Wherever You Go, There You Are

I was previously working with a guy I'll call Carlton. Carlton and I took to one another immediately, and over time, we began to build a beautiful, mutual admiration and respect for one another. As time went on, we learned that we suffered the same sort of childhood trauma, in addition to the same propensity for certain sexual proclivities, even though he and I don't have sex with one another. Carlton is fine though. Damn fine. I love our friendship, one of dirty jokes, witty comebacks, and frequent texting of memes and other things we find useful on the interwebs. 

Within the last few years, as I wrestled with the dissolution of things between myself and Fred, Carlton often became my sounding board. I'd often call or text him to see if I was tripping about things, and Carlton was often able to give me insight about how to best handle Fred. One day, seemingly out of nowhere, Carlton says to me "you remind me of my ex-girlfriend." In true Malika form, I responded with "she must be awesome!" Carlton responded dryly with, "that's something she would say."

As time went on, I began to slowly recognize that Carlton had many of the same characteristics that Fred had. At one point, I shared with him that he too reminded me of a former love. I actually first recognized the physical similarities between Carlton and Fred. I talked to a girlfriend who'd seen both of them and she began to laugh that I have "a type." It's true, I guess I do. Both men are lifelong athletes, with physiques that show off their dedication to their physical health. Both are roughly the same shade of light caramel brown with heads full of curly hair. I've even joked that if standing next to one another, they could easily pass for cousins.

Occasionally I'd joke with Carlton about his similarities to my former love and how odd it was, in addition to the fact that Carlton has an ex that he often claims I remind him of. At one point, Carlton asked me to describe the ways in which he felt that he and Fred resembled one another. I'd never deeply thought of it before then, but I was quite jarred once I began to compile them in writing for a text. To start with, I recalled that they'd both grown up in religious homes. Both were deeply concerned with how they look. While I'm okay appearing in jeans and a tshirt on any given day, both put extreme amounts of effort into making sure they they look their best anytime they leave the home. Both act extremely confident, but secretly care way too much about what others think of them. Both are secretly ratchet while poised on the surface, but never let that be known because they fear what others would say. Both like to look like they like committed relationships, but neither really do. Both pretend to be stupid when its convenient for them.

Then I asked him to share any similarities that I share with the ex who he swears I resemble. He shared that she has a son my son's age, who is also extremely tall for his age. He shared that she and I are both anxious attachment types and both are easily distracted, both have issues with parents, and a few more similarities.

Pretty interesting, I must admit. He and I marveled at the similarities all around, and how in spite of us making moves to move away from former loves, we found one another, even though we're just friends. I believe that my relationship with Fred grew toxic, which is a shame. For years he was a healthy and loving part of my life, but somewhere along the way, he became manipulative, sneaky, and sometimes all out mean. Sure, I miss him in some ways. But I readily accept that he and I are officially over, as I move away from situations that don't properly serve me.

And as much as I couldn't adore Carlton anymore than I currently do, I can't help but to wonder what is the cosmic force that keeps he and I together? He and I discussed that obviously, despite us moving away from our pasts, something felt that we needed people that represent who we are, in one another's lives, for one reason or another. Carlton and I agree that we're polar opposites, but we really enjoy something about one another.

After 15 years of Fred, I ended things with him. Only to become extremely close with a man who shares a similar past in addition to similar characteristics. I left Fred alone, which took so much effort and courage- only to pick up a friend who is essentially the same person (only less detrimental to my mental well-being). I can't really pick out why that is. He and I have openly pondered on it, and we settled on there is obviously something in each other's lives that we're supposed to bring about. I'll state any day of the week that Carlton has been instrumental in guiding me as I navigate my career in social work. We text one another all day, every day and even when we experienced turmoil in our relationship, he was never not available to support me when I called him crying in my car about the shitty job I left in May.

There's no doubt in my mind that Carlton exists in my life for one reason or another. And I exist in his for the same. It's just odd to know that I finally moved away from one situation, only to walk squarely into something nearly identical. Oddly enough, I've often said to Carlton that he's actually a mix of Ted and Fred. Ted, the responsible one who also gave me guidance on work situations and shared conversations about the state of Black America, and Fred who was wild and free, sexy, and always open for adventure. That's Carlton. 

I don't know what it is. But I enjoy it. I crave it. I nurture it. I need it. It teaches me, it guides me, it helps me become a better version of myself. I guess that's why I'm here. Cuz I left one situation, only to essentially stay in it. I guess it's true, what they say. What's meant for you is meant for you.

Breaking Points

While grieving Pete, I mentioned the show Bojack Horseman and discussed how I love that it goes far more in depth about various nuances of human existence. One scene that resonated with me previously is when a good friend of Bojack's died and he began driving through the desert. I really appreciated how the show went past the surface of what grief looks like, the way other television shows tend to do. I love that his grief was never neatly tied up in one quirky episode, but how it literally took him a year to reappear and begin facing the world again. And even then, as he began to function again in daily life, he was haunted by memories and sadness of her passing. His grief presented like actual grief.

I've been keeping the show on the background lately and I recently honed in on another interesting aspect of the show. I'm going to give a bit of a spoiler here, so if you're planning to watch it, you may want to read any other of my hundreds of introspective posts. Anyway, in the show, Bojack discovers his long lost sister, Hollyhock. Hollyhock is an impressionable, bubbly teenager who absolutely adores her brother, in spite of him being an absolute mess.

Throughout the show, Bojack tends to push away and even violate and disrespect the people around him countless times (another source of contention in the story is Bojack's substance abuse). Throughout it all, his friends remain loyal and faithful, in spite of who he is. Although eventually, their dedication to him begins to fade too. As Hollyhock starts to get older, she begins to learn more about her brother and begins to distance herself. During this time, Bojack starts to see that his innocent younger sister hasn't been around and ceases picking up his phone calls. At some point, he learns that because she's started to see the kind of person that he really is, she opts to bow out of his life completely.

I don't know why that hit me so hard this morning. Like damn, she just said "nah" and stepped away. And like said before, I love how the show touches on real life scenarios and handles them realistically. I've seen so many people in life who feel that they should be granted carte blanche to be as reckless and insufferable as they please, with the insane notion that the people who love them will always be there. Their motto in life seems to be "better to beg forgiveness than to ask for permission." Sure, you may have to grovel a bit, maybe even beg, and promise to never do it again, but in the end, they'll come back. They always come back. Until they don't.

The show once again illustrates an important point about humans- that they break. Humans are just that- human. That no matter how much they love you and even worship you, at some point, self preservation comes into play and they have to remove sources of consistent pain, especially if those sources of pain are relentless in their pursuit of destruction of relationships and peace.

I understand that television is supposed to be a source of entertainment. That we often want conflict wrapped up in 30 minutes, with all of the protagonists hugging it out. And while I appreciate a nicely wrapped feel good story as much as the next person, the fact is that having this narrative thrown into our faces consistently severely warped our perception of reality and the complexities of human nature.

