Is it possible to let empowerment get to your head? Is it possible to allow your painful past and the guards you’ve put up to dictate how you treat people? Or, in another case, those who have hurt you–even when they are long gone, is it possible that you make others pay for what they’ve done?

The week–past one–going into the weekend has been one that really took hold of my emotions. Seems like every fear and doubt that I thought I shoved away about my relationship are coming back, and they have new friends. Then Chester Bennington died. So on top of feeling like I’m the worst potential wife, current girlfriend, and crappy person, one of my favorite artists from the early legs of my writing (as well as the angsty years of my teen experience) dies of suicide.

You know how sometimes you don’t really realize what someone means to you?

Of COURSE Chester was an amazing singer and artist. But I stopped really listening to LP around the time they collabed with Jay-Z. It wasn’t anything personal, it’s just that my music tastes sort of shifted for a while. LP was still on every mix list I made, but mainly everything pre-collab. Hearing that he died, it sent something through me. I’d listened to some of LP’s newer stuff, and the regret sank in. So I’m going to binge listen to everything this weekend and upcoming week.

I already cried a little, sang a few songs on Smule Karaoke (my profile is here), and just got out all my tone-deficient feels in the process. It’s amazing how the lyrics just come to you after all those years. But let’s be honest–I didn’t go a lot of places as a teenager. I had friends, but I was still rather unpopular. I was odd because my Blackness didn’t match most of my peers, and for some reason that mattered when I was just trying to be myself. I didn’t know we had to follow a manual for being Black.

Anyway…

I spent a lot of time at home, online, writing, or playing video games. I spent a lot of time with music. Remy Shand, Prince, Gorillaz, Nelly Furtado, Norah Jones, Linkin Park. So while I was making sims, I was singing to a lot of their music. When I was writing my sad little poems, I was reflecting on the emotions LP showed us in their work. Maybe it encourage the wackiness that remains, but all I know is that LP really did save my life, and Chester shined the light on better choices concerning working out my problems.

He made expression an option, that’s for sure.

The doubt part is just kind of due to the way conversations have been going between A and I. I’m starting to worry that maybe I am too young for him. Maybe I’m not strong enough like he wants/expects. Maybe I’m not the best girlfriend or person for him. Unlike the “ticker tape parade” he talks about, maybe I just want the same general enthusiasm I give him when he talks about things in his life that interest him. And maybe I don’t know all the questions to ask, or the right things to do–but I do care for and love this guy.

The honeymoon phase has been over, and that’s cool, you know? We reached a place of comfort where farts and skin tags ain’t a thing. Just seems like sometimes when we joke, it gets hurtful. It stops being playful, and sort of turns into how he really feels or at least thinks about me. When I point this out, he gets uncomfy and talks about all he has done for me–which, yes, is a TON. But my point is that it often conflicts with how he talks to me. That part he doesn’t get, and says that’s just how he is.

When I get blunt, suddenly I’m not very nice, and how dare I….in so many words.

So, you know, feeling like your partner has a lot of truth behind statements like “if not for your [insert parts or aesthetic he likes], then I don’t know if….” puts you in a place.

Am I really that bad of a person that my looks (which aren’t that great, but maybe 4 people find me attractive) shield my overall crappy-ness?

I’m also kind of tired of having long, serious talks about all of this. Like–we’ve talked about all of this and it either dies down or rears its head at another time. It’s making me doubt whether or not I am really good enough for this person. It’s making me feel more like a stepping stone.

And one time we argued so hard that he looked me dead in the eye and said “I wasn’t just saying I love you to say it! I LOVE YOU.”

I know that he means it. A person doesn’t reach into their wallet for you or take you where he has taken me, or opened up like he has. So why are the doubts there?

It’s conversation. Some of them go fine, some of them remind me that we have an 8 year age gap. That we were raised differently. That we feel things differently. We see the world in different ways. We love, but we also clash….hard. We joke, but sometimes it hurts like a motherf*cker.

We have good times.

We have bad times.

But one of us is sitting there with fears and doubts, realizing that she isn’t like other adults, and doesn’t feel good enough or right enough for the person she is with. Or that his doubts are probably being fed with every mistake or stupid action. She isn’t that great, and it’s just a matter of time until….

It’s a bad feeling.

Especially considering how badly she wanted love in the first place. The most frustrating part is that she’s actually trying, and it just seems like she makes it worse every time.

Ugh.

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I have to be super offensive for a minute.

Listen.

You are probably not someone’s fix for depression.

You might be something that makes the days better, you might be a shoulder to cry on, and you might be their support….

…..

….but don’t get mad and puffed up if they have a moment of depression. Don’t be salty just because they still have it.

If you know somebody who had it and got over it, that’s great. That’s them. Don’t tell that to the person you’re with, who is still going through something. Whether it is chemical or circumstantial, whether it is BOTH–don’t fucking compare them to other people. That makes it WORSE.

