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.

Old Habits

I told Fred a few months back that he's not allowed to disappear on me. I'm just not built for being okay with that. Due to some b.s. I encountered in my past, you just can't do that to me. Because when someone I talk to routinely disappears, it does something to me. I internalize it. Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me? Did I hurt you? Am I the jerk? Are you the jerk? I'm not ego driven at all, so I'm not at all above apologizing for a slight and talking through it. But please God, whatever you do, just don't disappear.

Fred has, quite a few times over the last few years, simply fucking disappeared. And he pops back up as if all is good. And every fucking time he does it, I have an internal meltdown. Fred and I are, and have a thing. It has no name. We're not "friends with benefits" because that cheapens the way we feel about one another. But nor is he my boyfriend. And for years, this arrangement worked. I'd always been a bit afraid of relationships, and while he'd never admit it, he is too. So we've been able to exist in this bubble of extreme closeness and familiarity, while granting one another the freedom to do whatever outside of one another. But as I've remarked throughout the second half of 2020 and on, I'm shifting.

Anyway, I told Fred late in 2020 that he can't just disappear on me. That it legit fucks me up. I said "look, if you're going through some shit, just check in so I know it isn't me. You don't have to tell me when or why you're disappearing. You don't have to give me a return date. Just let me know so I'm not worried and personalizing your disappearance." Fred, being the nonchalant son of a bitch that he is, blew off such a "wild" request. And I was okay, as long as he was around. I even snuck off to L.A. to see him for a few days before I started my new job. It was nice.

Things were good. We talked fairly regularly, 2-3 times a week. Calls scaled back as he'd started a new job. And then, like clockwork 

I was PISSED. I couldn't believe he did it again. 'He thinks I'm a fucking joke' is all I could focus on. I lay somewhere between angry and heartbroken. I did everything I could to move past it. As 2020 came to a close, I'd decided that I was done with dating. I just no longer had it in me to do this. To give so much, and to constantly be treated as though my heart and feelings don't matter. But through it all, occasionally, my mind would shift to him. While in L.A. with Fred, while driving around, he kept an 80's pop radio station dialed in on his car radio. So we rode around Santa Monica, listening to Journey in the background. I didn't realize how much I enjoyed the music, but I went home and made a playlist of many of the tunes from that trip. That playlist both reminded me of Fred everyday on my way to work, and broke my heart all over again as it played. 

As I enjoyed the freedom of not dating, I also found that my creative juices were now in full effect and I finally started working on the book I've been wanting to do for years! Got a cute book title and everything! On top of that, I decided that I want to create a lifestyle brand. I was no longer being stifled creatively by whatever jerk I was dealing with. The freedom from the bullshit had me ready to fly and live my best life. But the truth is, while I was living my best life, Fred continued to haunt my mind, as much as I tried to fight it off.

I wanted nothing more than to separate myself from him and from this. I was over it. Done. Fourteen years with this man. I'd text my best friend about how much I wanted to call him. I knew I wasn't going to. Those days are gone. But it didn't stop me from thinking about him, from looking at his social media on occasion. I missed him terribly. But I knew that it needed to end.

So lo and behold, he called me. I was- well, shocked. I wasn't angry, although I should have been. I was just genuinely shocked. I was in a space of grieving him and grieving our friendship. I didn't think I'd ever see him or hear from him again. I told myself day after day that this would eventually get easier. And now he's back. He immediately apologized and explained that he didn't mean to disappear the way he did, he'd simply gotten caught up with his new job. What?!

I had an impromptu meeting with my best friend last night and we talked about this new thing with people where they just disappear and reappear as if all is well. I'm all for mental health and taking needed breaks, but when did people not worrying their loved ones and giving no notice became a thing that people do?! People have become so self-aware, that they now believe that they operate in some kind of vacuum, with little to no regard for how their actions impact the people that love them the most.

I'll be honest though. I'm torn. I love this man. I know him better than he knows himself. I recently realized that as many people I know, only 5 of them know me deeply at my core. And he is one of them. I occasionally think about how he happened to be in town immediately after Pete died, and he offered me comfort. How I had zero appetite, and he took me out and he made me eat. How he escorted me to the balloon release in Pete's honor and when I was too distraught to write anything out and declined, Fred took my card and said "I'll write something for her." It really is the little things that let me know that he loves me. And I love him.

