Honesty and Connections

Despite my intention for this blog to not focus primarily on my love life, it tends to be that way. Perhaps its that I don't have much else to write about. The fact is that writing also allows me to work through and process many of my own thoughts. I'm starting to feel more and more like Carrie Bradshaw, plugging away on her laptop, sorting her life out as she dates and fucks her way through NYC. I must admit, if I didn't have a child to care for, my love life would be a hell of a lot more chaotic.

I'm going to go full disclosure here and admit that Mercury Retrograde is kicking my ass right now. I read something on Facebook early on that with MR heading this way, electronics would mess up and whatnot. Shortly thereafter, that text issue with Ted happened (and I'm still 50/50 on the legitimacy of his claim), my own cell phone has been on the fritz, and my work computer has been on something else. On top of that, the clients at work have been a bit froggier than normal. I don't normally get into all of this kind of jazz regarding MR, but I can't help but to wonder if there's some kind of legitimacy to it, at least this time around.

I've been feeling pretty amorous lately. And while there are always a few gentlemen I can call to get my back scratched on a regular basis, this time, a regular visit just isn't enough. I recall that a few years ago, I'd had a similar issue, and it was actually a similar time of year, and that's when Fred managed to drop on in (here). Welp, perhaps its the spring flowers in the air, but I'm getting that same itch. Once again, I need more. More hugs, more love, more affection, more clinging to emotions, not just getting my rocks off.

I happened to be on Facebook again (yeah, I do that a lot these days), when I clicked on a link to a pretty video, when this song came on. This song felt like a hug. It felt intimate and familiar, although it was new to me. I immediately clicked on the comments to see if anyone knew the song and the comments section did not disappoint. I'd learned that the song is a guy called Pink Sweat$ and the song is called "Honesty" and it is my new favorite song. Never in a million years thought I'd be rocking to a dude named Pink Sweat$ so hard, but there it is and here I am. And I am here for it!!

The problem with this song is that it just makes me want to cuddle and be adored that much more. The fact that its on repeat in my car certainly doesn't help.

Feeling that itch, I reached out to Ted yesterday. And to his credit, he was good. Really good. Damned good. But I felt empty. I didn't leave feeling refreshed and energized. I left feeling as empty as when I got there. I truly wrestle with if I should just leave him alone entirely.

So I like Luke. Yes, I know, *eye roll* But things are really early. Sure, we text and talk all day long, but the fact is that he's only 8 months out from leaving a 23-year long marriage. I dig him, but I'm not a dummy. I hope for the best, but I'm not going to get too emotionally wrapped up. I just can't. Not yet. Leaving me to fall back on my old emotional standby, Fred. Although despite it all, I'm not sure how long this will be a thing. Only time will tell.

I just want to be held and kissed. Funny enough, Davis is staying with me, but we just aren't on that level. So there's that. I'm here, in an odd space. Perhaps its the changing of the seasons, Mercury  Retrograde, or something else.. But much like everything else, I'm just going to roll with it and trust the Universe to make things happen in their own time. What are the other options?

Looking Back While Looking Forward

I found myself bored Friday night. I was sans kid and felt like having company. I reached out to Davis. He immediately responded that he needed a place to crash for the night. I told him to come on over. He and I chatted a lot that night. I could really feel that he grew a lot since the tumultuous relationship we shared roughly 6 years ago. So did I.
He explained how staying in the hotel was draining his pockets, and I explained the financial bind that I'm in, and we agreed that night that if my son was okay with it, he'd rent out the room for the month that is supposed to be The Kid's, although he rarely sleeps in it. So he'd save some coins and I could pay some bills. The kid agreed with it.

Its been kind of nice having him around. We're not up under one another, as I work days and he's normally not home until I'm about to head to sleep. I wish I'd known this side of him some years ago. Last night, he came home pretty late, and I happened to be awake. He told me that he'd just, that night, officially ended it with a young lady he'd been back and forth with for a while. He lamented about having 2 major breakups in 6 months. I knew to listen carefully, without judgement. I was proud of him for making so much headway, as he talked about the importance of monogamy to him. But truthfully, it kind of stung as well. I mean, sure, we've grown, and we're no longer together. But the fact is that I met him while he was living with another woman, who went on to make my life hell for a while. So to hear him talking about bonding and growing with one woman, while a woman who is heir to a hair care line would call me 40 times in a row, is a bit much.
I tried to bite my tongue, but at some point I did mention to him how its crazy to hear him talking about being with only one woman and his lack of desire to have casual sex, while he lived with another woman when we met. He immediately apologized, and admitted to going through a bad spell when at the time. I honestly felt that he should have, at some point, considered me a serious contender. But he didn't. And that hurt. But then he went on to say "yeah, my woman going out and having drinks and hanging out with another man isn't acceptable. I don't want her bringing another man's energy home to me." And I felt that and I respected it, but at the same time, I knew then that I didn't want to be a contender. Because I'm Malika, and I don't belong to anyone, and I won't. I have no problem with monogamy in the end, but I'm not going to cease having close, platonic, non-sexual relationships with some men, just to keep him happy. I guess I know why I'm not a contender now.

Yesterday, I got on the phone with Fred. He shared with me that he's having a difficult time, pining over a woman that captured his fancy. I was quite surprised, as Fred has been in L.A. for roughly 6 years now, and this is the first lady outside of the one here I've known him to show interest in. Truthfully, inside I was dying, hearing him talk about this woman and how he saw things going somewhere. These aren't words I hear from him often. Truth be told, he and I have know one another for 12 years and despite the fact that we've seen one another in 4 different major U.S. cities and bared our souls in countless ways and made love countless times, I don't think he's ever connected to me like that. Honestly, it hurt a little too (folks just ripping off band-aids left and right yesterday). But I know that Fred and I aren't meant to be like that. Still though... but then he started to share that he met her at church and his ideal was to have a woman he shared a church connection with. I was a bit less pissed then. Cuz I'm not going to your church, just to be deemed worthy.