The fact is that not all conflicts are wrapped up in 30 minutes, 1 hour, 2 hours, or even ever. Sometimes you can talk until you're blue in the face, you can explain, you can scream, you can cry, you can do everything in your power to make them understand you, and they still won't. Maybe they can't. Maybe they'll choose not to. But the result is the same- there is no resolution. No happy dance, no group of newly freed protagonists sitting around laughing in a circle about whatever they just unwrapped between far too many needless commercials.

In the real world, sometimes we just gotta sit in our shit. In the real world, sometimes we're the ones that walk away, and other times, we're forced to face the music in the loss of a relationship that we thought would never leave us. Hollyhock walked away, not because of something Bojack did, she walked away before he could hurt her, because she began to see him for who and what he really is. When people spend their lives toeing the line and destroying the hearts and lives of everyone they love, a breaking point is often reached. Finally, art imitates life.

Sick of Sorries

Last night, out of no where, Steve texted me to apologize again for being a butt while we were together. While I've grown a tad annoyed at the men from my past that have popped up lately, I appreciated his sentiment. It was heartfelt. I didn't feel like he wanted anything from me. He identified his past actions as narcissistic, which, I guess they were. He took ownership of his shit. It almost made me want to give him another go. Almost. I'm done recycling ghosts from my past. But I look forward to a nice friendship with him.

Fred has of course been on my mind lately. Our last meeting, I admitted to him that I love him, and that I always will. But I don't like him. And that's obviously a problem. One of our last encounters before the final show down, I recall sitting in his apartment in Los Angeles. I don't recall what sparked it, but I started rattling off the fucked up things he's done to me in the past. I sat stoically on his futon, as tears streamed down my face, as I named infraction, after infraction, after infraction. And he sat in the room, across from me, repeatedly uttering, "I'm sorry." I eventually looked up at him and said, "dude, you're always sorry. I don't want an apology. I want changed behavior." Long story short, the friendship/relationship/situationship/whatever you call it, is a wrap.

Anyway, back in May, I wrote about my "friend" Curtis, and how it looked like things were blooming. And they fizzled in a monumentally fucked up way. Curt and I were spending every day on the phone leading up to my move. Texting one another frequently about the things we were experiencing and observing. It felt nice to finally be moving in the direction he'd been trying to get me to move with him for years. I finally opened myself to the possibility of being with him after years of swerving him for one reason or another.

I'd made plans with Curt to help me move on the final day. He was to stay the night the night before the big move, to help me pack and clean up. And the following day, he was to help me load up the van and hit the road by noon. The only issue is that dude didn't show up the previous night. He pretty much disappeared the morning of my move. I had to call a couple of guy friends to help me at the last moment. And Curt finally appeared, after not answering my phone calls. At one point, I texted him "I'm really hurt and disappointed." I couldn't believe that not only was he playing me on my important move, he played me after chasing me for years. Damn homie. I give you a shot just for you to blow it the second I give you a chance? Really?!

I know what it was though. He didn't want to see me go. We'd spent the greater part of the last 5 years laughing over coffee, talking shit, flirting. Even leading up to my move, he came to my apartment and helped me feed ducks and another time shot off fire works with me. We were free, young lovers with old souls, bonding. And then he fucked it up.

He didn't want to see me go. So in his own way, he sabotaged it. I don't know where he is, but I have no desire to speak to him. But I know that he's sorry. Atlanta is pretty small, and there is no doubt that I'll see him again. And even if we speak, even if he utters the two words that have become too familiar, I'll never trust him again. Because I'm tired.

I'm tired of apologies. I'm sick of fucked up behavior being lodged in my direction, followed by attempts to act as though I was never wronged. I'm over emotionally underdeveloped men who believe that it is my birthright to carry their shit and allow them back with open arms the second they realize that they screwed over an amazing person.

I'm glad men are at least finally seeing my value and acknowledging that they fucked up royally once they lose me. Now if only someone could see the prize before them and act accordingly before he needs to utter those two words. Because once they're needed, there's no going back.

Coming and Going

Okay, so I'm not married. I'm single. Dare I say "super single" at this point. At one point, I'd considered Fred as a serious potential, and I don't want to bore anyone else with my back and forth with him, but it's over. Yes, AGAIN. I'm not going to go into the why's because it isn't important, but I'm living the single life and really enjoying it. And I never thought that I would be able to learn from my multiple dating experiences, but I'd say that I'm a pretty sharp cookie, this time around.

A few weeks back, I met a guy online and he seemed pretty nice. Unfortunately, I was going through some shit at the time and I kind of played him to the left. He faithfully texted me good morning at 7:30, checked in throughout the day, became a nice distraction from the world. As things settled down in my life, I finally agreed to meet with the guy, as it turned out that he lived only a single exit away from me. He was handsome, charming, funny, sweet. Okay Malika, this dude might just be a keeper!

I asked the guy about himself and he told me that he doesn't like answering questions. Red flag #1. I dealt with a guy a few years back who didn't like responding to questions and it made me far more cautious about men that are resistant to being open. I'm not going to go into the details on this dude, but shortly after we met, he wanted sex. I liked dude, but between the red flags and the fact that I'm not really desperate for male companionship, I told him no when he asked me to come over his house at 11pm for "kisses and cuddling" because I felt like it would lead to sex and I wasn't ready for that. Dude pretty much never contacted me after the following day.

I was disappointed, but I was also proud of myself. I stuck to my guns. And because I stuck to my guns rather than being wooed by his half ass attempts, I know for a fact that I saved myself a lot of bullshit with dude. Another red flag was him stating "whenever I have sex with emotional women, it always ends horribly." I heard that and the first thing in my mind was if all of these women are going nuts, you're obviously doing something to set them off. I knew to maintain my distance. And I did. And in the end, I was spared whatever bullshit he's done to many other women. Score one for Malika!

Now even though I'm finally learning to put into practice many of the things that I've learned about men and life overall, I'm still aware that as a non-married woman, I can only offer so much guidance and advice for certain things. So because of that, shit that I'd walk away for when first meeting a man, may be different once vows, mortgages and children are involved.

Enter the case of my friend, Akasha. She's been with her husband since her early 20s and there are several children between the two of them. She'd occasionally get on Facebook and talk about it being their anniversary or Father's day, and she'd lavish him with praises. Theirs always seemed like the kind of marriage/partnership that I'd been hoping for one day.

Lately, Akasha started to say that she felt her husband is a narcissist. Honestly, I thought she was just using the word wrong, so I never bothered to correct her. But then she started to say how her husband always has something negative to say about the things that she values and how he gets angry when things don't revolve around him. Again, certainly know how that goes. Yikes. Double yikes.

And then she really surprised me by telling me that after some issues, dude just up and left her and the kids in the house a few months back. She told me that she'd refused to call him to find out where he was. And then, out of no where, he returned a few days later, and resumed things as if he hadn't just walked out. My inner sista girl was thinking "oh no this nigga didn't!" but I knew to hold my tongue. I'm not married. Never been married. I'm a single mother, of one child almost out the nest, with a master's degree that allows me to job hop as often as I want. I can't (and shouldn't) go encouraging women to leave their husbands. My only advice to my friend was that she needs to establish a dollar amount that she'd need from him in order to keep the house afloat if he feels that he needs to stay gone.