But yo, this is getting old. I've dated men over the years, some more serious than others, and I've maintained that if a man was serious, Fred would no longer be in the picture. He's my kryptonite, so I already know that he can't be around if there is a man that I'm seriously dating. But I'm now in a space of really just doing me, and writing and being creative in a way that I have not explored in years. I like this side of Malika. I like being business minded. I like being excited about the future. So that leaves me with wondering if, or where Fred fits?

Last year I started to feel that if I was to enter a serious relationship, it would interfere with my relationship with Fred. Like how could I tell a serious suitor that I want to continue to have a "friendship" with this dude over here? I wanted to keep my potential relationships open, just because I never wanted to sneak around to maintain things with Fred. I guess it was just pure, dumb luck that none of the men I dated ever progressed like that, so it never became a serious issue.

But now that I'm in this space of moving forward, I wonder how he fits? It isn't even about sex. I love this man. But I've done so well without the distraction. It's not that I want to get married and have the house, car, dog, and picket fence. It's more so that if I'm not going to be moving toward a healthy relationship, a half of a relationship is no longer fulfilling to me. For the first time in my life, I want all or nothing.

The strange thing is that I don't want to marry Fred. I envisioned how I would act if he proposed to me and I literally froze in my vision. There was no tears of joy in my vision. It was confusion. Like dude, why the hell are you proposing? Get up, this ain't that kind of party. 

I guess right now, I'm just trying to figure out if and how he fits. I don't want to end the friendship. But the fact is that after a decade and a half of spending time with someone in a sexual and intimate manner, they become a large part of you. I'm trying so hard to make sure that he does not begin to distract from my current trajectory. I love him. But I'm no longer that Malika. I just want more. But I guess not from him?

Not My Monkey, Not My Circus

 A few years back, I heard a saying that changed my life. 

"Not my monkey, not my circus."

For a very long time, I felt enmeshed in the lives and drama of others. I became overwhelmed with the pains of the rest of the world. But this saying grounded me like never before and helped me realize that I gotta stop carrying other people's shit.

I've been Buddhist over 10 years now, but I'm starting to hold firmer to the faith and even meditated for the first time in forever yesterday. But the joy of Buddhism is that it frees me from expectations and problems. I deal with things as they come, but I now know not to get overwhelmed, especially with problems that are not even mine.

A large part of that also came from Pete's passing. After his death, I went into a bit of cocoon, no sex, no dating, minimal friend interaction, just me and mine. Work, home, school, motherhood, grief, I just didn't have the emotional bandwith to be the social butterfly that many have come to know and love. But once I started to emerge from my depression, after isolating for so long, it occurred to me that I was no longer wearing the issues of so many others and my ish was pretty good. My bills were paid, and I wasn't dealing with a lot of the bullshit that comes with dating. I didn't care if a guy didn't call me back or if he was lying through his teeth. Dare I say, I felt good  just to be in my own space. It was then that I realized just how much of my problems stem from sources outside of myself. On my own, I kept it 100.

So I while I did falter at times, for the most part, I was able to remain within my own bubble and create far less drama for myself by just being in my cocoon. And I learned that when I see bullshit coming, I have every right to get out of the way, or simply decline to engage.

I've stated many times before, how the Universe will test us on our path. Oh boy. So my son's father and I are no longer trying to kill one another, but I sure as hell wouldn't call him my friend. Relinquishing him from my mind and spirit was the best gift that I could give to myself. I'm no longer angry about the hurt. But I will never forget who he is and that he brought me to my lowest point. But he no longer has access to the same Malika that everyone else does.

So anyway, baby daddy recently informed me that he was diagnosed with COVID-19 and told me that he will be unable to take Caleb for his weekly visit. I was surprised that I actually cared! I small part of me was concerned, and I genuinely thought that I would not be worried if he'd ever gotten hurt. My first instinct was to call and ask him if he wanted me to bring him soup or something. But I held off. He no longer has that Malika. She's dead to him. I texted him back and said a simple "I hope you get better."

While I was tempted to rush in and save him, I remembered that for every time he disrespected me, lied to me, called me out of my name, insulted me, etc., he showed me how he felt. And now that he is alone and suffering, he is no longer my problem. There were always many women lining up to be with and do for him, one of those women is welcome to do the honors. 

Because he is not my monkey, and that is no longer my circus.