Later in the day, an old friend called me, whom I haven't talked to, and I mean really talked to in a while. This particular friend is one who tends to get caught up when dating a new person, so I scaled back. My friend, Lacy, confessed to me that she'd finally broken things off with her 2-year boo, Chris. Lacy talked about how Chris was just emotionally unavailable and she was sick of trying. It took me back to Freeman, whom I saw something with, but after the passing of Pete and other stuff I was wrestling with at the time, I just didn't have it in me to fight anymore. With Freeman, I learned to cut your losses. Or as my best friend, Daisy, would say "stop taking home broken birds."
Lacy discussed how she saw a lot in Chris, and perhaps things would be better in the future, but for now, it was a wrap. I began to think a lot about my own experiences. I began to realize the reality of people that I date. For so long, I'd focused more on myself than the men I was into. I didn't recognize their limitations. But now, I'm semi-seeing someone (yes, I know a common theme for me).
I'll call him Luke. Things are really early, so I'm not quite going to call it a thing, but I like him. But the fact is that Luke is separated and going through a divorce. And not like "separated, but still fucking and living together for the kids," but really ending it. After 23 years of marriage, he's been separated for 8 months. I think that my profession as a counselor helps him, as I've learned to be patient, listen, and ask the right questions, as he sorts through his feelings. But I also know not to make myself his therapist. I also love that he doesn't try to always dump his baggage on me. I've told him a few times that my fear is that we'll spend a few months together, only for him to one day say to me "this has gone too fast, I need to scale back."

Old Malika wouldn't have known to maintain a safe distance. Old Malika would have tried to go full throttle, based on our mutual likes of travel, food, and overall connection. But new Malika knows better. I'm going to allow him all the time he needs to process. No, that doesn't mean I'm not going anywhere. I may date or sleep with other people while he figures out what he wants and if he chooses to do the same thing, I'm okay with that. But it does mean that I recognize that its unfair to put my baggage on him, without allowing him to heal on his own and walk his own path. I'm finally in a space to take all I've learned an apply it to live my life to the fullest. Thank God this shit is starting to make sense and work out.

Commemoration

So I'm at 2 years since he passed. The grief and memories is coming in waves. Not as bad as it was last year. I was kind of triggered recently though. Because Dylan McKay died. Well, I'm sure the character is alive in our minds and hearts, but the actor Luke Perry died. It hurt, because like many women my age in this country, he was a big part of my development. I remember watching 90210 as a middle schooler and high schooler. I remember the Brenda-Dylan-Kelly love triangle. I remember it all. Now he's gone.

As I looked up and saw the news plastered all over the internet, my mind briefly traveled to "Pete was the ultimate bad boy. He was the real-life Dylan McKay." It made me sad, and a bit triggered, but I held it together. Then, Puffy made headlines when he acknowledged in a comment that he should have married the love of his life, Kim Porter.

A Facebook friend of mine showed no mercy in going in, saying how she showed him no sympathy. I chimed in about how not just difficult it is, but absolutely earth shattering to lose a person you love, and that it also grows you in immense ways. I even pointed out how much growth Puffy obviously made in his admission of having wished he'd married her. Growth, right? My comment was ignored and buried under the posts of women that appeared to enjoy watching him suffer.
I almost took off the anniversary of Pete's death this week, but I decided against it. Because 1, I decided to take a much-needed day off last week and 2, I think I'd like to stay busy. I don't want to wallow, I want to live. Obviously, he'd want that for me anyway.
A friend of mine a while back discussed how a popular Atlanta artist died over a decade ago, and how since then, his widow, every year, faithfully pulled together large-scale celebrations of life to her departed husband. But the widow decided that she was tired. Rightfully so. She loved her husband, clearly, but organizing, scraping money, advertising, selling tickets, putting together bands, the whole bit, had become too much after over a decade. She finally decided to call it quits. Not that she'll ever stop honoring the love and life of her husband, but because she doesn't need bells and whistles any further.
I feel that in my spirit. I don't need to take a day off. No need to make plans, no need for words of encouragement, affirmation, love, etc. I wrote a quick impromptu poem on Facebook and that was it. Because he knew how I felt about him. And I know how he felt about me. Three days ago was the the 2 year anniversary of the last time I saw him in the flesh. But the good news is that it won't be my last time seeing him in spirit. And now I'm okay with that.

Text Tied and Undone

I wrote yesterday about the accidental text message I'd gotten from Ted. Wow. Like seriously, wow. I contacted my friend Eric to ask his opinion. I sought out Eric due to how much he reminds me of Ted. Like Ted, Eric's marriage ended due to his own infidelity and he is now on a quest to find himself while openly enjoying the company of others. Eric and I have never been intimate, but I greatly enjoy his friendship and hearing about his exploits.
I explained to him the text that was sent and how despite not being in a serious relationship with Ted, my heart was a bit broken. I also shared that due to having an extensive history of men shutting me down or ignoring my concerns in the past, I don't always express my frustration. Eric assured me that despite it all, he feels that if he were in Ted's situation, he would certainly feel bad and want a chance to express his apology.
So I did it. I reached out to him. My text said "that cut me deep." He apologized and swore to me that nothing happened. I told him that I didn't care if it did, I just didn't want to read about it. He apologized again and swore that nothing happened. He said that some kind of predictive text, or whatever the hell happened, happened. And I believe him. So yeah, things may be winding down on that end, but I'm glad he's in my life.

Tubes Tied and Text Tied

Not gonna front, February of 2019 has been a bit challenging to me. Don't get me wrong, it hasn't had shit on anything that happened throughout the whole year of 2017, but still, heavy. To start with, I finally had my day in court with my son's father to get the child support order corrected. When Caleb was in kindergarten, my ex went to court and lied about getting Caleb 50% of the time, significantly lowering what he was ordered to pay. Talk about a punch in the gut. I mean, I physically hurt in that moment. I honestly wanted to drive into a lake. My step mother and incredible friend Christine held me together, in that moment. I considered moving far south, just to get away from him, but logistically, with my job, gas, attending Clark and other things, moving to Newnan just wasn't feasible. On top of that he didn't give me child support for 2 months. May not seem like a lot, but at the time, I was brining home roughly $800 from my part-time job while attending school. My only saving grace was that at the time I'd squirreled away the last of my tax money. But with that 2 months, the last of my tax money quickly evaporated. I had zero food in my refrigerator, and despite my pleas to him, to at least bring some Kroger gift cards or food for his child to eat, my ex was unmoved. Unmoved by the idea of his own child starving smh. In that moment, I contacted his step-mother who was kind enough to give me $60 to feed the kid. Cuz her ain't shit stepson wouldn't.
Moving forward, I tried numerous times to get the child support adjusted. And every damned time, despite it all, my ex was the victor when we went to court.
But this time, I was prepared. I had reached out to a lawyer I went to high school with and she was kind enough to take on my case. She came to court with me, on our date February 14th. That's right, Valentine's Day. Valentine's Day in court with people going through divorces any my child support modification. To make this long story short (I didn't initially intend to include this little tidbit in this blog, but I guess my caramel latte has kicked in, here), my child support order was granted and he ended up order to pay over DOUBLE what he was paying before, in addition to my lawyer's fees.

