sAid LoVeR
 I reconnected with an old friend. She’s been a part of my life for over a decade. Low-key I’ve always been overprotective of her because her mind and heart are absolutely beautiful. She’s supported me and loved me unconditionally for a long time. I honestly can’t really explain our relationship or connection but those rare times in life when we get a moment to pause from our real lives, we share intellect. I can always speak from the most honest part of myself and be met with love. I aspire to be more like her. Another toxic blog coming to you soon.
Today she asked me two questions because we always talk about our love lives or lack thereof. She specifically asked if I have a Said Lover--thank you for letting me know you read my blogs. I appreciate you. My answer felt too complicated when it should have flat out just been 'no.' I do not have a Said Lover. All there is, is a person I’m “kicking it” with. Why that term? Because, well, relationship is a strong word and there are several things I need before I say I’m in one. This person is not proving those things and I need to stop behaving like I’m off the market (still not on the market) for someone who only exist in my life for food and movies. Of course, it’s much more complicated than that, but you get the point. I’m SINGLE. Said Lover and I also don’t have the best or most stable history. My brain won’t give me peace with some of the things she’d said and done, which makes me unforgiving. I struggle with being one of those women that make excuses. You know, “At least she never cheated,” forcing myself to accept a lesser of many evils. For what? I don’t know if she doesn’t cheat. I don’t know what she does, and that in itself is problematic for someone like me. I can’t say confidently that she would never do (insert fuckboi shit) to me. She did and now my brain constantly says she still is and will do it again. It’s just a feeling I have in my gut. It nags. Trust a liar to lie. Trust a cheater to cheat. I notice everything a person does and I stay silent. I let them lie to my face about it and make sure to keep myself guarded from their shit. Shout out to my Ex-wife for being trash and teaching me how to spot manipulation. I was getting a bit comfortable with our situation but a quick trip to see my family and a few slaps brought me back to reality. Seeing my sister with her girlfriend always reminds me to give what I get. Their love is quite inspiring. I trust three people 100% with all of who I am: my sister, my best friend Bee, and my best friend Chi. My longtime friend’s second question was what would my fairytale be? This came after I stated that I wanted my loyalty and dedication matched. I said I want my fairytale. Fairytales get a lot of flack for pretty much all being toxic and ending the same, but on the brighter side they each have their own storyline and just want love in the form that works for them. They tell you not to tell people what you want because they can pretend to be that, but at the same time if they know nothing, how can they love you properly? We are all imperfect people and we have to be taught how to love people in the way they receive love. So here is my fairytale. My want list:
I want my fairytale. My love fairytale is old school. Its mixtapes, going steady, holding books through hallways, walking you home just to spend more time with you and make sure your safe. It’s handwritten love letters and sitting on the phone sharing war stories until 3am, saying no you hang up until four. My love is coats over puddles for you to step on, holding you hand while you walk down steps in heels. My love is coming to the door to knock or ring the doorbell for your company, not blowing the horn to wait for you to come outside. My love is looking forward to a kiss at the end of the date because we had such a good time that you earned it. We earned it. My love is not caring who text first because text are new school, so like fuck that, call me. My love is telling you exactly how I feel and doing way too much because I want you to know that I’m into you. I don’t need these games or dating rules. It’s VCRs and cassette tapes. It’s the original Nintendo and floor model TVs. There is no grey area in what I wish to give or receive and I shall keep my love to myself until it’s worth releasing. I never wanted to do kid alone because I watched my Mom do it, but I’m okay with it now. Solo trips, masturbation, and worshipping myself. I’m so down that it makes no sense. And yes, I do understand that there are things that have to test you and I’m okay with that. I sit and think about how I stayed in a relationship for five years with the same person and how I can do it again but longer some day. Honestly, she and I had the best communication. She didn’t mind hurting me with the truth. She never robbed me of my choice. She never found joy in her bad decisions. Sometimes if I got silent, she’d randomly apologize for hurting me assuming that’s what my distance meant. Even if that wasn’t the reason, I appreciated her acknowledgment. There was no such thing as a mad day. She’d pick a place, typically by