Unpacking

 My first time being immersed in the idea of minimalism, I was visiting a friend's home. I was immediately drawn to his actual lack of stuff. His was a neat home. A low bed, a low couch. But it felt cozy. It felt livable. I loved the idea of having such a home. And it wasn't that he was poor either. Nope, he was a singer who'd traveled the world, and had great taste in design. He just didn't have a bunch of extra stuff in his apartment. I did all kinds of mental gymnastics to figure how I could one day have a home with the same decor, but I gave up on the idea, although not completely. The fact is that I simply had too much stuff to pull off such a look. But I wanted it.

I've always had a lot of stuff. Quite honestly, the first time in my life I ever moved was from College Park to Decatur and I still have some old magazines and boxes packed up from that. On occasion, I'll pull it out and look through and reminisce about my teenage years. But not enough to justify the space taken, if I'm honest with myself.

The next time I started to look closely at my stuff was after Pete died. The whole time I attended Clark, I looked forward to being able to purchase nice things for myself. I'd developed a love of Coach bags and I prided myself on splurging on a new bag whenever I came into a few extra bucks. I saw my bags as a sign that I'd finally made it and was able to buy nice things for myself. I loved the compliments I got on each one of my bags, as they all signified my being stylish and a woman of means. BWAHAHAHA!!!

I recall sitting on my therapist's couch and explaining that since he died, I no longer wanted nice purses, I wanted instead to be free of such nice things, because they no longer held value. But as time went on, and my grief waned, so too did my desire to free myself of my Coach bag collection, and I'm currently up to 5, with a side of a Kate Spade.

It only really hit home how much shit I own back in July. I'd just returned from my cross-country trip, and with everything going on, I decided that it was time to move. I looked around at my apartment and immediately got overwhelmed with the idea of moving. I had so much stuff. I had full bookshelves, magazines dating back 10 years, dozens of dvds, years of old blankets, a bunch of pots and pans in my kitchen. My decision to move made me look even differently at the toiletries in my bathroom. For the first time ever, it occurred to me that I had literally dozens of perfumes. I took stock in my hygiene items and realized that I had about 5 bars of deodorant, 5 different hair moisturizers, 6 or 7 lotions, a few body scrubs, 3 tubes of toothpaste... just so much stuff!

After I decided to move, I looked at my apartment differently. My ultimate goal was to move into my new crib with just a few boxes and a few of my favorite pieces of furniture. But my small little cozy collection of stuff became an overwhelming pile that I needed to unload. It was no longer my stuff, it was just stuff. While I previously looked forward to adopting a new Coach bag this spring, with part of my tax return, I've since lost interest in it. I'll stack that money and put it toward a nice vacation instead.

Circumstances weren't good for a move because of the pandemic and not wanting to move my son from his school, so I stayed put, but the seed to scale down had been planted. I made a conscious effort to start unloading things. My best friend said that he likes candles, so I made it a point to slide him a few candles that had been sitting at my home. I made it a point to actually use the perfumes I had. By the time I move, I'd like to be down to 5 or 6 scents. Rather than using a small splash of random scents, I made a conscious effort to use one bottle at a time. And not only did I start using what I owned, I also realized that part of my issue was to stop buying shit too!

I'm a sucker for Target's sales in the toiletries section. It took a few days, but it finally started to hit home that I have to avoid Target's toiletries area, because truth is that I have about 6 months to a year of most supplies already. There is nothing there that I need. I also implemented a rule where I'd periodically look at the toiletries that I did own, and I'd toss not only  the things that were expired, but also the things that didn't work (or at least worked <50% in the way that I needed them to). For those items that didn't work, but I'd still held onto, I finally decided to just throw them away.

As the Universe tends to do, symbols and signs started to lead the way. Someone posted this on Facebook recently and I was inspired even further to embrace minimalism once and for all. Coincidentally, at the start of the year, I pledged myself no more Starbucks for the full month of January. In that space, I started to realize that I actually just enjoy spending money, which coincides with accumulating stuff. So all this time, I didn't even realize that. All of this stuff that I've been collecting, was in part because I'd enjoyed just the actual act of buying stuff. It just occurred to me that this is an actual issue I have!

I got to a point where I actually enjoyed throwing things away. I get a bit of glee looking at newly empty spaces. As I started to get rid of things, I happened to start my new job, working with women in a residential treatment center. Many women there entered with just the clothes on their backs, so donations came through the door constantly. I'd also started to take a look at my closet. My precious, precious clothes. There are clothing items that I've owned since my mid 20's and even my teens in my closet. I'm 40. As I've had women report to me that they needed clothes, either as they'd gotten larger (because of pregnancy), or they were just eating a lot to pass time in rehab. Some women also needed clothes because they were starting to go on job interviews and needed outfits. I finally found the chance to unload all of these clothes. Unloading things means that much more when you know that someone else will get better usage out of it.