Talk about a weight being lifted! My goal is now to pay down some of the credit cards I'd used to hold us afloat over the years and then begin putting money into savings for my son. He's an amazing kid and he certainly deserves it. Methinks I'll even treat my little prince to a nice little vacation, either for spring break or this summer.
On other aspects in my life, I'm thinking that within the next two years or so, it may be time for a change on the job front. I love my clients dearly, but I sometimes get frustrated by mental blockages that keep them from reaching their full potential. My goal, while I'm sitting in this quaint little coffeehouse, is to finally start looking up registering to take my social work licensure exam. I'd make a lot more money once I do this. And I know that, but the fact is that I'm still tired as hell from grad school. More studying and chasing people down for reference letters isn't something I want to do. Thankfully I make a glowing impression where ever I go so getting a letter won't be hard at all, but shit, more work! *meh*

So while I'm considering a job change within a year or so, I decided to hurry the hell up and start taking advantage of my insurance, particularly getting a tubal ligation, a.k.a., getting my tubes tied. I tried unsuccessfully to get this done 3 years ago, but I wasn't prepared for the $1k price tag I'd have to pay. And that was actually adjusted for my low pay at the time. What now?! One would think that the government would be lining up to sterilize women making $8.50 an hour working at PetSmart, but I didn't find that to be the case.
Oddly enough, when I first met Pete, I was 36 and largely knew I didn't want any more children. I was kind of shocked when he told me he'd had a vasectomy. I really had to think about that. I was genuinely still on the fence. But once he died and I went through my grief process, once I awoke nearly a year later, I was quite sure that I didn't want anymore kids. I was done. I've been dragging my feet on it, but the time is now. I'm 38 and ready to start traveling and living my life. Wiping noses and asses is not on my agenda, unless we're talking about my parents. I contacted my insurance company the other day to learn that tubal ligation is free. Hot damn!! I was geeked. I read up a bit on it and readied myself. I even called my doctor and set a March date for the referral. Once the referral hits, I can do the procedure almost immediately after.

That night, I had the strangest of dreams. I dreamt that I'd been fooling around with Fred (lawd, I almost typed his real name there for a sec lol) and that I'd gotten pregnant. In my dream, I was too far along to abort the child, so I contacted him to let him know we were having a kid. He was okay with that. But then later in my dream, I learned that I was in fact early enough to abort the child and I contacted him to inform him that I planned not to have it. In that dream he begged me not to term his child. I woke up so conflicted. I went from "shit yeah, burn these damned tubes pronto!!" to still wanting them tied, but not nearly as excited. There is no doubt that I don't want any more kids. Well- scratch that. I'd love to adopt or even date a man who has kids and love on his like my own, but the idea of another 9 months of pregnancy, labor, and mothering an infant ain't in my cards, even a little.
I contacted Fred about my recent desire to get this permanently done, followed by my dream about us having a kid. Fred, Mr. No-Frills, quickly said "we aren't having any kids." Well no shit, Sherlock. But still, my nerves are shot. I contacted two of my riders for the last 25 years, Shaunnika and Courtney. They both agreed (along with the rest of the world) that "Malika don't need no more kids." I told them about my nervousness and they assured me that it was nothing to fear. They even said that they'd come with me to get the procedure done. God, I love them.
My next text was to Ted. I told him that I'd been all on board to get it done until my dream. Needless to say, I didn't mention the particulars of exactly who I was pregnant by in it. Being typical Ted, he told me not to worry. But then he quickly followed with a text that said "good because I like pleasing you" followed by "you felt good yesterday." The only problem is that I haven't seen his ass in two fucking weeks!

He immediately recognized his mistake and apologized profusely. But the damage was done. He sent about 5 or 6 text messages apologizing, but I haven't responded. I mean, exactly how does one respond to that? Yes, I'm well aware that we're open. He is not my man or boyfriend, or husband, any of that. But when I called him the night before and he didn't answer, now I know why. I just can't shake that. Sometimes I want him to contact me, crazy enough. I want him to apologize again. I genuinely have no words for him right now. None. I want to cry. My eyes have watered a little. But I won't let it happen.

I'm not sure when or if I'll see him again. As always, there are a few potentials hanging around, and one in particular I'm growing more fond of. I mean, yeah, the sex was great. But I just don't know how to come back from that.
So yeah, this is how my February 2019 is wrapping up. Tons of growth to begin looking at. I guess I'll start working on my LMSW application now. *sigh*

Chasing Unicorns

A couple of years ago, while Fred was visiting me, we went to see the Miles Davis biopic, Miles Ahead. I enjoyed the movie, but one character in it stood out to me- Junior. He immediately reminded me of my friend, Davis. Junior, who's name I looked up to learn is actually LaKeith Stansfield, possessed the same drifty eyes. Their eyes seemed to hold some kind of secret. Their eyes screamed of an inability to be held captive or captured. A wild innocence, if you will.