water and we’d go sit and talk through the discomfort until we were back in a decent space. She never allowed me to feel jealous or insecure about anyone or anything. People wanted us. They wanted us a part to have their turn. Our foundation was so solid. Put her in a room full of available beautiful women and she’d stare at me and me back at her. Trust me, it happened. I think she was the first woman to place me on the same pedestal that I placed her on. We were equals. Partners. We never even made a decision without each other. I’m a stubborn one, so I can remember trying to sleep on the sofa some nights when I called myself being mad about something. She would squeeze her 6 foot something ass right on the sofa with me because sleeping without each other and as not an option. We had the same love language so I never had to explain what I needed. We did EVERYTHING together and wanted all of the same things. She was my best friend. We started out that way. Maybe I should shoot my shot with one of my friends in a year or two. They’d laugh me out of this country if I tried so let me stop. But, this is what I think of when I think of someone who doesn’t give up on you. I was the one that gave up. I don’t want her or that back, but I am learning to honor the good that happened in all of my relationships romantic and platonic. It’s my love history and brought me to where I am to know what I will and won’t tolerate. I want the next level. The improved version of unbreakable love. I want my symbol of love that fits, be it a glass slipper, a magical rose, or true loves kiss. I want it. Hopefully, it’s something obvious like a notebook or an special ink pen, something that represents me, but it’s out there.
0 Comments
 I can remember thinking that I needed to be a lady. My Mama raised us that way or at least she tried because that’s what women do. Mold their daughters to be what men say they want. I followed these rules up until I was a teenager. Didn’t cut my hair, sat up straight, tried not to be too loud, didn’t cuss… I basically didn’t do anything unlady like. Then I heard a Little Kim track. I was obsessed with that little woman from the moment I heard her voice. I knew all of her songs and posted her pictures on my wall. I’m sure I even named one of my vibrators after her. I still love her. Til death. But every time she crosses my mind now, I feel sadness. Sadness because in loving her I had to know her story, too. I’m all for women changing their hair, bodies, and whatever else they want in order to be happy. It just has to be for themselves. I hate knowing that a man made her feel that she wasn’t enough, because she was more than enough. That woman was fine as fuck. It makes me even more sad that I can relate. I’ve been there with the people that wanted me to be different physically. I’m just glad that I found myself enough to know better otherwise, I’d look just like Kim. I wasn’t always the girl that was told she was pretty. Brown, buck-teeth, wide nose, kinky hair, and thin. That’s what I looked like. Guess what? People still liked me. My ex liked her women white or Hispanic. She expressed this often. She always wanted me to straighten my hair. She often reminded me that I was thicker than she liked when I’m actually not big at all, but I mean when you’re used to dealing with Meth Anne, I guess I understand. I would just take it at first, but the savage in me got tired because, like, why the fuck are you here? You are more than welcome to trade me in for tacos or unseasoned food. There are other faces I can be sitting on while you’re wasting my time. I had to humble her because she wasn’t my “type” either. If I have to go for physical, which I don’t because I truly believe in loving the soul and mind of a person, I like my women artsy: dreads, tattoos, piercings. I like my women with a sense of style. She had none of this, well, except the tattoos. She also didn’t exactly have a winning personality or money or a luxury car. I’m just talking shit, but for real. She was basic. She tried it. I’m not bleaching my skin, I wear my hair the way I feel like it, even if that’s uncombed, and you’re going to take this body however it comes. You want bones, go get it. You want somebody with a massive ass or a BBW, I can point you in the right direction. I have a waiting list of people willing to suck orange soda from my ass if I asked them to, even your homies (insert shrugs). Ain’t no way I’ll let someone who can’t do a single thing for me that I can’t do myself, hit my self-esteem in a way that I want to transform. I don’t even ask myself what another woman has that I don’t. I’m not competing. You can go. I know who I am. I know what I offer. You see it or you don’t. My last Said Lover called herself making out with a non-black woman and felt the need to announce her race. Okay… First of al, black women get enough shit and here we have our own trying to make us constantly feel inferior (blog for another day). ***Shoutout to Said Lover in November for only loving dark-skinned black women and being radical about it. Black Lives Matter. Keep your all lives to yourself on this one.