I decided that when I move, I'm trashing all of my plates, as they don't match anyway. I didn't really care about plates and glasses though, mostly because my child is much like his mother, clumsy af, and I opted not to buy a matching set of dishes until he is out of high school and I'm living solo. I plan to unload many of these pots and pans too. All I need is a couple of baking sheets and about 3 pots and 2 pans. I might even just toss it all and rebuy nicer things once I move. I've been collecting so many more  things over the years, as people would often unload their things onto me. And even though I didn't need them, I took them on anyway, to stash them away to never be seen again.

I'd always felt that I'd feel some kind of way if I got rid of some of my things. But the fact is that I don't miss stuff at all. I feel lighter. My apartment is less cluttered and easier to clean. Those extra cups I tossed make my kitchen less junky and more spacious. My bedroom is cleaner without so much stuff and my closets are neater and better organized.

So while I'm not quite the minimalist yet, I'm sure I will one day be. I'm loving, learning, and correcting these maladaptive behaviors that I've had for so long, and unloading this stuff, I'm learning to unburden myself of a lot of pressure I'd previously held. Sometimes, my memories are enough. I don't have to spend money to have a good time. While I felt more secure surrounded by random baubles previously, I'm really enjoying not needing the protection of what I can buy and have bought, I'm leaning on my independence. I'm noticing that I'm starting to save money too. I frequently scan my apartment for things I don't need. It's almost like a game I play with myself- what thing have I owned for years that I don't need, that I can now throw away and no longer miss?

 I still plan to move one day, just not as soon I originally planned. But I maintain my original goal of only needing a few small boxes for most of my belongings, followed by the furniture that I plan to bring (I'm planning to toss some of the furniture as well).

It's all starting to click. I'm getting there. I'm more inspired than ever to write, and more focused to expand my career in order to help people. Unloading myself of needless casual dating, in addition to unloading unnecessary items, while learning to avoid buying new ones is what real freedom looks like. I'm thankful for the little things and grateful to be on my way to becoming a better version of myself. I don't need stuff. 

Because I am enough on my own.

Solitude

Makes sense that this would be my first post of the year. I honestly can't believe that I've been chronicling my life for over a decade on here. It's like my own little corner of the world, and I'm thankful for that. I've felt huge amounts of guilt over the fact that 2020 was pretty good to me. I like to think that is the Universe's way of making up for the total shit show that I suffered throughout 2017. 

I turned 40 over the summer, and despite not being able to go to Jamaica for my birthday, as I'd planned, I'd say that my epic 10-city road trip certainly made up for it. Before I'd even got back to Atlanta, my former friends seemed to be dropping like flies. It was all stuff that needed to happen though. I don't really miss any of those friends. Well- I'm lying. I miss parts of their friendship. But overall, as I look forward, I'm thankful to the transition and I'm no longer feel obligated to hold onto people, especially if their actions tell me that they don't want or need to be held onto.

As December wound down and I began to reflect on 2020, another thing I'd thought about was how many men I'd given my heart to, only to be seriously let down. But I wasn't angry, I wasn't even sad. I was just tired. Since early childhood, I've always been a giver. A sufferer of emotional and physical abuse, I always felt that rather than perpetrating the abuse I'd suffered, I'd be the opposite and love the people around me. It's amazing that at the age of 40, I'm just now finding my voice and understanding that enough is enough. Recently, during a staff meeting, a coworker began to confess that she was beginning to suffer a bit of "compassion fatigue" while working with our clients. I felt her on that. While I don't feel that in my work place, I certainly am starting to feel it in my personal life. I feel like I've always given so much. Whether it be a ride, money, a couch to crash on, food, babysitting services, or just a comforting ear, I made it my mission in life to be available. But I'm tired.

During my self-talk about the upcoming year, I decided that I essentially would not be dating. Again, not mad, not angry, not sad or heart broken. Simply tired. I committed to making 2021 about building my career skills and goals, and more traveling. The only way I'll date any man is if he's absolutely serious about a relationship/marriage. No more going to men's apartment "just for drinks" and I'm honestly not even thinking about sex at the moment. The best thing about going into this is that my motivation is different. Rather than using this as some way to manipulate a relationship out of thin air, I'm simply going to allow myself to decompress from a lot of bullshit. I uninstalled Tinder and other dating apps I was on. All simply because I was no longer looking.