I began to follow LaKeith's career, later watching him in Dope, and of course, the show Atlanta. He offered amazing comedy relief in Atlanta as the character Darius. I'd come to admire LaKeith as an actor on his own, but every now and again, I'll look at him and get a glimpse of my old friend Davis all over again.
I've always known that I'd meet LaKeith in passing one day. I tend to be good about knowing those kinds of things. That I'll see people out in passing. Of course I never know when or where, but I always know its coming. So with that said, its only fitting that when Atlanta began filming again, LaKeith began showing up at at all of the Atlanta hotspots. Coincidentally enough, my best friend, Sky, had managed to see LaKeith at quite a few hot spots, including his own fucking house. :/
I've always been a big believer in serendipity. How some stuff comes together just right. That said, I drove Sky to a friend's birthday party on Friday night. While driving, we managed to encounter a gnarly traffic jam, that we were lucky enough to avoid by getting off at an earlier exit. The jam slowed us slightly, but not by much. While in the car, I'd asked Sky if he'd seen LaKeith lately. He said he hadn't. I went on to confess that part of my interest in LaKeith stemmed from how he reminded me of Davis. I confessed that their eyes had that similar inflections that held their loose connection to here. Sky stated that he felt that LaKeith's eyes were a bit less "holding it together" but stated that he agreed in my assessment.
We finally made it to the bar for Sky's final stop. As I drove on back, getting onto the main road, I looked up and I saw him- Davis. My heart leapt. We were just talking about him! I rolled down my window and screamed out his name across 5 lanes in the dark, drizzly night, to no avail. I finally gave up, and drove toward my destination, but I managed to see him again. I called his name again, and he finally stopped. I saw him straining his eyes to see who was calling out to him. I shouted my  name a few times, but I could tell he remained lost. He stood where he was, waiting to see the face of the person who'd been calling out to him.

I pulled up and he smiled. "Hey you," he said. We chatted briefly. It felt good. Calm, familiar, comforting. He asked if I wanted to park my car and come into the hotel where he'd been staying. I said yes. This particular hotel is a known shit hole, but he'd called this shit hole home for years, on and off, so despite the peeling paint, obvious crime scenes, and overall shitty feeling about it, I felt warm being there with him. He offered a chair for me to sit on, but I preferred the bed. I instantly melted.
I'll be honest and admit that Davis and I were both going through a lot when we first met. His mother had died roughly a month before he and I first crossed paths, and shortly after he and I met, my ex and I had our explosive final blow. Neither saw it at the time, but we were both pretty wounded. I talked about losing Pete and how if he'd lived, we would have fucked around a couple of times, and moved on with our lives. Instead, he died when and how he did, leaving me devastated, while simultaneously leading me to a path of calm and insight that I never saw coming. I said to Davis that my grieving period was like "the ultimate therapy lesson, where I was forced to lay all of my shit on the table." I talked a little about Steve. Davis talked about the two primary girlfriends he'd had, and how he'd come back to the shit hole motel after he and his ex broke up a few months back.
Davis, who is a painter, talked about watching his art grow and how he just wanted the money to start following his popularity- a stark contrast from the man I'd previously known, who never seemed to focus enough to make his art as big as it could have and should have been. He'd talked about being on a national t.v. show lately because of his art as well, and even getting paid for it. He took pride in showing me pictures of the paintings and murals he'd completed around the city. I was happy for him. I'd noticed the growth in his art from afar, and I was proud to see it up close. It was also awesome to see and feel that he'd grown on a personal level. I'd reminded him of the painting he'd previously promised me. He asked me what it was supposed to be of, and I said something that reminded him of me. He admitted that would take a lot, but said that he hoped to complete it one day.



Davis asked about Pumpkin and I talked about how my baby is now a whopping 11-years-old. He was floored. I asked about his kids as well. Davis then asked if he could crash at my apartment for a while. One thing that I'd left out up to this point, is that Davis has a vice or two, which contributed to some of our previous issues. And I couldn't have those vices around my son. Not now. I'm shaping him to the man I know he's capable of being and seeing mommy's friend drinking his breakfast is not the image I'm trying to bring forth. Davis agreed that if he stayed with me, no drinking at the house. But then I thought about it again. I couldn't do it. Yes, a small part of me still cares wildly about Davis, but I just can't welcome bullshit into my home and life. Davis understood though. "Yeah, he's too big for all of that." I nodded. Pumpkin is a young man now. Any man I bring into my home needs to be a serious suitor, a husband in waiting. Not just one of mom's "guy friends." I had to pass. But truth be told, if Pumpkin weren't a factor, I would have quickly told him yes. I guess that's just another example of my child saving me from myself.
I'd talked a bit more about my dating life, sharing that'd I'd bought a sex toy last summer, but that I hadn't even used the thing, because to me, sex is more cerebral than anything. I confessed that my favorite part of sex is what he and I were doing, just relaxing and sharing our lives, not just the penetration. Davis surprised me by saying "yeah, I feel like we're having sex, just doing this." I nodded in agreement. There we were, fully clothed, laying on the bed, admitting to how intimately connected we felt.

It was getting late, and I was exhausted. I asked Davis if I could crash there for a few. He said of course. I kicked off my shoes, and lay down next to him. He said that I could take off my jeans too, but I said that I didn't trust human nature in that moment. He understood. We spooned, his arms wrapped around me. I quickly nodded off. I'd set my alarm for a few hours, knowing I needed to get home soon. But I couldn't, not yet. I turned and wrapped my arms around Davis. He pulled me closer. I never wanted to leave that spot. After 30 more minutes, I began to gather myself. I readied to sneak out, to not disturb him. He looked up at me putting myself together and silently began to get dressed as well, to walk me to my car.
Naturally, on my way home, I replayed what just happened. Things we'd shared, how I felt. How I managed to unpack some unresolved feelings I'd had for him. Oddly enough, I probably have more of these kinds of encounters than the average person. Perhaps I'm just more open to it, to these unspoken spiritual connections, brought upon by a kind of recognition. I found myself again, glad to be single. Because if I'd had a guy at home, what I just experienced was non-sexual, but it was so much deeper than physically cheating. I hadn't shared my body, I'd shared my mind and my spirit. Davis is a bit of a unicorn. I guess I am too.

Savagely Single

I've been having some strange health problems that I'd attributed to currently taking 3 prescription medications, when I realized the other day that my problems are more likely tied to dehydration than anything else. I awoke Saturday and began chugging as much water as I could. I needed to get up and move around more and I feared that drinking water would take way too long to begin hitting my vital organs. As much as I hated to do it, I called the one person I hated to ask a favor of. Him. Mr. Armoire. Steve.
I hated the idea of making it sound like a favor, so I texted to ask if I could pay him to give me an i.v. of fluids. He responded that he did not have a set up of it, but asked how I was doing anyway. I responded that I was going well, and long story short, he told me that he'd had some issues he'd been dealing with, but his girlfriend helped him thru it.
Oh really, now?
So I responded by saying that I'm pretty much enjoying the single life and that I'm seeing multiple men. Now put THAT in your pipe and smoke it.