*** Months later, Said Lover decided to tell me her name and was like, I can show you what she looks like. Why does it matter what she looked like? Why do you even still have access to a woman you swear you don’t talk to, to show me what she looks like? Will seeing her make me feel less betrayed? NO. Will it erase what happened? NO. A part of me believes she wanted me to feel insecure, but that doesn’t work on women like me. It just turns me off. Who plays those types of games? It shows me who you are and what you think of me. She can have you will forever be my favorite thing to say, because there is an infinite amount of people out here who know I’m amazing. And I’m not talking about people who stalk me on IG or Facebook. I don’t even feed into that type of validation. There are two type of women in this world: wounded or awakened. Guess which one I am.  Anyway, I’ve even had to call myself out on this because I do have a preference for chocolate. I was with a light-skinned woman for five years (remains undefeated in time) and I always told her she needed a tan. That wasn’t right of me and I recognize it.
Everyone is allowed to have a preference, but we are not allowed to force those things or our own insecurities onto other people. So to Lil Kim, I’m sorry. You looked better than Faith Evans and Charlie Baltimore. The world was at your feet. You deserved more than what you were offered. Thank you for making me unapologetic. I still love you.
The girl before the storm I’ve been writing this blog for weeks, okay maybe months. Lecture me later. So, back in November I moved into my own place. It gave me a chance to really sit and evaluate who I am as a person. It’s crazy how the smallest things make up all of who we are. If you didn’t know, I’m from New Orleans, which means Hurricane Katrina is apart of my life story. To date, it’s still the biggest heartbreak of my 32 years. No, I take that back, losing my Aunt definitely has taken its place. I thought that woman was immortal and would live forever. My mom said she lives through me. That makes me happy. I stay getting off topic. Let’s talk about home and identity. Okay? Okay.
I was 19, in college, working full-time as a dispatcher, had amazing friends. And had a new love. A gorgeous femme-Taurus that I would call just to sing on her voicemail. We’d sit up on the phone all night laughing and sharing secrets just being two young girls falling in love. She was my one. She was the one. In a minute, you see my problem. There was this other girl that I was “talking to” but I didn’t have the feelings that I had for my one. Long story short: at the happiest time in my teen/ almost adult life, a natural disaster came and ripped it all away. All of it. If you know anything about me at all then you know this is the worst thing that could happen. It competed shredded everything about me that made me feel secure. Said New Lover was displaced to Georgia and I was in Alabama. Doesn’t seem so far away now, but at nineteen it was like traveling to another country. I told her that I would move to be with her because well, I had no real home anymore. I figured and and I could maneuver this disaster together. I’m a romantic like that and shit. I always want my person with me through everything. This was my problem.
Starting right there I began making a home out of people instead of defining it within myself. Thank you Said Lover for telling me no. That’s all I thank her for. She only told me no because some new stud was in her ear. She continued to send me messages for years about the mistake she’d made in not letting l our story play out fully. I’d move on and there she was on every social media page she could find me on to tell me that she always thought about me and what we could have been. There was this one time where we ran into each other in a club and forgot we were with our girlfriends as we paused to stare at one another. See. There I go off on a tangent again.
So yeah, after the storm, I stayed in Birmingham where me and my cousin shared an apartment for few months. It was okay, but it wasn’t home. I missed my city and the new new love I thought I’d found, who lived in Baton Rouge, but was in school at Nichols. My dad still resided on the Westbank of New Orleans so I packed up and moved back until that didn’t work out anymore. I then bounced back and forth between Georgia and Alabama until I was back at my Mom’s in Birmingham. I didn’t like her husband and he didn’t like me so that lasted for a short minute. Finally, I was able to go back to New Orleans and live in my grandmothers vacant house because she had was in a home thanks to a stroke she had after a storm. A place she asked my dad not to keep her, but he’s a selfish fucktard—blog for another day. So finally, there I was a place that wasn’t home but was familiar enough for me to find my happy again. It was a bit of a rough start having to find a job and all that but thanks to an old homie, lover, friend I managed. For a good year or two life was cool. I was in a dramatic ass relationship—two blogs ago—but I was happy. I had a routine and money. Yes, I’m that simple.
