Crossroads, Crossroads….

This thing about who goes where keeps coming up. Everyone has their feelings about why the other person should come, and now even outsiders have thoughts and commentary. Assurance was provided, but now a new conversation has my head spinning. Who’s right? Who needs to make the move for the next encounter? Who’s wrong? What’s this sinking feeling in my chest that eventually the bottom is going to fall out?

I know. Don’t think like that. Don’t speak on it. Yet here it is, in my face. I’m not made of money. I’m not in a position to pick up and go. I held my head high and wrote a long letter of honesty about it, and now that’s being seen as guilt. I’m broke, I’m working a job that barely pays, I’m in school, and I can’t split studying with pleasure. What’s so hard to get about that? Why does it still feel like this is all my fault, and the other person doesn’t get it?

So I went to Amtrak, Megabus, and Greyhound, the crappy company that I took on the way back. I don’t have a choice, as I don’t have a car, and now it seems like even “the usual” is asking too much. That was me going to Nashville, them picking me up, and us going to Brentwood. This last time, we took a 4 hour drive back after meeting up in Nashville. I mean, what can I say? I keep saying things. They keep getting bounced back. Last time I checked, I thought we were just trying to be together.

I am frustrated. I feel unheard in this situation. Or misunderstood. I don’t have a lot of options, and I’m not asking the moon of them. You need help with gas, take my card. You want some food, fine, let’s get a burger on the road. But don’t stand there acting like you don’t know what my life is like, and then expecting this over the top output.

Are relationships supposed to be this hard?

I’m trying to me be real as possible, not a guilt tripper.

I know they’re trying. It just seems like maybe they don’t think I am. Or I’m not willing. It just seems like everything else but this traveling and getting together thing are easy and come naturally. It’s complicating itself because we won’t bend. We can’t see eye to eye. I think that this is easier for people who have cars and jobs and steady paying jobs. Not so much for odd 30-somethings who don’t have it all together. For us, there’s an endless set of limitations to climb up and over. For us, things like long distance love become incredibly difficult.

The only other thing that I can think of is moving to GA. This costs money. This requires a lot more than I have going on. I can’t graduate fast enough, I can’t make money fast enough. Or find time enough. So we’re all these unsatisfied people with big dreams and slow progress.

I can’t believe he’d actually think any part of this is on purpose. I think that part bothers me the most. Even when I write a letter explaining everything, it still feels like this is lowkey my fault. I can’t just sit here and not do anything. That makes it worse. I don’t know what to do, but I need to do something.


I am frustrated.

But like most major things, I will carry it quietly. I don’t know how to solve this right away. I can’t. And he’s upset and lonely and tossing hints at me that hurt more than he knows.

I don’t know what else to say.



Disclaimer: I was in my feels. I’ve been in my feels. I’m purging my feels. This is life, this is relationships, this is me getting it off my chest. How could I write it? CUZ I NEEDS TA LETITGO!

The day that the rulers of the universe/book of life/Creator decided to hand out manuals on how to be a good future adult, I was MIA. I was probably still getting my cells together, overslept, and sort of had to play it by ear. The year that they were handing out manuals on how to be a good girlfriend or whatever was probably the year I decided to devote myself to endless hours of Whoa, Nelly! on repeat, while playing The Sims for hours and hours. So forgive me–I am not a good woman, I am not a good adult, and I am the shittiest girlfriend/lay/lady you will ever meet.

I will not get it right, yet I am offended that people/a person thinks I needed to be molded. Why? To be less of myself? To be good enough for you? Also, I missed out on the seminar about overthinking. So I guess I’ve got that going for me too. I fight to get it right. I try not to say stupid things. I work to erase awkward silences, and I am much more considerate and thoughtful than one would like to believe. I have a lot of love to give, but sure, let’s focus on how odd I am, how sensitive I am, and well….how wrong I am. Always wrong, always with shaky logic, and heaven forbid I post a piece of the long-desired happiness I’ve always wanted on social media. My actions are not always the best, and sometimes my inaction stems from anxiety–not because I don’t care. I CARE.

I am a mess.

I can’t pick myself up fast enough, I can’t get over it soon enough, and my poofy hair (that I can only control so much) will never get me a job.


Well damn, son. Why am I even here? Why did my mom lay on a table and birth my big ass if I’m such an awful fuck up?

Look, I spent a lot of my early 20s hating myself. And my mid 20s, and my late 20s. I have hated myself for a long time, and this ebb and flow of acceptance still is not easy. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let other people–who, hello, barely fucking know me–tell ME who I am. Or tell ME how I need to be shaped to fit THEIR image. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let other people who’ve got their own skeletons of self-worth and character adjustment tell ME who I am with negatives, then pop off when I say what is and what is not.


I HAVE KNOWN MYSELF FOR 31 YEARS AND 6 MONTHS. Aside from my mother, my father, grandmothers, aunts, and a host of friends from school and online–you gotta take more classes on who I am, before you try and TELL me anything about myself. Keep learning and keep your thoughts to yourself. Unless you’re a psych major, you are honestly pushing me away from you. It’s not helping the cause, and I refuse to be in that dark place where I’m hating myself through the eyes and thoughts of people whom I’ve given far too much power to.

I get it–my jovial nature and my strong emotions can be too much. it gives the idea that I need a lot of help–but not the thoughtful kind. More like the kind where I ain’t got nothin’ but broken wings and a twisted beak. More like baby needs her bottle, but she can’t move to get it yet. But for frack’s sake, take stock and account of your own confusion and surprise. Take stock of your own shitty opinions about me. Is it that you can’t stand who I am, or is it that you can’t stand your damn self, and how you’ve let some of the same shit that has gotten me down get YOU down? Nobody has their life totally figured out. And if they say they do, they’re either super duper perfect, or they’re lying and winging it like the rest of us.