She's currently battling some things and could use help with the kids while she works and deals with stuff, so the fact is that dude being in the home at the moment is a blessing. But I know she's not done. I know that moving forward, I can't encourage her to move one way or another. The only advice I could offer, was what I did, which is more about looking at your money in a worst case scenario. But if she is okay with him returning, that's her decision to make. If she wants him to move the hell out once she finishes up her projects at work, that's on her too. 

But looking at their situation did help me come to a conclusion about my own dating- I've let way too many men come and go in my life. Bro walked out like he was the shit, Mr. Big Man, and slid back into the house, like everything was okay. Again, I'm not judging. They got kids, history, and a mortgage. Sometimes, you do what you gotta do. That's also part of my refusal to have more children. I don't ever again want to be trapped in a bad relationship, all because we got crumb snatchers. If shit gets bad, I want to be able to leave, once it no longer makes me happy.

Their situation gave me a new rule to live by as it pertains to my relationships moving forward. Essentially, I'm gonna give a dude just ONE time to pack up and move out and return. That's right, you got just ONE time to get pissed off, pack yo' shit in the heat of the moment, and come back. That's your ONE. But if it happens a second time, I need you to remain wherever the hell you were. Don't get me wrong, it's one thing if we talk and mutually agree that one of us needs to leave the house for a cooling off period. That's fine. But that grabbing your bag in the middle of an argument and leaving? #Nah #Pass #YouTriedIt #WeDone

I'm not sure how Akasha plans to handle this and I feel that it isn't my place to put in her ear thoughts of making her husband stay gone. The only thing I can rightfully do is to encourage her to talk to her husband about how hurtful it was for him to just up and leave. But again, I'm not married. If she wants my professional advice as a therapist, that's one thing. But Malika as a homegirl? Yeah, I'm going to relegate myself to just listening. They have a lot between them to weigh. Things I (thankfully) don't have to consider.

I recall an exboyfriend from some years back. During a few disagreements, whenever we'd meet to discuss things, I could always see in his posture that he was somehow ready for a showdown and willing to bounce if things didn't go his way. Eventually, his goofy ass gave me an ultimatum and he lost. He should have known better. I heard on the streets that he was a crying mess after we broke up. Welp, shame on ya Black ass for trying to give me an ultimatum. If he was so ready to leave the relationship, he should have expected that I was even less vested than he was and even more ready to end it.

I don't know when the time will come for me to live with a romantic partner again. As it stands, it will probably be once my son is out of high school, not that I have any serious prospects. But either way, there won't be any of this coming and going shit that I stupidly allowed previously.

Physical and Mental Real Estate

I've been back in Atlanta for 3 weeks now. I'd originally planned to outline my move here on my blog, but as you all know, life comes at you fast. Typically, when I'm not in a good space, I don't write (except for when Pete died), so I just didn't have it in me. I'll probably talk about it in pieces here and there, but for now, I just won't. Don't get me wrong, L.A. was pretty dope, but there were other things that I had to contend with that were challenging. I'll leave it at that.

So anyway, when I got to L.A. a friend took mercy on me and allowed me to crash on her couch as I sought out housing. I anticipated being able to easily land an apartment in my price range, as I was making enough to live comfortably. The friend I lived with happened to live 1 hour away from my job. One hour there and one hour back. Which meant that I was spending 2 hours a day in my car. Not nearly as fun as it sounds. Eventually, I made the decision to get a hotel closer to the job.

It was then that I was able to spend time getting to know my new city. My last week in town, I grabbed some marijuana for a loved one who is currently battling cancer. And I figured, what the hell, may as well grab some edibles for myself, where I could legally enjoy it. And did I ever. A girlfriend and I spent one of my last nights there on the beach of Santa Monica, high as hell, staring at the moon and talking about life. It was incredible.

While there, my only thought of the future was finding immediate housing, and moving my beautiful son to the city with me. In Los Angeles, you don't really get the chance to forget that you are not one of the "haves" the way you can pretend in other cities. A coworker suggested that I get a condo in the city, and I balked. Shit, I was having a hard time getting a 2 bedroom apartment in Inglewood, how the hell was I supposed to get a condo?

Again, life kicked in, and it was time to bounce. My apartment search had proved fruitless, and school was starting back. I am also aware of the wolf that I had a child with, and I could tell that he was going to try to keep my child. I was angry, hurt, embarrassed, you name it. I was returning to the city I was tired of. But I didn't have time to think about that. I had to get back and set back up. The good about Atlanta is that it was pretty much always there. Or so I thought.

My plan was essentially to move on back, get some bullshit job to keep me afloat, get a cheap apartment, and regroup, with an intention of returning  to Los Angeles the very first chance I got. What I hadn't anticipated was that many of the same housing issues that I'd had in Los Angeles had followed me to my hometown of Atlanta. This goddamn eviction moratorium proved to be a blessing to some and curse to others. Particularly a curse to me. 

Los Angeles, which is already notoriously difficult to find housing in, has struggled even more under this stupid moratorium. Under it, people cannot be evicted for lack of paying rent. Resulting in many people sitting up and not paying rent. So fewer units are being flipped. So I moved cross country, ready to start my life, only to be further hindered by laws that are very short-sighted. I returned to Atlanta, only to be stopped again by the same fucking law. I've literally watched people in my hometown in the past go into an apartment leasing office and 2 days later be given a unit. I returned to Atlanta with roughly $4k in my pocket. I thought that getting an apartment and resuming business as usual would be a breeze, as it had always been in this city. But I was wrong.

I called apartment after apartment and was repeatedly told "we don't have any 2 bedroom apartments." How is this possible, I thought. Especially because I had cash in hand. Nope, apparently the rest of the world learned that Atlanta was the plug on cheap, available housing, so they came for the same reason that I came back. Ease. Only this influx of people took away the ease and created more difficulty for natives like myself.

I finally took to the mean streets of Facebook and asked if anyone had a plug on 2 bedroom apartments. Lo and behold, a classmate from CAU came through. I found an apartment, bigger and cheaper than my previous apartment. This also coincided with me finding a job as a pool monitor. Granted, the title isn't fancy, but it pays well until I would be able to land something in my field (which I just lucked up and did).

Anyway, as I slowly regroup (taking only a month to get back on my feet ain't bad, if I do say so myself), I've looked at the news about this moratorium and what it means long-term. I actually feel bad for some of the landlords. Don't get me wrong, a lot of these douchebags are just raising rent because they see an opportunity. Others are genuinely struggling with tenants who are just refusing to pay rent while struggling to maintain payments on their own homes.