I would have stayed in that rugged, old shotgun but the landlord was addicted to drugs. He spent all money on his habit when I constant complained about all that needed to be repaired. Another storm came and the roof in the living room fell in and I was forced out. This next place would be my first place on my own own, like, in my name and all that good stuff. Me and my dramatic Aries had broken up. I rebounded with a submissive Aries that invited herself to live with me one clothing article at a time. I didn’t complain. My sister came to live with me and she noticed that there were no curtains. After she brought it up I thought about everywhere I had been since the storm. I would never hang curtains. It was the last thing that I did before the storm hit. I’d finally gotten my cute little room just the way I wanted it. This was a big deal because for years I shared a room with my sister and had never been able to express my individuality. I still remember exactly what my room looked like before and after. Typing about it makes me want to cry. My headboard was against the left wall when you walked in. My bed sat on the center of the room. On the other side of it was my y’all dresser. My radio sat on top of it right next to all of CD’s. I’d sit on my computer for hours downloading music from limewire just to play on that thing. My desk was kind of at the foot of my bed and next to it was a movie rack. My window seal was lined with all the trophy’s I’d won in my life playing volleyball (MVP, baby) and being in money pageants—don’t ask. I didn’t have a tv because I would just watch movies on my laptop in bed. I had a double-sided closet that was organized by color first then style and it held all of my high school memories: my varsity jacket, graduation dress and robe, my prom dress, etc. I love to collect memorabilia. The last thing to go up were my sheer, black curtains. Life was good. My trauma was attached to those curtains. I refused to hang any in my new place because it was an indication of my comfort and my happiness. I was to get to that level of happy again. What if something happened to take it all away? Again. It took me eight long years and three different addresses to hang curtains again.
Now I’ll fast forward to marriage. The year was 2014. I’m not going to say much, because you can just wait for the book. I will say it was the place where I lost all of what took me years to find in myself again. I was so busy trying to make a home as a wife that I forgot what made a home for Christiana as an individual. I’m a pleaser. Something I’m currently working on reversing unless the energy is matched. After my failed marriage, I got into a new relationship and still found myself trying to make a home for two. It just made sense in my mind. Don’t couples decorate together? I seriously have watched way too many romantic comedies. Anyway, I live alone again. After months of feeling ignored and out of place in a space that was supposed to be my home I was over it. She didn’t understand and there is nothing more exhausting than explaining yourself to someone when they have their own views and perception. I wasn’t going to move on my own. I had several plans. One was to move with my roommate, but a damn near two hour commute to work did not sound appealing. The second was to move back home to the south with my mom or sister and start over. Again. And finally, the last plan was to do the thing I was afraid of, be alone. I had not lived alone since 2012. Seven years of company, of noise, even if those sounds were toxic at least they were there. That was the mindset I had adopted. What would I do in silence? You know what I did? I redefined myself for myself. I found my magic, the things that make me powerful and unstoppable. The things that make me happy. What started out as fear turned into excitement and I spent thousands on my new place. I duplicated what that girl at nineteen was so ready to do—be in my own space. That girl was fearless, she saw the possibility in all things. She was fun. She woke up early. She loved to go for runs. She never knew where she was going and she didn’t mind because walking blindly was where her strength lied. She never gave up on love because it was the one thing she wanted-her fairytale love. No heartbreak could slow her down. She hit the ground hard, but got up stronger every time. She was define feminine and masculine and new exactly when to hone in on those energies. She was chaos, while still disciplined. She, was incredible. It dawned on my that was getting back to that girl before the storm and I put my bed together. It was the metal headboard that took me there because it reminded me of that same bed in 2005. I sat in the middle of my floor crying happy tears as I looked around at all of the things that made me, me. I still have to get a desk because it is my thrown, but at the end of the day, I can say I feel at home. There is no person that can give me that. I am home within myself. My own heart is home and I’m sad that I’d forgotten that. It is me that makes the people around me feel at home. It is me that has lovers trying to come back because after years my love has effected them all for a lifetime. Because it was genuine. I am a walking feeling. I hope I never forget me again. You don’t have to build with anyone other than yourself. If someone chooses to be an addition that’s cool too, but your empire is essentially more than the possessions you leave behind. It’s an essence.   “When an over-thinker says they love you, believe them. They have thought of a million reasons not to.”