I tend to believe that the Universe tests our commitment in various ways. My test came fairly quickly. A guy who'd inboxed me several times over the last few years popped up. I'd always played him to the left, simply because he only reached out whenever I'd taken swaggy pics with celebs, and dressed to the nines. That particular guy had dozens of pics himself, dressed equally as sharp. I dismissed him because I saw what he posted online and noticed when he reached out. If he wanted a woman who would wear a beat face and a ballgown for a Target run, I obviously was not the woman for him.  His mother died because of COVID, and I did reach out to offer support. But other than that, our communication was minimal.

That guy reached out to me around the 4th or so. He inboxed, asking how I was. He said that I was simply on his mind. I let him know that going into 2021, my goals are career and travel and that the only men I'll give even the smallest amount of time to, are men who I'll see a serious future with. The guy expressed interest in joining me for my travel and dating. We talked briefly via video chat. He told me that he's well off, due to some investments he made, which I'll admit, was a definite bonus.

I reached my destination and agreed to contact him again that evening. I called, as I said I would. No answer. I wasn't pressed. A few hours later, I texted him to say that I wanted to talk to him to pick his brain on something. He texted me back to tell me that he was out, and that he'd call me on his way home. He did not. I wasn't pressed at that point either, but I definitely took notice.

The following day, he texted me a simple "hey." No mention of not calling me back the previous evening, just "hey." Oddly, I've grown to detest "hey" as a text message. As a giver, I've grown acutely aware of how often a man will text me "hey" and I'll reply with a smiley face and ask about how his day is. As I'm now in the space of reciprocating energy, I waited 15 minutes and replied with "hey." He did not respond. Just like I'd figured, he wanted me to show some kind of excitement about him reaching out to me. WRONG, playbwoi!!! A few hours later, I grew bored and called him. He didn't answer. A while later I got on the phone with a cousin of mine who was in the hospital after a recent heart attack. He called during that conversation, but obviously, I was not going to get off the phone with a hospitalized relative. I shot him a quick text message, letting him know that I'd call him back momentarily. Roughly 10 minutes later, I called him back. No answer. *sigh* Here we go with this shit... I knew already what it was. He wanted me to chase him. He wanted to be the rabbit, and me the hunter.

But what his punk ass forgot is that during our conversation yesterday, I told his ass that I wasn't with the shits. I told him that the only man energy I'm entertaining is about a real future, a partnership, not these frat boy games. On top of all else, after he did not respond to my phone call, I saw that he'd posted some kind of dumb ass statement on Facebook. He wanted me to know that he was dodging me. Know what I did?  *BLOCKED*

Fact is that I don't know that clown outside of Facebook and he didn't bring near enough to the table to start off on some b.s. I gotta admit, I'm proud of myself. Historically, it would have taken me several more months to look at this situation and recognize that he was on some mess. But as my career and travel is my focus now, anything that seeks to distract/hurt/irritate/annoy/disappoint me is going to get stopped at the door.

I've been catching up on the show "Insecure" lately. I looked at it on Friday night, and longed for the warm beaches of southern Cali. The fact is that I'm absolutely suffocating in Georgia, but I cannot move until my son is out of high school. My mother moved me in the middle of my sophomore year of high school, which really just set off a lot of depression. I've decided that I can't do that my own child, so I just gotta suck it up for now.

I awoke on Saturday and decided that I'd take a bit of a road trip to Chattanooga. I called a homegirl and she and another friend ended up meeting me there at a swanky hotel. We had an absolute ball, and during our first excursion, I was inspired to finally start writing. I sat in the middle of a restaurant, and later on, a bar. I was painfully aware of the people and the smoke around me, but it didn't matter, I needed to write, so I did.

The following day, after we parted, I opted to check out a used book store that I'd read about. I went first to the psychology section, which has become my favorite part of any book store that I visit. I found numerous books that I knew I could draw from with my clients. I later on went to the Buddhism section, which I found would offer further support in my practice, so I loaded up, looking forward to being able to use each and every one of them. 

So here I am, happy and ready to move forward. I'm alone, but for the first time, it's self-imposed, as opposed to not having a choice in the matter, something I'd previously had to just suck up and work through. I'm excited about the books I'm going to work on. I'm planning to obtain a professional license soon. 2020 set me up to set the world on fire in 2021. And I am thankful for that too.