As I straddle the line of what it all means, I've been looking at the real estate market (and how ridiculous things have been lately) only to discover that based on how things are looking, we may be looking at another housing bubble, and I'll be honest- I'm here for it! The last housing bust was roughly in 2008. Around that time, I was a new mother, struggling in countless ways. Some people had suggested that I buy a home, but both emotionally and financially, I was bound by things way bigger than myself. Truth is, had I even wanted that at the time, I was in no place mentally prepared for what that would entail.

I was in a highly toxic relationship with my son's father at the time, and I repeatedly suggested that we buy a home. He continued to shoot the idea down. I later learned that he bought a home close to the house where I grew up. I chuckled to myself, as he clearly thought this would destroy me, but the fact is that I wouldn't move back to that neighborhood if his life depended it on it. He bought a house similar to the one I grew up in. I saw his purchase as reverting to where I was in high school, not where I'm going as a grown woman. Yeah homie, enjoy my digs from 20 years ago, I'm moving on to bigger and better. It ain't hard to move into that neighborhood. There's nothing there that I want. It almost feels like the equivalent of buying leftovers of my childhood. Odd, but whatevs.

Anyway, I'm in a better space now. And I'm thankful for that. As I looked at apartments in Cali, I was surprised that landlords wanted people to have 700+ credit scores (for a crib in Inglewood for God's sake?!) and all these other credentials that I wasn't privy to. As I sped back to Atlanta, I swore to myself that when I returned, things would be different. My credit would be improved, and I've have the paperwork to show myself worthy of the listings I sought out. While in Denver, on my way back, I stumbled upon an article on Yahoo! about a 23-year-old woman who'd bought a business that seemed like a smart move. I took note and started looking up similar businesses in areas that I was interested in. As I drove on home, I continued to think about looking at my credit and making moves when I was settled. I also swore to myself that I'd finally obtain my LCSW (a social work license), making it easier for me to get a higher paying job in California or any other state I'd set my sights on. I already have my LMSW, but why not go for the gold while I can?

Now here I am. I move into my new apartment soon (so many thanks to the girlfriend that allowed myself and my son to crash with her, while I got it all back in line) and I start my new job in a few weeks. Another friend got me this good paying pool monitor job to allow me to make money until I'm back in my field. All of this happened in less than a month! Again, I'm beyond thankful.

Since I've been back, I've been paying more attention to my credit. I look at Credit Karma almost daily, obsessing about watching those numbers increase. I've started to pay down my credit cards, and have since even mutilated the last physical card that I did have, so that the temptation to use it for food and gas would be gone. I've seen my FICO score raise almost 70 points, although it is still below the goal that'd set for myself to achieve within the next 6 months. While doing nothing as a pool monitor, I've created budgets and crunched numbers to determine how long it will take me to pay down some accounts. If all goes well, I can have all of my extra stuff (including my car note) paid off within the next year. As angry as I was to be returning before, I hate to admit it, but the move has actually been good for me. Because had I not been forced to return, I wouldn't have started to look at my long-term financial health the way that I am now. It was a lesson that I needed and that I'm glad to receive.

As a woman who prides myself on being honest about my good and bad, I'll be honest. When I got back, I cried. A lot. I was angry. "It isn't fair!" I said to myself. It took a while, but I'd started to settle into my digs in California. I'd started to make friends, learned the freeways, established a routine, found the cutest little neighborhood by the beach I hope to move to, discovered a love for the occasional edibles, learned where the good shopping and neighborhoods were. Why did I have to leave?! I love my child immensely and I essentially left because with the eviction moratorium and the overall struggles with obtaining housing, I knew it wouldn't be fair to my son to live indefinitely in a motel or Airbnb. But I'd started to hang out with the other adults, who were either childless or their babies had grown and flown the nest. I partied late in the middle of Leimert Park, setting up my laptop in Sip & Sonder or Hot & Cool Cafe. But it had to end. Those last two weeks, when I was finally close to my job were the experience that I moved to Los Angeles for. And then, because I had to go be a mama, it was over.

My child turns 14 next month. Which means that for the next 3.5 years, his father is going to try to stick it to me over this stupid child support. Granted, its a decent amount, but not enough for him to tell everyone how that's all I care about. It's not like I'm balling out in Miami once a month on it. Ideally, I'd like to be in once place, allowing my son to flourish in high school. And I don't know where that will be. But I know that my ex will never get the opportunity to get that close to me again.

I returned to my ex trying to steal my child. Kind of emotional, I can't even get into it now. And for a brief moment, again, I thought to myself 'get the hell out of Atlanta, return to L.A. and continue living the good life.' I knew that I couldn't do that though. Leaving my child meant that my ex would continue to poison him against me, leaving my child to grow up as a miserable, woman-hating asshole, just like his father. And I love my child way too much to give up on him and let him become a monster, all because I wanted to drink margaritas on the beach. So I stayed, to fight for my son's mind and his heart.

And thankfully, my friends came together and helped me get him back. Quite frankly, when I returned, a small part of me wanted to hop back into my Honda, drive my ass right back to Los Angeles and leave it all behind again. Frankly, this was the bullshit that I'd left to begin with. The abuse. The lies. The blame. The pressure. It never ceases to amaze me that people are so hell bent on seeing me hurt. I'm human. There are one or two people who I could see wanting to destroy me. But the rest? Real talk? WHY?

I try not to harp on life not being fair. Even when I stomped like a spoiled child about how unfair it is that I had to return, I quickly countered to myself "Bitch, LIFE ain't fair!" as I've often reminded clients and friends. Sometimes, you just get a fucked up hand. And in spite of the fucked up circumstances I'm often given, I've done well, if I do say so myself. I obtained a master's degree, as a single mother, my child is happy and healthy, I love myself unconditioinally, I've traveled, made love to beautiful men, have the most bad ass group of friends a woman can ask for, I have a great sense of humor, and I'm a pretty pleasant person to be around. Yeah, I've done pretty good.

And while I've done a lot of work on myself to be a better person and be able to sleep well at night, I never marvel to wonder about the amount of people who wholly fixate on bringing me misery. I just really don't get that shit. Sometimes I think about the people (they know who they are) who continue to pop up and just be a general pain in the ass. Whether it be my ex, who tried to steal my child, as a dig at me, not even because he wanted him, only because he wanted to hurt me, which he did. The same dude that was practically begging me to go to counseling with him last year tried to steal my son this year and he can't seem to understand why his life is shit. I know that tacky ass bitch is still stalking me (yes bitch, you, I'm not even going to say your name, but you know who the fuck you are). My family still pops up to bring drama. And as I arrived back in Atlanta to face the bullshit again, all I could think to myself is that this is what I moved away from. And in L.A. I didn't encounter it. But the second I stepped back into Atlanta, the fuckery welcomed me with open arms. I hate it here.

Sometimes I think about that whole concept of letting someone occupy space in your head "rent free." I understand the concept, although I never prescribed it to others. But I understand whole heartedly what it means. That you're giving all of this emotional and mental space to another human being, when that person doesn't even deserve that space. And here I am. I often occupy space in people's heads, and I honestly don't get it. 