I haven’t had a drink in 48 days. Yesterday, my sister, myself, and her girlfriend all went out to eat after my mom had gotten married for the fourth time in her life. My sister and I talked about my cleanse, because we never thought we’d be two people caring about what we put into our bodies. She asked me what changes I’d noticed about myself since this cleanse. My answers were simple. I have more natural energy and my depression has improved drastically. The answer for myself is that I’m thinking clearer than I ever have. I’ve been drinking for a long time so my thoughts and decisions have probably almost always been impaired. (Since the age of 19, yes, I know not the legal drinking age) My focus has been on love thanks to my trip to this wedding. Shoutout to my Mom for never giving up, I guess. So I’ve been dealing with a Said Lover and honestly, I don’t feel like I’m being loved as fully as I possibly can be. I often times feel like she’s trying to manipulate me to get what she wants from me. Also whatever it is that she wants isn’t really clear, but she swears it is. There are three major things needed to solidify a long-lasting connection: communication, trust, and honesty. Our communication sucks. Trust, for me, left the building a long time ago. Honesty? Well, I can never tell if I’m being told a lie, but words and actions are always a contradiction. With the poor communication I find myself disconnected a lot. I believe that relationships with people who have the same views as you lead to less arguments. I don’t want to make this long because I don’t want to dwell. I’m unfulfilled and the one promise I made to myself this year was to not settle for bull. Trust myself more because I know what’s best. My intuition knows what’s best. Best is not having someone seem annoyed with you because you ask the same question more than once. Best is not someone who post subliminal messages and memes throwing shots. Best is not someone who argues with you then talks as if nothing is wrong the next day. Best is not saying to someone that Erykah Badu is problematic and them replying they like her music. Have we learned nothing about that separate the artist from the art shit with R. Kelly? Where is the why? The polite debate and conversation? Best is not them posting something about a crush and saying it was for you when you never said you needed love... Best is not having to choose your relationship or your friendships. Best is not accepting poor excuses for unacceptable behavior, like texting late at night. Or flirting with supposed mystery friends. Or texting in my ear. Rude. Best is not being seen as someone’s made up definition of toxic, which literally means poisonous. Poison kills. Best is not someone who can’t tell you what’s wrong. (I really like making list) I’ve always got caught in these loops with people because my Taurus can’t walk away. It refuses to accept the flags because gets blinding by the good and that’s all it wants to see. Like damn, what is wrong with you? What do you need? Your loyalty can be waived. Sag and Aquarius back me up on this one. (My rising and moon) ‘I love you’ are literally just words and they can keep you caged. Make people show up. Just because they choose you doesn’t mean they actually really love you. Back up what you’re saying, otherwise you are just talking. So glad words of affirmation fall kind of low on my list. People would be able to feed me anything. Thank you brain for always, always thinking. I owe myself a lot and I’m going to keep giving that to myself. I’ve accepted that I will have to take a lot of losses on this journey, but I’m deep in this process to heal. To have who and what’s best for me. I don’t care how selfish that may look to others. So my subliminal but not so subliminal message is don’t be half-ass loved. Go half somewhere else. Keep loving on yourself lovers. This is our year. |
RSS Feed