Yeah, he didn't respond after that lol. One of the things that I'd grown to dislike about Steven even when we were together was that tit-for-tat shit. Who wants to be in a relationship where they're constantly at war? I've certainly had enough of that from multiple men and I'll be damned if I'll entertain it again.
Not tooting my own horn here, but I believe that Steve felt a bit self-conscious next to a woman like me and he felt the need to one up me. And not to be tooting my own horn here either, but I'm the shit next to him, so good luck trying. But I wasn't with him because of competition, I was with him because we vibed well. His constant need of one-upping me when he fucked up (which happened multiple times) was draining.
So yeah, I'm one of those happily single people that you read about. I certainly have married people around me, but I can't say that I think they're all doing well. One of my friends I feel would be doing so much better if she weren't dragging her husband along who has only had spotty employment since I've known them since high school and one of my guy friends once confided that he strongly feels he'd be a millionaire right now if he hadn't married fresh out of high school. Now to be fair, I do feel that some of these couples I know are doing well, so not all marriage is a soul-sucking failure.
But after seeing the vast difference in my life between my life now and my life with my exes, I am more aware than ever that partnering with the wrong person can utterly destroy you and your potential.
The fact is that I'm currently seeing Ted on a regular, been really missing Fred lately so I've been calling him a lot, and there is a new guy sniffing around who is kind of an in between personality between Fred and Ted, who I'll call Eric. And I'm not overly tied to anyone! If they start to fuck up, I can just opt not to deal with them. No need to text back and forth and argue. No shouting matches. My money stays in my owned damned account and no one is out here fucking it up for me. Pretty kick ass, I think. I mean, perhaps I'm broken and unable to commit. Maybe its true. But you know what? I'm loving this shit!!

The Biology of A.D.D.

The cool thing about learning that I have A.D.D. is learning how much it impacts my overall functioning. I've learned to look more at how I organize things, my time management, how I function at work, essentially nearly my whole life. The crazy thing is how absolutely I was uninformed about ADD. I've known people who's children took meds for it and I never thought much one way or the other, but to now be in a place where I'm one of the ones who genuinely benefits from it is interesting.

I think what bugs me the most is when I announce to people that there is a reason behind my scatter-brained nature. They'll normally respond with "yeah, I think I have a little of that too." Its kind of infuriating. I mean, sure, I make it look like no big thing, particularly since I've managed to graduate high school, undergrad, and grad school, but the fact is that the non-functional part of my brain has held me captive since I can remember. I recall being young and how much my teachers were furious with my constant spacing out in school and how enraged my mother was that my grades continued to suffer, despite my clearly intelligent mind.

I recently sought out meds for this ailment and I surprised even myself when I began to cry when I explained to my nurse practioner how frustrating it is to have made peace with knowing that one day I will need to pay a cleaning person to clean my home as remaining focused on cleaning long-term and organization are things I simply cannot do. So when someone who has nowhere near the problems I have say "Yeah, I have a little ADD too" with no real history of it to back it up, other than occasional boredom, it ain't cool. People don't go "yeah, I have a little bit of cancer too" but with ADD, people feel okay just downplaying it.

I was made aware of just how much of a thing this is for me when yesterday, as I visited my doctor for a follow up (diabetes AND weight is down- yes!!) and I informed him of the Adderall that I am currently taking, in conjunction with my diabetes meds. My doctor tried to tell me that my diagnosis is not ADD and that I don't need medication. His theory is based on the fact that "children with ADD fight a lot and don't listen to people." Say what now? I explained that he really described ODD (oppositional defiant disorder) but he disagreed. So yeah, I guess that my years in the field don't mean shit of knowing the difference between the two.

Next was my father, a licenced clinical psychologist, who informed me that rather than taking meds, I "just need to focus more." Really dad?! Word?! He's well aware of my years of struggling in school, yet he tells me I just need to focus more. Shit, if I could focus, I wouldn't need the damned pills to begin with! Looking online shows multiple sites that show that ADD is not real. I agree, perhaps everyone that has problems is not ADD. But that doesn't make it not a real thing.

A few days ago, I'd had a conversation with a girlfriend of mine where I casually shared with her that I'd been prescribed some hydrocodone some years back for some pain or another, but it had absolutely zero affect on me. I'd actually kept the bottle with one pill left (cuz, ya know, why not?) when it disappeared around the same time some family visited me... But I digress, that same pill sat in that bottle forever. My friend said to me, "man, its crazy how ADD really does impact the brain like that and make different people respond to different things." I'd never even thought about it, but she was right. Just like how because of ADD too much caffeine puts me to sleep. Just for confirmation, I read up on the link between hydrocodone and ADHD, and indeed, it actually helps some people with their symptoms.

So I guess this, like many other things are just my cross to bear. But I'm okay with it because now I can seek answers to and start being a better version of myself. Isn't that all any of us can ask?

Welcome to the Club, I'm Sorry You're Here

Friday when I left work was like most others. Relaxing and decompressing in my car, when I finally got around to calling back my friend, Clarence. Clarence and I go back a few years, he's a good guy. Since he's an avid comic book guy, we chatted it up about the newest Spiderman movie, Spiderverse. And yes, it is one of the greatest movies ever, no debate here. I rambled about work for a few, then I went on to ask him about the ladies in his life. Ya know, any prospects kind of convo.

But Clarence caught me off guard, sharing with me that he'd began living with a young lady that he'd known some years back. She told him that she'd had brain cancer. I shared my apprehension, but he said it was all good. Things had been going along well and he was hopeful. He whispered to her that she was going to make it and that they'd soon have beautiful brown babies together.
She died right before Christmas.

Clarence stated "yeah, it was tough, but I'm cool." Except, I know he's not. He's a part of that same fucking club. I don't know if its age or what, but it keeps holding us hostage. Its like a timeshare in the worst way. I told him a bit of my story of losing Pete and how I still cry frequently. How things like a beautiful sunset or a song will still do me in. How I felt like a piece of my arm was missing and how I struggle to feel normal.