While I stopped in St. Louis, on my way back to Atlanta, I stopped by the arch and did a video. People tend to like my travel videos, but I don't get it. While doing my quick vid, I made the statement "I'm not that fascinating" and I meant it. I don't think I'm fascinating at all. All I do is live my life to the best of my ability. That's it. I do what makes me happy, while trying my damnedest not to impede upon the happiness and success of others. I cheer people on. Even though my ex has been abusive to me, when his dumb angry ass was sitting up with a broken heart last year, I tried to cheer him on. I was online the other day and a woman talked about a recent loss and how she's barely holding on, and I immediately inboxed her to offer words of encouragement. We ended up chatting for an hour and said that we'd like to meet up one day to get coffee.

I don't get the vitriol and negativity that comes from other people. I don't think about my ex. I was recently talking to a potential paramour and explained to him that I wish my ex would get married, have all the babies, and move on with is fucking life already. I wish toxic ass family members would stop contacting me, acting nice, and then being shitty when I tell them for the umpteenth time that we don't have shit to talk about. I'm clearly taking up real estate in these people's minds, and I wish that I wasn't. I'm not going to lie and tell you that I wish you healing, because I don't care that much. I wish you'd forget that I'm here. MOVE THE FUCK ON.

My goals in life entail purchasing a home with this credit that I'm already improving on, possibly purchasing a business, and moving back to Los Angeles, once the market dictates that it's right. My personal goals are about obtaining housing and peace, be it here, or on the other side of the continent. I don't know what other people's goals are, and I don't care, because that's not my business. But whoever you are, and where ever you are, the fact remains that I'm really not that fascinating. Time for you to put me out of your head and find something more worthwhile to put your energy into.

Los Angeles

So yeah, I did a thing. I made a move. Not just to a different side of town, but to a different side of the country, to a completely different coast. It was definitely time. 

I knew that I wanted out last year, when I returned from my cross country trip. I enjoyed seeing different areas, and the freedom that came with it. We were still in the thick of the pandemic, so I also got to see how various cities handled things. I saw Oklahoma City, where damned near no locals wore a mask (also where they suspect Herman Caine got the bug at a 45 rally) and California, where damned near everything except Target was shut down. It was a long, but beautiful trip. And just after I returned to Atlanta, it was in the news that the freaking hick of a governor, Brian Kemp, was planning to sue Atlanta's mayor, Keisha Lance Bottoms, over mask mandates. 

I don't know what it was, but that was it. I was outraged at how that gullible redneck could sue Atlanta's mayor, a Black woman, for mask mandates designed to keep people safe and save lives, after he'd just gotten back from a statewide tour where he encouraged people to wear masks. I was done. I didn't know how, but I knew that it was time to move and that Los Angeles would be it. At the time I was getting unemployment (that nice little chunk of $800 a week) and my plan was to continue to not work and save the unemployment, so that I could move at the beginning of 2021. But what I didn't anticipate was that TPTB would continue to drag their feet on extending the unemployment. By the end of August, I knew it was a wrap and I needed a new job.

I saw a job that was listed as a drug residential treatment facility, working with women. I didn't think I'd get it, but I did. I got the job! I was elated. I could finally use my personal experience to help women, much like myself, who'd struggled. Granted, I never had a drug problem, but I still knew what it was like to struggle emotionally. 

Things started out well. They liked me and I liked them. I felt comfortable among the crew. The clients and I got on famously and I felt welcomed among my peers. But in the new year of 2021, things started to shift. I'll be honest, I started slacking on my job. But I also got sick. I honestly thought I had the bug for a second. I had fevers, body aches, nausea, fatigue. And it wasn't just a flu bug either. My boss initially seemed sympathetic to my plight, but quickly it showed that she didn't really care. I was made to come in to work, because I had no positive COVID test, despite the fact that I felt like utter trash. When I returned, sick as heck, my boss was giving the silent treatment. There I am, propping myself up, having a 99.4° temperature. Then my boss laid into me pretty heavily in a staff meeting. What pissed me off the most was that I dragged my sick ass into work, just to be criticized in a group setting. Not cool. Then my boss made a few slick comments that were directed at me, although she declined to identify that she was talking to me. I went home and knew what time it was. 

I came back to work the following day, but this time I didn't take any fever reducers and I didn't take any cough drops. You want Malika sick at work, you got her. I'm not traditionally a woman that tries to get others sick, but here we go. I was coughing up a lung the whole time. Eventually my coworker went to my boss to basically say that I needed to go home. Pretty sure that my coworkers also didn't want me coughing all over them. And I looked like hell. My boss came to me immediately and pulled me out of the group I was in. She had the gall to ask "why didn't you tell me you were sick?" as if I hadn't literally sent her a picture of the fevered thermometer the day before. I was then released to go home. 

When I went home, I pondered over how I was treated while sick. Granted, my COVID tests came up negative, but that didn't negate the fact that whatever bug I had was definitely winning the battle. I decided to talk to my boss and to apologize for dropping the ball at work and to basically tell her that she'd hurt my feelings with her response to my sickness. And while we were in a better space after I'd owned that I dropped the ball, when I told her that I was hurt by her response, she pretty much responded with essentially "I'm sorry you feel that way." I again knew what time it was.

I just realized that I'm getting way too wordy about my previous job, so I'll move along. The pendulum continued to swing, with me feeling like things were coming together, and feeling like I hated my job. Around April, I decided that it was really time to start executing on a move. Which is kind of impressive, because I just realized that was only 2 months ago. I began to apply for jobs in the Los Angeles area. But I was frustrated to see that many of the jobs either didn't pay me what I felt I needed to make the move, they required me to speak Spanish, which I do not, or they required experience and qualifications that I do not have.

I applied for roughly 4+ jobs a day for about 3 weeks. Things were beginning to look hopeless. At that point, I started to look seriously at Las Vegas instead. The cost of living was lower, and if I couldn't be in L.A. or California, a 4 hour drive didn't seem so bad.

But then, out of nowhere, it happened! The call finally came. They wanted me! They liked me!! And most importantly, they paid my asking price!! It felt like a dream. Next up... start packing to move. After living in the same apartment for roughly 8 years, you'd probably not be surprised to learn that there is a lot of shit accumulated to declutter. 

And so dear reader, I've been stuck in this same place (working on this particular blog post) for literally months now. I'm going to leave this here and pick up later. Enjoy.

Honor Among Hoes

I announced recently that I'm going to be moving to Los Angeles in roughly *looks at watch* 2 days. I'm excited. So excited. But that's not what this post is about, so simmer down. Anyway, I'm making my rounds to my loved ones, in an attempt to spend time and make my last moments in town count. I'm visiting and taking pics with all of my friends and family, and eating at my favorite restaurants, in the middle of cleaning out my home as I get ready to move cross country (yay me!) and undergo a new adventure. Anyway, that's for a post for another day. Back to the story at hand.

