I’m not afraid of relationships. I’m afraid of men. Every man I have been with has harmed me in some way. I don’t like getting hurt. Who does? Most have set out from the beginning to harm me, take from me, use me before they move on to another victim. Only one hurt me because he couldn’t say no to himself. That’s a high ratio wouldn’t you say?

Figure this! If someone keeps getting burned in a fire, you advise them to stay away or figure out how not to get burned. Well, I’m trying the latter and I don’t feel I am there yet. I took four years off from dating then dipped my toe in to end up right smack in the arms of another potential user. I ran, as fast as I could. I’m sure there are other possibilities, what to do, how to protect myself I just haven’t figured how yet. I never went back to the dating scene again.

Just this week, one of the most touching interactions and sweetest approach made me smile. Still, I ran, ran away faster than a bat out of hell. One thing I know for sure, I’ll keep the promise I made to myself. I will not allow anyone to hurt me again.

Rarefied feelings (unscrambled thoughts)!


He said: “I’m proud of you!.” I haven’t heard that in so long. I’ve always been the one to spur me on, motivate myself, be my own cheerleader.

It sure is something!

Coming from someone else, from another. Unexpectedly! He meant it too. It’s unlike some who say things to get things. He meant it. I wanted to mark the moment, scribble it on my pad. I didn’t have any. So I carried that fragile gift of pure sentiment, an innocently given and powerful gift. He saw something good in me. He understood. I’m admired and appreciated. I cried like I usually do when someone touches me with kindness. Not many have been kind to me in my life, especially men. The few who are, often leave me in tears. They break me, peel me raw, heal me. My emotions, my core unveiled and my sadness, soothed.

“I’m proud of you!” Hmmmm this sure is something!

“Fanm vanyan!” He did it again! “Strong woman. Warrior queen!” He sees in me what I’ve taken for granted. I do because I must. I do what should be done. I’m a mother. I’m sinking but I must save the children. So, I do. Humble myself to feed us, protect us, cover us.

He sees me and acknowledged my presence. It’s been days and I’m still crying. He’s helping make me soft again, building up belief. Some men can see, and feel. I’m not something to be used. I’m human and a man can truly see me for me. A man can be honest for honesty’s sake and kind! I’ve forgotten. Please forgive me.

When you’ve spent years embracing people who make you feel wrong, yes wrong, the wrong kind, wrong size, wrong love, wrong person, something inside you is affected. Each blow breaks you. How they say, “you’d never forget how someone makes you feel.” I haven’t. I can’t. I’m still trying though. It’s been years. They’ve moved on to other pawns. I’m trying to forget, heal, build what they’ve broken.

Such a good feeling when you meet people who need nothing from you but presence, and bringing positivity, good vibes all around and about you. Feels kinda good. Breaks you wide open, in a good way and you just don’t know what to make of it but cry. You’ve forgotten how it feels to be appreciated and loved. It feels weird, new.

I carry pain so deep within. It takes years to forget. Someone’s name alone can make me bleed again. Some hurt can’t be forgotten until something greater comes about to minimize it. Research says it takes five positive acts to erase the hurt of one negative. Imagine! Five good to one bad. I’ve had bad after bad after bad in my life. I dint know better. How I wished I could have done something differently, chosen nicer people, those with a good heart. On a psychological scale INTJs are book smart, people dumb! I’m INTJ to the core. Too honest to catch on lies. We can’t comprehend why people lie.

That sole good, harbinger of light can’t come close to erasing all the bad that’s penetrated my being. Men often say “I’m not your ex.” And then they turn around and do the exact same thing or do worse. They use you, insult you, spit you out. Then you meet one exception who can’t understand why he must work so hard to show you how much he cares and how exceptional you are.

It will take five to the multiple times of damage done. That can explain why some women stay single for so long or can’t end up with the good guy. He came too soon, that first one I guess. If she’s lucky but sadly to her suitors, as impossible as it can be, she may meet four more before one sticks. And many will never get that chance, there aren’t enough good men. The odds are against her.

He said “I like your hair.” He’s white. I’m black. Black with red locs, locs my own mother dislikes and many black men disapprove of, Acceptance! Find your kind! Find those who appreciate you for you, those who aren’t trying to change your hair, your weight, your face, your style of dress, your speech. Find them. I know it’s hard. Fine, appreciate them when you do. Write it down. Document the passing. They exist. You’ll need to read it someday when you’re bound to forget. You’re worthy. You’re appreciated for who you are.

“Please, take the long road. I want to speak with you for as long as I can. Here’s my card, call me I’d love to learn more about you.”

“We find you amazing. I’d hire you in a minute if you were in my field.”

“You bubble up on page and in person. Consider it a compliment. You’re one of our strongest candidates to make it this far. You’re smart.”

I’m collecting kind tidbits, positive vibes, feedback. I really need those more in my life, especially now. At this moment! Grateful!



“Kindness/positive vibes/loving can hurt sometimes
But it is the only thing that makes us feel alive
We keep them in our notes, write them on our blog

We made these memories for ourselves
Where our eyes are never closing
Hearts are never broken
And time’s forever frozen still”

Paraphrasing Ed Sheeran’s lyrics here!



The fight within!



I met this kid through my survival, out of desperation job. Kids was high like a kite. One could tell he was moving through a fog. He said he was a heroin addict, one year sober. His demeanor told otherwise. There’s something about chemical addiction many can’t comprehend. The pull! What pulls you to this form of escapism? Where is the mental breakdown, the emotion letdown before one physically becomes possessed by a drug. You love and hate it at the same time. It gives and takes but you can’t let go. You love the high despite the fall, the breakdown you see at times when for a second it doesn’t take a hold of you.