I told Clarence that the fact is, you never feel "normal" again, you just learn to live with the pain. I even confessed to Clarence, that when he and I went to see DeadPool 2 together, during the scenes where DeadPool is communicating on the other side with his dead girlfriend, I wept so hard during the movie. Because I know that deep feeling of "please just let me be near you one more time."
Clarence then admitted that he'd never cried so hard after she passed away. He said "I cried until my eyes hurt. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore." Its kind of interesting how when you don't want to bore people with your story, or sound like a nut, or make a situation all doom and gloom with death talk, you kind of clean it up for your audience. But only with other "club members" can you let out how hollowing the feeling is of losing someone you love.

Clarence and I talked a bit more about the whole thing, as I tried to offer some words of encouragement. As the conversation wound down, Clarence ended it by saying that he had to go. But I know in my heart that as soon as we got of the phone, Clarence began crying again. And as soon as we got off the phone, I began crying again too.

More

So I can't help but to notice that I'm blogging more lately. We're only 11 days into the year and I'm already on my 6th blog. To be fair, I don't anticipate continuing to drop a blog a day, but my inability to focus, coupled with an available computer, and racing thoughts continue to lead me back here. I can't help but to reflect on the fact that a few years back, after some shit with my son's father (although, to be fair, the whole relationship was shit), I'd almost stopped blogging. There were certainly times that I stepped away. After grad school I had to practically dust the cobwebs off of this thing.

I think what has led to my increase in blogging is pretty simple though- I'm happy. I mean seriously, probably for the first fucking time in my adult life, I'm actually freaking happy. No man stressing me out, no family fights, my bills are (relatively) paid. I guess I'm writing so much just to soak all of this up. After years of depression, struggle, anxiety, poverty, low self-esteem, and heartbreak, I'm finally at this point and I'm just fully wrapping my mind around it all. As I write this, even my jeans are getting a bit too big. The same damned scale at work that continued to taunt me with 200 lbs for months finally gave in and budged me to 197. And holy shit, yesterday, it even said 195!!

I continue to look forward to my vacation summer where I will spend time with Fred, followed by a visit from my international friend. Early in the year, I reached out to a friend of mine to share my apprehension regarding going into 2019. I told him how amazing 2018 was, followed by how tragic 2017 was. My fear was that after 2018 was the best, it would soon be followed by more tragedy. I mean, after finally being given a life to be happy about, the last thing I want is to experience again what 2017 did. Guy I like died, broken foot, fired for something I didn't do, forced to work at Petsmart under a raging cunt just to keep my bills paid, and later landing a job in my field that continued to pay me late on top of underpaying me? The only thing that kept me on this planet was knowing that if I took myself out, my son would spend the rest of his life a basket case. I just can't do that to him. Enter 2018 and now 2019.

So I guess I'll have to accept that all of life is not shit and that I can finally be happy. I mean, I made it, I'm here. Yay.

Influence

The scale at work finally showed mercy and dropped my weight to under 200 lbs. I'm now at 197, a first since September. Thank God, I did 3 miles on Saturday and 3 miles on Sunday, in addition to scaling my diet back tremendously. I'm actually okay with this. I'm not hungry, and if I get hungry, a few almonds, pistachios, or an apple tend to do the trick. Too damned cold to work out though. At least for now. My blood sugar dropped by 30 since yesterday, so I'm on track for a comeback. I actually enjoy health food and I think this may have to be a new way of life for me.

When I first met Ted, about 4 years ago, he was all belly. He was adamant about his refusal to work out. The only working out he was interested in was of a sexual nature, which, truth be told, I was more than okay with. He is the heaviest guy I've been with, registering around 280 at his heaviest during our time together. But then one day during the summer, Ted started working out.

I mean, Ted and I have shared our mutual desire to lose weight (although he prefers me heavier), but he, much like myself, would always fall back into bad habits. But not this time. Ted has lost over 50 pounds. I'm amazed watching this transition. I complimented the jeans I last saw him in and said "oh my God! No more dad jeans!" He laughed and shared that apparently those jeans brought about a loud chorus of people that saw them and remarked on his now-too-big dad jeans. I keep telling him that I have to definitely lose weight now because I can't have him being the only slim hottie between us. I mean, this man works out 2 times a day, and it seems like 80% of the time when I call him, he's in the gym.

Its so funny to me that Ted and Fred (again, complete coincidence their names rhyme) managed to be so on top of their weight. I mean, true, men lose fat quicker than women (due in part to their muscle tone). Fred isn't a case of weight loss though. He was a high school all star, pretty much excelling in any sport he tried. Fred and I often visited Whole Foods and shared a love of their vegan chocolate cake.

Moving forward, I certainly wish he was close by to help me kick this into gear. After I gained my weight back previously, I knew that I'd eventually lose it again. And as much as I resent that I put it back on, I was always thankful for the experience of regaining the weight, because it showed me firsthand how simple it is to fall back into bad habits. Sometimes we need people to keep us inspired to do our best. I'm so blessed to not just have one or two people, but a boatload of people to inspire me to stay my best.

Graduate school was a difficult time for me. Sometimes I feel like I made it look easy, but that shit was rough!! I saw more politicking, backbiting, hunger, misery, and utter disrespect than I've seen in any portion of my life while attending a historically Black university. I was moved to start a food pantry that serves Morehouse, Clark, and Spelman, and so help me God, it was a doozey.

What amazed me was that shortly after I finished, I'd had 4 separate people tell me that I'd inspired them to go to school. Word? Me? One is currently finishing up her bachelor's degree, while the other is my ever-so-hardheaded mentee who I've been working with since she was in 7th grade. She should be a sophomore in college now.

As I look at my recent health challenges, and my renewed faith that I can overcome this, I guess I'm reminded how much we're all connected in trying to find someone to influence us. Sometimes we inspire, sometimes we need the inspiration. That's okay with me.

To Tell or Not?

My uncle, my mother's brother, recently had some serious health problems. Its pretty bad. My cousin does an amazing job of taking care of his father, but watching this has me nervous on so many levels. I told my stepmommy and father that if it came down to it, I'd take care of them, no matter what. But watching a parent get old ain't easy. My cousin tried dearly to handle the pressure of it all, but no one else in my family was aware of just how sick my uncle is. Plus my cousin needed money, because taking care of his father takes away from his ability to run his business. I did what I felt was the right thing and began calling my family to really illustrate how my uncle/their brother/their uncle is. They were shocked. They genuinely had no clue.