I met with a good friend yesterday. Our sons are about the same age, and the woman (who is married) and I share a long, beautiful friendship. I essentially consider her and hers my family. There was, however, at one point another woman in the fold. I'll call her Sheryl. I've spent many a day with Sheryl, and her child, who she'd bring over, to play with me and my friend's boys. We'd all gather at my friend's home on holidays and birthdays. Sheryl brought her (then) boyfriend around and he and the guys would all hang downstairs and watch tv, as the ladies cackled upstairs and got wine drunk. It was a pretty nice vibe.

But one day, I noticed that Sheryl was no longer around. It wasn't like her to miss holidays and birthdays with all of us. I inquired about her absence, but no one seemed to have answers, so I let it go. One day, I inboxed Sheryl on social media and asked why she hadn't been around. She said that she felt abandoned by my friend for her lack of presence in her life during a some family turmoil. I encouraged her to keep trying, but she said that she was simply over it. Again, I let it go.

Last night, I met with the family and allowed my son to play with my friend's son and started saying my goodbyes. I begged my friend for a final night of girl talk and wine, just the two of us, as I've had some things to ponder for a while now. While her husband was away, and the boys were off doing whatever teenage boys do, I encouraged my friend to patch things up with Sheryl in my absence. My friend asked what Sheryl had told me. I try not to go relaying messages, but I informed her that Sheryl said that she'd felt abandoned by the family after the death of a loved one.

My friend made a face that let me know she wasn't buying it. That's when she laid it on me. My friend suspected Sheryl of either already sleeping with her husband, or plotting to do so. She talked about how one day the family ate with Sheryl and how every time my friend's husband needed something, Sheryl would jump up and grab it, before my friend even could. My friend felt flirty vibes coming off of Sheryl in how she talked to him and joked about hating him. My friend said that she is aware of what flirting looks like from Sheryl and that her women's intuition let her know that something in the milk wasn't clean.

Eventually, my friend asked her husband point blank "what's up with you and Sheryl?" The husband (obviously) denied anything but immediately after, Sheryl simply stopped coming around. That was it. My friend said that she'd tried to reach out several times, but Sheryl went radio silent. She said that later on, Sheryl messaged her about problems within her own family, but my friend wasn't buying it. The timing of her disappearance was just too obvious.

Yikes. Yikes and wow. I won't lie, I've had my own (stupid) indiscretions with 2 married men. The most recent was a good friend of mine. I'd always been attracted to him, but because he was married, I tried like hell to say no. I went for it anyway. Not something I'm proud of. But that was several years ago. Ever since then, I don't do it. I won't do it. I've had countless opportunities, but I resist them all. It's just too much energy and work. And the fact is that I love deep and I love hard. Giving my time, my heart, and my emotions to a man who isn't available like that just isn't a good idea for me. 

But in all my ratchet moments, there is one thing that I absolutely cannot and will not do. And that is, fucking a woman's man while pretending to be her friend. That's just not okay to me. As someone who has experienced so much from so many people, I've witnessed how much people will do as long as others aren't aware. Again, I've seen so many married men, whose wives would never suspect, that they are married to complete man whores. I've seen people hide drug habits, money problems, emotional issues, all kinds of stuff. Even more so since I started working in mental health. You'd be amazed at the secrets that people hide from their loved ones. So I've come to feel that we cannot control what others do when we are not around. Some of the happiest and strongest marriages that I know of contain regular amounts of adultery. I'd never say who (obviously), but it exists more than many of us care to realize or accept.  And perhaps that's why I'd become more accepting and non-judgmental about dalliances of others. In the words of Uncle Kracker, 

"As long as no one knows, then nobody can care." 

Do what you do homie, but keep it clean. But being in a woman's home and face while screwing her man is just wrong. I could never hold a woman while she's crying, laugh with her during her good moments, cheer her on, watch her kids, break bread with her, all the while, plotting on her husband. That's just not okay. And perhaps a woman with my history isn't one to judge, afterall, I've been honest  about my past.

Still though, I make it a point to maintain a respectful distance from my friends' husbands, because I just don't want or need static. A childhood friend of mine got married some years ago, and while she's not on Facebook, her husband is. He and I laugh and banter a lot on the open streets of Facebook, but no inboxing. The only phone calls have regarded actual business. I was once considering buying a house and I called her before I called her husband, to let her know that I wanted some real estate advice. She responded "Malika, you don't have to tell me or get my permission that you're about to talk to him." But I know. I know all too well. I know what an easily slippery slope that can become. So while I respect her complete trust in both me and her husband, I'm still painfully aware of not putting myself in a position to be tempted or have my motives questioned.

I hold my friendships in high regard. If you're my friend, you're not just my friend, you're my family. I've let countless people sleep on my couch, given money, rides, an ear, support. My homegirls are my absolute lifeline. Do what you do sis, but don't be messy with it. Don't get me wrong, I'm not in these streets telling women to go fuck married men. If nothing else, I warn against it. I know all too well about the stigma and the drama that comes with it. I pride myself on a peaceful life, and the last thing I ever want or need is a woman popping up at my house, coming to me "woman to woman", calling or texting my phone. My life is too blissful for all of that. So I decline to engage. But I'm also a realist.

I could write a million blogs, I could have countless conversations, I could tell my story a thousand times over, and the fact is that humans are going to do what they do. Adultery did not start with my birth and it will not end with my death. Humans are sexual creatures who are want to do what makes them feel good both emotionally and sexually. Some humans are just cleaner, smarter, and more honorable than others.

Do what you do sis. I can't stop you or judge you. But keep it clean.

Patio and Wine

So in refraining from dating, I've had a lot of time to reflect. What I want, what I don't want. Mistakes I've made, mistakes I've allowed others to make at my expense. I think in some ways, it allowed me to grow way outside of my shell and really decide upon the woman I want to be as I move forward.

I've got a friend I'll call Curtis. Curt and I have known one another for some years now. He's always made me laugh and feel secure. We've shared our dating experiences with one another and asked for insight on multiple occasions, growing a lot closer in the process. Curt has been telling me about how things haven't gone well in his his most recent relationship, although he's trying hard to make things work.

He's expressed frustration that in his own home, he can't simply turn on the tv and watch television, because despite the size of their home, there's another person constantly posted up. He expressed that he'd like to be able to watch the game and enjoy a beer, without all of the extra mess.

That really got me to thinking. That as I've worked to determine what I'd like and what would constitute peace for me, what does my happy look like? I'm leaving my former job, which it turned out was quite a toxic environment for me. I'm thankful for what I learned there, but towards the end, I suffered terribly. I recall how the day before my last official day of work, I literally sat in my car and cried. I'd gotten to the point of sleeping sometimes 12 full hours at night, the result of being emotionally exhausted by the time I got home.

While chatting with Curt about ultimately what I wanted, it hit me. All I wanted at the end of the day, was to come home and enjoy a quiet glass of wine on my patio. That's it. I don't want or need bells and whistles. I don't need to be a superstar. I'm cool with a job that is ultimately just a peaceful experience. At the end of the day, I just want to sit out on my patio, light a candle, pour a glass of wine, throw on some soft music, and enjoy my own company, or perhaps the company of another person with comparable end of the day goals. 

