's home and we checked in about her personal exploits. I broke my rule and asked about him. I hated myself for mentioning it the second it came out of my mouth. I'd made peace that we'd never see one another again, and after nearly 2 decades of back and forth, I knew that never seeing him again was for the best. I figured that he'd shared my feelings of "good riddance" and in spite of planning another trip out to L.A. soon, I fully planned to check in with my other friends in the area. Confession time though- I'd planned to drive around the DTLA (downtown LA) area where his apartment is. No, I didn't plan to see him, but I planned to possibly buzz by his home, like the little weirdo that I've always been.

Anyway, I broke cardinal rule and I asked her how he was and if he'd thought about me. And she dropped it in my lap- "he feels bad about how things went last time." What?! That was news I wasn't ready for. I missed him and I wanted to see him. But I didn't see that one coming. I'd made peace with our ending, that we'd never see one another again. And at least he was on the other side of the country, so there was no chance of bumping into one another and sparking something again. I was just over it all. I know that guy, and he seems to double down on a lot of his fuckery, and finding ways to justify his bullshit. Plus he's stunning and women cling to him like flies to shit, why would he miss lil' old me? Ya know?

Funny enough, while my conscious mind said that we were officially a thing of the past and I was ready to move ahead from our clusterfuck of a friendship, my intuition said that we would actually see one another again. But for me, after it all, I just couldn't accept that, and I stood fast on that it just wasn't happening again. My intuition is pretty strong about knowing when I'll see people in the future. I can never quite pinpoint when, but I just always know there are certain people that I will see again. And he was one, no matter how much I tried to tell myself that would never happen. And then she really dropped the bomb in my lap. "He's coming to Atlanta too. He'll be there this weekend and I'm supposed to meet him at the Jazz Fest. He'd like to see you." Yeah, so anyway, my soul left my body.

Y'all, I never thought I'd see him again. We live opposite sides of the country, literally a continent apart, not like I'll see him in my local Trader Joe's, ya know? Like I legit killed him off in my mind. Our friendship, connection, sex life, all of that was dead in the water, as far as I was concerned. I had to kill him (figuratively, of course), to move forward. I know I'm making something big out of something pretty small to the average person (rightfully so), so I just wasn't ready. But truthfully, I wanted to see him. Not sexually though. Forreal? I'd kinda missed my friend. I'd told my bestie how every time I watch Insecure, I'm taken back to all of my Fred shenanigans, and even though I had no intentions to see him, it did make me miss our "thing."

It's been nearly 20 years. He was the person I was seeing right before I started seeing my son's father. So like 19 years back, I guess. That's a long time. I wanted to marry him at one point.  If I were ever in a serious relationship, I already told myself that I'd have to stay the hell away from him, he's just so... UGH. And he was here.

And even though I was shocked to see him, it wasn't sexual. We arrived at the park and my heart was beating. We'd looked around for him, and I immediately recognized him from behind. His thin, athletic frame and that head full of curly hair and his all-American boy look, I'd know that shape and frame anywhere. I said hello to the people he was with and awkwardly looked at him. "Bring it in" he said as he reached out to hug me. The only thing I could muster to say was "I never thought I'd see you again." I wasn't relaxed. I don't know why I was so tense and anxious. I knew there was a lot to address, but naturally, in a crowd full of people, while John Coltrane's son performed mere feet from us, was not the best time.

What shocked me, partially, was although I'll always think that Fred is the sexiest creature I've ever seen, I didn't want him that way. At any other point of our relationship, I'd demand he meet me at a hotel, to knock the dust off. But I couldn't. Since I had to head to work, he walked me to my car when it was time for me to leave. He apologized. And I appreciated the apology, I really did. But how many apologies can one woman take? At some point, you want changed behavior, not an apology, ya dig? While walking, I described to him how I've taken a bit of a sexual sabbatical, but on steroids. It's not just that I'm avoiding sex, I'm so emotionally spent, that I honestly cannot even begin to allow my sexual organs to even pretend that we're back outside. I have some serious healing to do over here, and a pretty smile, head full of gorgeous hair, perfect body, and apology just aren't enough anymore.

We did see one another again, the following day. We chatted about life, and caught up over the last year. I continued to repeat that I never thought we'd see one another again. He accepted that. I shared with him that I intend to visit Los Angeles this summer and perhaps we can see one another again. He gladly accepted that.

***

So yes, all of those additional details to explain that I recently surprisingly interacted with two men who I've extensively lusted after, and at no point did I even remotely crave sex. Not even a little. Not even when down to my underwear, in bed with a man who wanted to ravage me. Although I swore off discussing men in this space, for now, I decided to mention them in this particular post, more so to talk about how my mind and spirit are so removed from the idea of enjoying sex and romance.

I met up with my cousin last night and I'd told her in passing that Fred was in town, and how that man and I have been to hell and back. And then it hit me- hell and back. Our whole relationship has been this draining back and forth, and the truth is, I just don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to go to hell and back with any man.

The fact is that I used to find so much romance in the back and forth. It was so dramatic, like a tv show. The ending it all, just to find our ways back to one another, in each other's arms. I used to think it was so romantic. Ya know, like kismet? But I'm just not there anymore. Now I see it as clingy and codependent. I don't want the pain and the headache and the tears that comes with the back and forth. In trying to find the way to describe how I feel, I started thinking about the human brain. You know how the brain has the part that controls the eyes, the part that controls, memory, the part that controls processing scents, etc.? I feel like the part of my brain that controls sex, romance, and affection is broken. I feel like there's just an empty spot or a cotton ball in the area that's supposed to make me crave lust and romance. I feel like that light switch just went completely out and I have no idea how to turn it back on, but I don't even know if I would if I could, at this point.

Even when I see a man who is sexy af (and yes, I see plenty of them these days), in no way am I interested to know more. Occasionally, I'll see a sexy face on my Facebook "People You May Know" section, and even when I see a hottie, even if I look at his profile briefly, I have zero desire to add them as a friend. Coincidentally, if I seen an interesting woman's profile, I add her, quickly. But men? Absolutely not! When I see an attractive man, all I see is another problem. Another man waiting to hurt me. And I just don't have it in me anymore. To put myself out there and risk being lied to and gamed, just so some emotionally void creature can get his sick fill.

I hate feeling like this. But I told my cousin that I don't see myself having sex again, until I feel safe with a man. I don't know when or if that'll happen. But I'd rather not open myself up to it, if it could result in more bullshit. I just don't have it in me. I'm broken.