You What do addicts try to escape from or run to through substance? For me, it will be life. Life has no meaning outside of love. Were it not for the love of my children I don’t want to be here. I don’t care to. I am left wondering, too often how people who don’t believe in causality, purpose, the God creation go about living! So you’re here out of a bing and a boom to do what exactly? Just to be? Or for you o define it yourself? Find yourself, make up something and then boom,  in another form of magic, disappear tom where exactly? The earth, the soil? But what if the spirit? What if that breath, your sense of reason, personality, what makes you, unique from the bang and the boom? Where did it go? First, how did it come to be? All these questions unanswered you find comfortable living with. Senseless to me. If we are here by magic and disappear by magic again, what’s the purpose for all this magic? It’s an INTJ trait to seek purpose I guess. In layman terms some of us can’t live without purpose and when there’s none we are lost. We can’t make sense of you bing bang boom folks, you can’t make sense of us the seeekers. Can’t seek if you’re okay with the big picture having no purpose and when you seek purpose, finding none as a seeker you’re lost. Thus, the escapes. Some do so with restraint (filled with distractions physical, emotional alike) and  others disappear within their escapes (addiction). They give away their restraint, preferring o be owned and controlled by something outside of themselves. They give up control, self control. I like the biblical notion that drugs and alcohol are spirits. Spirits have power. You can’t be in control when spirits take over, this one can see through vodou rituals. When you’re possessed, you disappear. You are a vessel for a spirit you have no control over once you allow it in. Open the gate and they’ll overflow.

What of addiction is so attractive? It takes the need for meaning, for something bigger, greater, better. When, if you can’t find it within or around you, it becomes everything to you. Addicts can’t handle what’s given, what is, ergo the need to retreat, give in then call it purpose.


What if I fall? But what if you fly?


A dreamer or optimist thinks about the flight. A realist thinks about the fall and the flight. And when the fall brings consequences you’re unprepared for or don’t want to suffer through, they call you a pessimist.


Ive taken chances in my life out of sheer desperation, after weighing the risk of falling, whether I’d make it, how I’d mend and try again. None thus far induced flight. With every jump, a fall from which I’ve had to grasp, grab and hold so I couldn’t reach rock bottom, the breaking point. Until now!

I weighed the consequences of my fall. I chose to jump as high as I could because I was tired of living between surviving and despair. I wanted to live, thrive if I dared. I dared. I leapt and in the process I risked not just my life but losing my wings, my kids. I love my kids. One outcome, a consequence I wasn’t prepared for is ripping our union. I may lose my babies though all I was trying to do was fly.  For us.


Oh! Oh! Dear God! “Abba Abba lama sabachtani”. How can this be? How can it be that I’d lose everything I’ve worked for, tried to hold us together for me to lose it all? I’ve lived too long between desperation and survival. But this! I won’t be able to live through. My kids are my everything, the breath that I take. Life isn’t worth a thing without my kids in it. Not an iota of yield!


This is worse than risking my heart in romantic dalliances and these I’ve given up on since 2013. I took so many chances, wanting to believe that someday, this one or that one will be the one, a partner in crime and we would fly to the moon together. With each failure, after each mistake, a fall so horrid that would tear me to pieces.  By 2013, I knew I couldn’t emotionally, psychologically afford another leap.  I just gave up. No more dates. No more believing people’s promises and sweet nothings, knowing indeed, they were nothing, usually nothing but lies. How many puffed up lies could one handle before you realize you’re not good at sifting through bullshit no matter how forthcoming you are with others, or kind or sweet and giving. I had too much going on, in my life, needing all my strength trying to sustain my daughter’s, myself to veer my attention to people who brought me nothing but lies, pain, self-hatred and pushed me further down the abyss of despair.

Through all of those and more, my only reason for holding on to life: my kids. I was tired of losing and needed to win for them, just one win: see them through to 18 when I could set them free.

I don’t think I’lle able to part from them. Not now. Too soon. It truly isn’t worth it. I’m not mad enough to fly. I’m not made to try. Can’t even hold on when your wings have been clipped. I care nothing about anything besides my babies. Nothing at all.

Dear God! They are my wings!

If I could have you back


I sit in the same spot where night turns into day and day into night as they slip under my windowsill. Awaiting God, time, the universe, all one and the same. I wait for what I’m not capable of doing on my own, dreading a handout here and there, the land of pity.

It’s neither a save haven nor a burial place as there too the voices are still loud and clear. There are expectations, responsibilities that don’t disappear just because God follows a different timeline. I seep into unknowing. I can’t get lost there but maybe I’d find more of me. Bit by bit, piece by piece I try to reclaim a self that’s yielding to uncertainty.

What I could do if I could! How I build and uphold! If nothing else, this message echoes all about: powerlessness is its own suffering. When you’ve run out of viable options that gave you a sense of control, over you, your circumstances, your destiny, who are you then? There’s no one to blame, anger solves not a thing and regret is a lack of accountability of your choices in response to unexpected, painful circumstances. Never that when integrity is the least and last compass you’re trying to hold on to.

Who are you when you can’t control your future? Dependent. You’re nothing but a dependent of serendipity, God, karma, the universe, energy, whatever it is you accept that makes the wheel go ’round and ’round.

For someone who lives by well crafted goals, plans, losing control is a tragedy. There’s something about faith best not forgotten. You don’t belong to you but the one who’s in control. Whatever the consequence and outcome, no matter how excruciating they may be or joyful they sometimes can be, you really can’t take the credit. Your will is adaptable to happenstance. Outside of consequence, circumstance, the will is worth nary a thing.