My patio and a glass of wine. Sounds nice. 

Triangulation (and junk)

So today is mother's day. Those that know me well know how much I hate this day. While some people see it as a time to honor their rock star mothers, for me, it just serves as a reminder of what a shitty person mine was. I no longer carry any guilt she tried to put off on me and I find solace in knowing that I have a remarkable relationship with my son, which was inspired by my desire to be a greater maternal figure than mine ever was. I suppose I can say that I'm lucky, in being able to transfer my need to be loved to my stepmother, who is undeniably one of the kindest and most incredible human beings to walk this planet. I'm working on getting her to legally adopt me (seriously). Granted, my own mama ain't shit, but my step mother is a true gift from God. I talk to other adults who don't have healthy maternal figures, and I often hope those same people at some point find a healthy mother figure like I did, even if we got close in my 30's.

Anyway, I, like most adults with shitty parents, buried that mess deep. On an average day, I am able to get out of bed, get dressed, go to work and be productive. I give myself credit for that, because many people struggle to even do that much. I should know, it is my job to work with them. 

On occasion, I consider the idea of going to therapy to work all of this out. But I have to be in an emotional space that will allow that. I'm currently going through a few things (that I can't discuss here, unfortunately), so once again, I gotta bury it and move forward. But I think it's starting to bubble to the surface.

Long story short, for the 3rd time in my life, I'm being attacked on some Mean Girls crap. I really hate saying that, because I'm well aware of that old adage of "who's the common denominator?" But the fact is, I genuinely don't do anything. As I've often done here, I own my shit. The good, bad, and ugly, I acknowledge it. I apologize when I'm wrong. On top of that, I want people to tell me when I'm wrong. There have been countless times in my life where people have had to hip me to where I messed up. I'm human. I'll own that. I honestly use criticism to make me stronger. So I'm now in a place where I'm just trying to figure out what it all means.

What makes being on this end so painful is that the same people who you have helped and held down start bringing up everything you've ever done wrong (with no chance to defend yourself, and while you refrain from throwing the same kind of dirt). Suddenly, you're on the outside, looking in, as the same people you once considered peers, treating your name like a doormat. You get it, because no one wants to lose their position within the circle, so those that see how poorly you are being treated only offer their support in private.

Coincidentally, I get along great in actual one on one relationships. I have countless friends and acquaintances. Those that know me independently will attest that I'm kind, loving, fiercely loyal, alla dat. I also find that when there are actual cliques that involve men, this triangulation shit isn't nearly as effective. Men tend to look past all of the gossipy shit, identify the facts, acknowledge that I really haven't done anything wrong, and our friendships maintain, even if the women leave.

Another commonality that I've identified for whenever I'm on the receiving end of this, the queen bee tends to be some miserable bitch. Real stuff. I've been a pretty happy-go-lucky person my whole life. I've always been a hippy. My overall disposition is cheerful. Buddhism only helped that along, as it aided me in ridding myself of unhealthy thoughts. But for the 3 times in my adult life that I've been "here", I can identify exactly who the miserable bitch is. I was discussing this whole thing with my homeboy yesterday. He told me that some years ago, he implemented a "no dick riders" rule. I get it. Two of the women who went the hardest to turn groups of people against me, were women I called best friends. Both of them suffered poor self-esteem, which I often tried to boost with words of encouragement. Both women complained of not getting the male attention that I do, when the fact is that I tried hard to explain to them that having a bunch of random men willing to lie, cheat, and steal all in the effort of bedding you is not all it's cracked up to be. Both women constantly identified things I had that they wished they'd had. Whether it be my hair, men, the fact that people tend to like me, or just the fact that I walk to the beat of my own drum. I thought they admired me. Secretly, they wanted to take away the happiness that they felt I didn't deserve.

The current miserable bitch has openly complained that her children are going down a bad path and she's struggling with them. Meanwhile, my son is one of the most amazing little creatures ever and doesn't give me problems at all. This particular miserable bitch has also demonstrated some racist tendencies (she's white) which only furthers this along. I'm tired, y'all.

So anyway, this morning, while grocery shopping, I was walking by patrons, cheerfully carrying balloons and flowers, once again reminding me that my mama ain't shit. I called Stepmommy this morning, and we both agreed that Mother's Day is shit, so I don't feel obligated to show up with a bunch of shit at her house. Back to what I was saying, as I strolled those aisles, something hit me like a bolt of lightening. No, I didn't have this Mean Girl triangulation shit among my friends when I was a child.

I experienced it in my own fucking family.

I was suddenly transformed to how one of my sisters would be angry with me and suddenly call my mother and/or my other sister to complain about me. Suddenly all three of them were messaging me, calling me all kinds of shitty people. At no point was I ever defended. Now, I've had them occasionally admit to me privately that I've been the odd woman out since I was given birth to, and that I was clearly my mother's least favorite child. But in front of one another, they were like a pack of wild dogs. Picking at any bit of happiness, worth, self-esteem, or hope they could identify.

I guess the good is that I didn't take that realization as bad as I probably would have some years ago. I'm not going to take to my bed for days. I'm not going to stop my overall happiness or productivity. I'm not going to abandon my creative endeavors. I'm not going to call my friends and family crying. I'll deal with this the best way I know how. Which means, I have no fucking clue what to do with this.

Like, is this an energy thing? Is this one of those things where they say that if you don't identify and work through it, you're doomed to repeat it? Am I cursed? Is there something about me that makes it so that I cannot peacefully co-exist within a group of women?

The bad is that today is again, mother's day, which means that most of my most insightful friends are somewhere, shoving flowers up their mama's asses, leaving me to figure this shit out on my own. I really hate this day. I've wanted to attend therapy for a while now. But I haven't been able to. But this might just be the motivation I need. Because I'm tired, y'all.

Inequitable Expectations

I caught up with a guy friend a few weeks ago. It was nice to chat with him, as COVID-19 has made it difficult to keep up with some people. No love lost though, I get it. This pandemic kept a lot of us home, while we figured out our lives and prioritized our safety and the safety of our loved ones. I think the pandemic brought about the best of some parts of us, and the worst of others.

But I digress.

I met with my guy friend at a local coffeehouse. We got reacquainted, asking about friends and family. I'd asked about his new girlfriend, whom he'd been so excited about, only a few months ago. He admitted that things weren't going well. He admitted to me that while he loves his paramour, he's frustrated at the lack of action in the bedroom. I listened to him explain his frustration of how he's quickly rejected when she isn't in the mood, but he's expected to turn into a robot when she wants action. I listened intently, with my therapist ear. I heard him pour out his heart about his desire to be sexually gratified by the woman he loves, not by any of the other women chasing him.

I immediately recognized the dilemma, and felt both sides of the issue. As women, we are taught from an early age that no man (or woman) is supposed to touch us in any way we don't want. We are taught that our bodies are sacred and to be worshipped and adored and the only sexual acts we engage in are those we clearly welcome.

Enter the disconnect.