Despite how I feel about my mother, I even called her. I dunno, part of me was hoping that my family would toss in some coins for my cousin (lord knows they can spare it), plus I guess I also kind of felt like at the end of the day, your family should be the first to know and show up if you're in bad shape. It was the strangest and shortest of conversations, but I communicated what needed to be said. "Your brother is sick and in Atlanta. He's not doing well." And that was my first time talking to my mother in roughly 3 and a half years. Damn, I'm going to make some therapist rich one day. While visiting my cousin and uncle recently, my cousin shared with me "your mom is going to visit soon and she's bringing your sister with her." I'm pretty sure the stupid smile plastered across my face illustrated my feelings. Fuck. Fuckity, fucking, fuck.

My feelings had nothing to do with my mother, it was moreso at my disgusts about my mother bringing my sister to visit my sick uncle. I mean seriously, why bring that bitch? The fact is that my sibling got into some legal trouble and my uncle was kind enough to help her out of it, and then she later destroyed some property that my uncle had to foot the bill for. My uncle let her know that he was unhappy with her shenanigans, and rather than remaining humble and apologizing, she had the gall to claim that she disliked how arrogant he was in his divorce against my aunt. What?! I'm getting pissed off all over again just thinking about it. This isn't even about the fact that the aunt is a non-bio relative (on the contrary, she's a beautiful woman with a beautiful spirit and I wish nothing but good things for her), this is about the fact that this fucked up bitch jumped into a divorce that had absolutely nothing to do with her, to justify disliking my uncle after he let her know how fucked up she is. Truthfully, she's never even had a real relationship with this aunt enough to suddenly feel like she needs to pick a side. And THAT is the bitch my mama chose to bring with her to see my sick uncle. Some goddamned nerve.

Seeing that really made me consider what I'd want to happen, who I'd want to know, and how I'd want folks to react if I ever got sick. My fear was that my fucked up sib would take one look at my uncle's withered body and throw herself on him and scream, groan, and cry about her poor sick uncle- despite having not seen or talked to him since the mid-2000's.

I decided then and there that if I got sick, I'm not telling a lot of folks. Nothing would make me angrier than a bitch that was downright evil toward me collecting sympathy points during moments of my illness. Enter the other day.

So I wrote before about the news that this diabetes thing isn't going well. My first thought was to keep it to myself. No need to worry people. But then I thought about it, and I knew that I had to tell my mom. Well, she's actually my stepmom, but she's shown me more love, compassion, kindness and wisdom than my bio mother ever did. Yeah, this is my mom, right here. So I called her. I told her. Neuropathy. She was worried, but calm. She told me to make sure my diet is okay, she encouraged me to take care of myself and not get worried. My mother is incredible. I felt like that was it. No more telling people.

But as time went on, I felt like some people just needed to know. My biggest fear was something happening to me, and those closest to me being the last to know. Not cool. So I called Sky. I told Daisy, my sister from another mister. Then I called Fred. By the time I called Fred, I was pretty upset. Sky and Daisy both offered insight and support and I'm so honored by how much they showed their concern. But Fred really calmed me. This is a man who can have some pretty dickish tendancies, but he listened to my fears and reminded me that worrying doesn't help things and to do what I know for sure will help. I told another close girlfriend yesterday. At one point, I choked on the words "If I don't get this straight-" I paused. My friend, Christine offered "you'll die?" And the floodgates opened.

It isn't lost on me that I'm sharing all of this on my blog, where it is readily available to any and everyone. Oddly enough, I've always felt like this blog and my facebook page are like my record for when I'm no longer here. So if these words are what people cling to, *shrugs*

I'm feeling more hopeful today. The warming sensation is lessening. It was pretty  hardcore yesterday, but has scaled back. I decided to go hard on the veggies for the next week and some change, and then visit my doctor to see how things line up. But whatever happens to me, I want to make sure that all of the emotion around me and my condition is genuine, not people clinging to me because of fear of leaving kind words unsaid. If you can't be kind to me while I'm here to receive them, I certainly don't want you sharing them when I'm ill, just to alleviate your own guilt.

When the actor, Sherman Hemsley, died of cancer, he didn't tell the public. He lived his life to the fullest until the end. He didn't want the chemo. I also feel that he didn't want a bunch of fake, half-assed people showing up and offering their apologies for whatever they'd done and getting shit off their chest and trying to create fake connections in the end. I kind of dig that, and at his age, I'd like to go out much the same way. I want my true friends and loved ones to be that to me til my casket drops. And I want the fake people that hate me to keep that energy til the end. If its good enough for George Jefferson, its certainly good enough for me.

Neuropathy

I recently disclosed that this stupid diabetes is rearing its ugly head again. I can't be mad, this is my own effing fault. I sometimes do an amazing job of keeping things together. Other days, this is a kick in the teeth. Of course the holidays didn't make things better. But overall, I've done well. I've been running and walking through my  neighborhood and sometimes through the park. My diet has been better.

So imagine my surprise when I felt this warm sensation shooting through my leg? I was at work, at my desk, where I often keep a space heater at my feet to stay warm. Except, I looked up and the space heater was nowhere near my leg. That's odd. A bit later, I felt it again, in the same leg. Random warmth. Yesterday, while wearing sweatpants, my leg felt so warm, I felt like the sun was shining directly onto it. Except it wasn't. I was wearing black sweatpants. But it was still warm. I gave up and gave Google a spin. I saw a few things linked to diabetes. Fuck.

This morning, I decided to talk to a nurse in my building. I told him my symptoms and he said to me "it sounds like neuropathy." He then explained "neropathy is the body's way of telling you that you're at a breaking point with your diabetes. If you keep going the way you're going, you'll be at a point of no return. You have to cut out pretty much everything. Salt, sugar, all of that." I was crushed. What? Huh?

What scared me the most is the fact that I've seen other people die from diabetes. Its a long, nasty, painful process. Not even painless, open wounds, amputation, strokes, all kinds of shit. And there lies my life, potentially. *sigh* Fuck.