Why do people get so offended when you have depression?

“I’m here, so you should be happy and better.”

Well,

I had these feelings before I met you. I had them before I even knew what they were. I could never afford to get help for them. I’ve been analyzed a few times. Anxiety, Depression. Simple, direct. I know what I have.

You are a wonderful person. You are also a very annoying and hurtful person at times. You’re impatient and don’t understand things a lot, sometimes.

I think this is one of those big things.

You cannot expect me to erase all of this overnight. You say “I don’t”, but the commentary says otherwise. You are here, yes. I am happier, yes. But this thing isn’t going away so fast. And it would be incredibly great if my “supporter” would stop commenting on it like it’s a series of paperwork or some annoying thing they can’t handle.

I hear the tired tone in your voice.

I hear the exasperated sighs.

I feel/see/hear the inconsideration.

You are not medication. You are not a mental health doctor. You are but one imperfect person. I ask you to be there for me, not make all these comments about why I need to be happy.

That also implies I’m ungrateful for you being here.

There are so many things, I think, that need to change between us. If people are willing to change. It seems like we care so much, we talk about doing the work, but the obstacles make it harder.

Traveling, opinions, moods, excuses, family traits.

I mean…

You found a way to cope and be stronger than you know. I find ways to cope. But sometimes it’s overwhelming. It just simply is.

Well,

that’s all I had to say.

I think I’m supposed to be smiling and suffering in perfect silence or something. People–most of them–would rather not hear that you’re sad in such a world of privilege. I see what I have. Trust me, I see it.

I see it.

Not every moment is dark by the way.

Not every case of depression is textbook.

You cannot always solve every problem.

Just be there for me. WITHOUT the snarky commentary.

Yes, it’s snarky.

I wrote a poem about what it’s like for me.

3 Months Time

Well, it’s been a million years since I’ve even touched this blog, and I decided to come here and blabber cuz there’s really nowhere else to go. I’m currently leaning very close to another Tumblr hiatus, frustrated with the scene and myself. Then I realized how…reliant I became concerning the site. It’s got so many things hooked up to it, and it suddenly became the “thing”. It suddenly became the informant, but also the source of a LOT of misery, envy, sorrow, and blah blah….I’m human.

I don’t like that feeling. In Buddhism, it’s what we call the “lesser self”. Boy, was she talking to me tonight. Telling me I’m lame because I’m single, telling me I’m pathetic because I haven’t had intercourse in X amount of years, and of course job issues, relationships in my face, folks’ happiness, and my favorite–weight weight weight. She topped the sorrow cherry by reminding me of my real life, too. Oh, what a pill! To make that long story short, it’s like I have an energy about me that makes people avoid me like the plague of plagues unless we’re forced to do group work. Maybe it’s how I look or whatever…so…there’s that. I’m a big ol bear just trying to educate herself–not cause trouble or drama or misfortune.

This is indeed a pity party, and I’ve crawled out the hole before. I’m sure I will at a later date, if not tomorrow. It just doesn’t turn off and on like a light. In any case, having these horrible and flawed feelings makes me cringe. Getting jealous and feeling like crap about other people’s successes and happiness…es…is a bad look all around. I just felt like, tonight, I couldn’t stand to be on the one social spot that actually made me feel okay about being fat, black, strange, and whatever else I’ve labeled myself as.

Other so called spaces just did not compare, and I felt like I was with “my people”. But in typical nyeeeh fashion, it just feels like these days…I’m my own little island, and even the slightest interactions barely get a hit. So I’m sittin there like “hey dude thought we were cool!” and “hey man, you’re always talking about how lonely and bored you are, so…what’s up?”

But alas, 28 is way too old to be caring about such trivial little things. Things that won’t matter 20 years from now. Just like all the shit that happened 20 years prior, although it hasn’t been forgotten. I envy those with the power to let go. It just seems like my lesser self loves to hold on and remind me of EVERYTHING, taking me away from happiness and consciousness of this current living space. So all at once, I just feel so heavy, invisible, alone, and useless. When I become useful, even that seems…falsified. As if my usefulness comes with certain things. Other than that, who am I? Some kid a man and a woman raised as their little hope….only to fail and some change.

In 3 months time, things have shifted. I did get into school. I don’t plan on dropping out or fucking up this time. I’ve drifted a ways away from my faith, knowing good and well what Daimoku does for me. I got appointed as the YWD of my district, but have yet to step up and BE that person. I hit the brakes on a lot of toxic things that were bad for me, but opened up a brand new can of acid to gargle down my throat. Writing has taken a break, as well.

Meanwhile, new poetry blog.

And that’s the report. Life is life, tunnels are darker, I have no idea who I am anymore.