As my friend continued to unload, he eventually mentioned how he feels that his woman doesn't keep up his appearances the way he wants her to. Not gonna lie, I was a bit triggered by that one. I've encountered countless men on dating apps, as crisp and sharp as they come. Clean from head to toe, matching absolutely everything. I stop and smile on those profiles.

And then I quickly swipe left. Sure, you're a well-put together man. Which means that you're going to expect my hair and nails to stay done and even a trip to the grocery store or gym, you're going to expect me to be rocking a full beat face and a ball gown. Nothing but love to the women that hold it down like that, but I'm not one of them. And I'm not going to spend my whole relationship doing shit that I don't normally do, just to attract a man. Because he's going to expect that to be my constant, and I'm going to end up resenting him because he's going to be pissed that I'm not super neat.

As a woman, we are constantly under pressure to present a certain kind of way. Men are allowed to be sloppy as long as they aren't absolute pigs. Men only have to get a $20 haircut, while women pay $200 for a sew-in. Women have to slave like hell in the gym to fight what is biologically predisposed to happen to us, while men can just cut out soda, beer, and potato chips and shed 50 lbs.

I'm not invalidating my guy friend's issues at all. He's entitled to like who and what he likes. And like I said, I genuinely see both sides of it. It's just interesting to see as a complete outsider of the dating game, how these seemingly small, underlying things create major challenges in a relationship. I'm glad to see this all though. Because one day, I'll hop back into the dating game and I'd like to come in with a healthy idea of what to expect. One day.

Unburdened Truth

The Boy is 13. 13!! I can't believe this is happening. I look at him and marvel at how intelligent and wonderful he is. I couldn't have ever began to imagine having such a beautiful and incredible little human being. He's now taller than me (and I'm 5'8) and I'm preparing for him to bloom even more.

Getting ready for work this morning, I couldn't help but to think back on when my baby was that fat little creature I brought home from the hospital. And I grew a little- I don't know. Sad? Angry? Irritated? I don't know the word for sure. But my memories weren't happy. Don't get me wrong, my son and I have tons of positive memories with just the two of us. There were even some positive memories with the 3 of us, including his father. But I'll never forget the bad memories. And there are many of those to pick from.

Being a free spirit comes with a surprising amount of envy and disdain from the outside world, particularly as a Black woman. Black women are supposed to be quiet and pious. We aren't supposed to have opinions or thoughts that cast anyone else in a bad light. But I've always been one to acknowledge the good, the bad, and the ugly. Whether it's about my own actions or the actions of others. And a lot of people don't like being held accountable. They want the freedom to be evil, shitty people, but want you to only acknowledge the best in them, despite how horrible they've been to you. But I'm not going to rewrite history, just to make another person feel good about being abusive to me.

I'm not sure what brought it up, but it put me in the mind of when my son was born. There was a lot of manipulation and all out lies told by his father that allowed me to put my guard down when dating him. He sniffed the weakness and vulnerability that I was experiencing at the moment and used it to make me trust him in a way that I should not have. Moving on from that, the moment I knew I was pregnant, I knew I wanted my child. I didn't know much else, but I knew that.

I was heavily encouraged to abort my child, but I couldn't. I loved it. I didn't know what it looked like, what it's name would be, didn't know the gender. It was just a group of cells, but I knew that this little "thing" inside of me was special. So it was going to stay, no matter what. And I also knew that the cells' father would be paying child support. I don't play about mine. I've seen women struggling like hell, all because they don't want to appear weak. And what's always been saddest to me is that the kids suffer when that happens. Not this one over here. 

But he decided to make me suffer for my decision not to abort my baby, or what he deemed a mistake. I still feel some kind of way about the lack of support I got during my pregnancy. I honestly feel like what should have been one of the happiest times of my life was stolen from under me. I never got cute maternity pics. He didn't lovingly rub my belly. He didn't attend my co-ed baby shower. I asked him to draw a pic of me. He never did. I think he really hated me. I was proof of his imperfection. The nail on the coffin on his "good guy" image. I recall acutely how one of his "friends" (more of a lackey, but whatever) stated that if I was "real woman" I would have simply dropped out of school (despite only having like 5 classes left at the time), rather than expecting actual support from the other human being that participated in bringing this child into the world.

In another example of enabling shitty behavior by being a shitty person, I remember one Sunday evening that I'd called my son's father to let him know that I'd be coming to his home to use his internet in order to turn in a school appointment at 9pm. He agreed. I arrived to find his father, mother, and stepmother in the living room of his apartment. I said hello and walked by them into the bedroom to set up my computer.

My ex then came into the bedroom and told me that his parents wished to see me. I told him that they'd have to wait, as I had already announced my intentions to turn my assignment in by 12am, and my need to finish some things on it. I heard outside of the door how I'd been labeled all kinds of cowards for my unwillingness to meet with them. I was prodded a few times to stop what I was doing and meet with them. I refused. No one had asked me if I was available, and I was not. I wasn't going to stop what I needed to do, on someone else's whim.

Eventually midnight arrived, I turned my assignment in, and they entered the room. The first thing I said to them was "the reason that you waited was because you assumed that I would meet with you whenever you wanted. That is rude. I would never pop up at your home at 9pm, especially on a Sunday, and demand that you stop what you're doing and meet with me. And I'm pretty sure that if I did ever pop up on you like that, you wouldn't be welcome on the idea either. Look, the fact is, I don't let my own parents disrespect me, I certainly won't tolerate disrespect from anyone else's parents." 

That went over as well as you'd expect. The relationship between the father and stepmother and myself has been rocky, at best. Or I guess non-existent, which is the way that I like it. If you can't be respectful and honest, stay the hell away from me. My ex's father encouraged him to treat me horribly and I even saw that my ex had emailed his father a picture of this other bitch he was fucking, while I was 9 months pregnant. Did I mention that my ex picked me up from the hospital, after giving birth to his child, with hickies on his neck from that bitch? After a 33 hour labor. The same chick he was sending pictures of to his father. My ex's mother and I are better, but we don't talk much.

I'd written before about how my son's father was encouraging me to go to counseling with him, and I declined. He'd said to me "I still remember the good times." And I looked up at him and said "I don't." It was an instinctive response. But later on I realized how deep and true that statement was. I really don't have a lot of happy memories with my ex. I remember constant lies. I remember him flaunting other women front of me. I remember walking on eggshells not to upset him. I remember how he'd call and text me back to back, to make sure that I was upset. It took so much to get back to the woman I was at my core, after damage by him. Sure, there were good times. But not nearly enough to balance out the bad.

If you look at my blog, you will see a patch of years where I'd stopped writing, due mostly because of how my ex would read my blog and report to the world anything he didn't like. I'd even been violated enough by having him log into my blog, change the password, erase things he didn't like, and refuse to give me the new password. I felt like I'd been raped. But as we see, I now write what I want. Good, bad, or ugly. This is my truth. This has been my experience. Anyone that opposes me writing about their shitty antics, should not have given me the story to write.