Malika, The Theme

So I'm single. I actually enjoy it this time around. Ted is closeby to keep my back scratched, and he does an outstanding job of it. No dating though. I mean, I'm somewhat open to dating new men, but truth be told, I'm expecting some changes later in the year and I don't want the bullshit of some dude to distract me from my goals. I like being single, because it allows me to be at my best, without playing the dating game. I'm over the dating game. I'm really in love with the woman that I am becoming. And part of becoming her is learning to protect her heart and mind, via cutting off bullshit at the door.

The crazy thing is that I'm not typically short on men that would like to date me- the issue is that I don't come across many men that take my time and heart seriously. Facebook, which has served as an incredible social outlet, has also led to quite a few men in my inbox. I've learned something from the inboxers though- none of these men are into the actual me. Quite often they see me online, cracking hysterical jokes, making intellectual quips about life, and they assume that's all there is to me. That I'm just an easygoing woman with a high sex drive who likes to laugh. They see me as a theme, as a representative.

I mean, yeah, that is a part of who I am, but I'm so much more. I'm funny, kind, introspective, big on social justice, educated, pro-Black, pro-children (just not pro having more children), I have moments of insecurity. To put it in a nutshell, I'm human. I'm flawed. I'm multi-faceted. But men see me goofing off on Facebook and assume that dating me means a few inbox messages and I'll be sitting on their face in a week and a half.

Not at all. I like dates. I like men who are gentle (but not wimps). I like men who travel (and have plans to take me with them). I want a man who shares his hopes and dreams. I mean, who would have thought that the same guys who inbox me, meet with me once and discover that I'm a normal woman, not the fantasy they built me up to be. It happens. A lot.

I had a girlfriend who used to may slick comments rooted in her jealousy (she and I are no longer friends), where she would say that she wishes she had men around to fuck, much like I do. I'd explain to her that 1) plenty of guys wanted to sleep with her, she just didn't see it and 2) being an object of desire isn't all its cracked up to be. Men will lie, cheat, and steal to get pussy. It feels horrible to spend time with a man, ask a million questions, begin to let down your guard, only to find out he's a creep. Yet its the story of my fucking life. It isn't cute, it isn't fun, it isn't funny. But all she saw was that I was an object of desire. But she missed that part. An OBJECT.

The Look of Grief

I've accepted that I now belong to an elite club. An organization with the strictest of requirements for entrance, yet a club that no one wants to belong to. Its kind of a "I lost the one I love" club. Believe me, no one wants in on this shit.

I was just watching TMZ and they interviewed Sean Combs. He thanked them on camera for being respectful as he and his family suffered from the loss of Kim Porter, although he declined to say her name. Gone was the flashy, over the top Puff Daddy we knew of the mid-90's. Something was missing, and I could see him trying to find it. I know that look and feeling, because I experience parts of it every waking moment of my life.
He'd been in the process of hiking and he took time to film and post the hills he'd been hiking on. When the cameraman asked him how he was holding up, he answered something along the lines of "day by day, minute by minute." Sean and his ex of 10 years, Cassie, had been rumored to be close to their final break up, and immediately after Kim's passing, she was by Sean's side, but lately she's been seen booed up elsewhere. I don't blame her, because I knew how I was immediately after Pete's passing as well. Well-intentioned (and some not-so-well-intentioned) men approached me constantly. And I was nice, but firm in my desire to be alone. I don't want your dick, I don't want you making me laugh, I want to be left the fuck alone. I know that feeling well. So I feel Sean. Other people may not have seen it, but I certainly did. I wanted so bad to hug him and say to him "I understand, take all the time you need."
In my time immediately after, I took to the mountains twice. I needed that so much. To simply be next to nature. Its amazing how being in the mountains you almost feel like you're stripping down, energetically raw. Nothing but you and your emotions, as you sort through all of these thoughts and feelings. Its almost like "if I can't be near the person I love and lost, let me just be in this moment with nature, since this is the closest I'll come to their spirit" I still look up at sunsets on occasion and feel like the light peeking through those clouds is a message from Pete.

A girlfriend recently hipped me to a male musician in Atlanta who has these banging ass house parties here in Atlanta. The man lost his partner over a decade ago, but I could feel his loneliness, his aching as he performed at a party. My friend swore to me that he wasn't lonely. She assured me that he's surrounded by women of his choosing and he lives this wild musician lifestyle, the ultimate bachelor.
She couldn't see it, but I could. Its amazing how you can spot it. How unspoken it is, this hurt, this longing. Trying your best to make sense of seeing a person, loving them, and being loved by them, then one day the Universe says "that's it, time to go." There is no arguing. No pleading. No complaint department. You just gotta deal with that shit. And it leaves you with a hole in your heart that you just wear, like an anchor. You spend, essentially the rest of your days looking for the part of your spirit that left with your loved one. You'll never get it back.

A few months ago, I played the lotto. I imagined what I'd do if I had $100m plus to blow. Anything I wanted, I could buy. The very first thing my mind wandered to wasn't fancy vacations, huge homes, fast cars. For a very split second, when I said "what would I have if I could have anything? I'd bring Pete back." It was a passing moment, and then I was sad again. When considering the one thing I wanted more than anything, the first thing that came to mind was something money can't buy. Even if I hit the lotto and had fancy boats and clothes, I'd still feel that same longing. When Kim died, that's how I knew Sean felt. $820m is what he's worth, and with all of that, the awards, the women, the cars, the trips, all of that, he'd never have back the woman he loved.
I remember when Caleb was a baby, there was an elderly woman who lived in the same building that I did. She'd always greet me and Caleb and ask our names and introduce herself. Her name was Ms. Pence. Her husband of 2 years had died when she was younger. I don't recall how, but I know that despite not remembering me or my son, she talked steadily about her husband. Honestly, I never got it, until now. She remembered those small details of her love and although she'd dated since then, none of them ever matched up, so she opted to remain alone. I feel her in that. After losing a person you love, anyone you're with seriously afterward has to be amazing, because you get to the point of choosing to be alone rather than settling for some wack shit. Either that, or you cling to whatever warm body will have you. And even then, you cling to the memory of the person you lost.
That was 11 years ago and Ms. Pence was older then, so I kind of hope that in that time, she made her way home to her departed husband.
So I'm in this club, the Lonely Hearts Club. My cross to bear. Such is life.