I’m sick of feeling dejected and pushed away. Trying to fix it and failing. Having it be one-sided like this is all my fault, and the other person needs to just sit there while I appease their fucking fickle whims. I’m sick of feeling inferior and idiotic, and having that torn apart when I express frustration. YOU. ARE. DOING. THIS. TO ME.

I did not sign up for this life to have constant judgment thrown upon me. Yes, it’s a part of life and we all face it, but holy shit–from the people whom I’ve trusted with the softest parts of me? From the people who seem to find constant fault with everyone else but themselves? Sometimes they don’t listen, sometimes they don’t consider. You’ll never catch me saying I’m perfect in any of this, but come on–it takes two. It’s different outside than it is in your head. Take that into consideration.

I have been aching to get this off of my chest. Deleting and cancelling posts, cowering back and then realizing–NO–I need to defend myself. I need to speak my piece. I need to stand up for myself and tell it right the hell as it is. And YES–I’m angry. I’m tired. I want to love with all my heart, but I’m not a freakin’ doormat. I try so hard not to let anger rule me, but this whole talking to me like an idiot and treating me like a child thing has gotten way out of hand. These feelings either need to be resolved, or chapters need to be closed.

I signed up to give love, not be judged. To help, to make folks feel secure. I seem to be failing at that, no matter what I do.

I signed up for a partnership, not a competition. Believe me–I’m just trying to live.

I signed up for a spiritual journey, not a toxic discovery. I’m working through my own crap, concerned about your crap, and let’s face it–the last face to face relationship I had was in 2007. (With occasional visits until about 2010-ish but shut up shut up)

I felt changes coming but ohhh that’s just in my head. BS. But it’s on me to fix it. Helllooooo you difficult ass person–been trying to do that. It’s not like folks are opening up and making that possible.

I cannot fix everything. I cannot atone for the sins of others. I can communicate, but not in abrasive or judgmental tones. I’m sick of that. I can only be myself–that is something you either like, or something you cannot get with.


If I have to sit there and navigate and understand and go tit for tat to understand and adore you, why can’t I have the same? I have it in me to bring up a lot of screwed up stuff, but that goes nowhere.

Stop judging me every single second, then expecting me to keep a smile on my face when you crush my spirit and hurt my feelings.

You will lose me.

You will lose me.

And maybe I’m just not good enough to be in your world. Maybe I’m not what you thought I was, and you can’t let go because you’re afraid of the world. All I know is that there is more negativity than niceness, and the things you think you’re saying are not being said. The things that you think are honesty are pure vitrol. (keep saying this, am not getting heard. Yet I don’t listen. sheesh.)

The actions of a month and some change ago are in the past. They were great/awesome/thoughtful but stop putting emphasis on them. You have more to offer. Look ahead. I’m looking at the present and the future. I’m NOT asking for the moon. I’m not asking for someone to mold themselves as I wish.

I’m asking for consideration.





The same time and patience you want. But holy CRAP. Show me something. The vigor is gone. I am not forcing anyone to have it. You either have it or let it go.

I’m not at Burger King. I’m in a fucking imperfect situation and I want it to be better before just cutting the wire. I’m still growing, still changing. I will choose my path. ME. VERONICA. I am not perfect but you gotta be blind as shit not to know how much love, care, and concern is within me.

And that’s ableist, so let’s just say you’re oblivious. YOU ARE OBLIVIOUS. WAAAAAKE UUUP.

But that’s just a theory. Perhaps what I wish to have reciprocated is asking for toooo much.

*Cue the Game Theorist YT Channel music*


What is life without frustration? Probably a peaceful, rose-tinted affair full of flowers and strawberry funnel cakes. But, do we learn? Do we appreciate certain aspects down the line? I’d love to be worry-free right now, rolling in the warmth of the Sun fully nude and having an afro full of Baby’s Breath flowers and Orchids. Let me roll to a continued loop of Minnie Riperton’s Les Fleurs. A problem-free, frustration-free life. Everyone’s in agreement, and everything’s a harmonious event.


My entire Christmas break has been a series of annoying events. I had plans, you know? Not cool plans involving having an actual life and going somewhere, but my own kind of plans involving blogging, writing, and studying for the Ikeda Wisdom Academy exam flawlessly. Just a flawless, Winter-themed effort with some joy for everyone. Whee! Something happened. I don’t know if I want to call it depression, laziness, or just being overwhelmed, but a majority of these plans just shifted. So, here it is weeks after Dec. 12th, and I only have a few things done. My plans are all together and aware, but they just aren’t happening. So, of course, seeing everyone else’s plans and happiness-es and…stuff is kinda raining on my crapfest parade.

I did, however, begin reading my crappy teen poems on my poetry channel on YouTube. My one subscriber has yet to comment on it. Just one. One person who, bless her heart, doesn’t think that being fat and Black has anything to do with race….but appreciated my poems about the fat woman experience in any case. I really don’t feel like arguing with people who don’t understand that fatness AND Blackness come with some pretty effed up things to deal with. At the moment, my frustrations are all about writing and other projects. I find myself stuck between caring and wanting to just give up and toss it all in the fire.

I won’t be long about tie tirades of stopping and starting projects. Or, about conversations with the frustrating rockhead I know as my father. A usually calm person who just sometimes gets on your nerves when he doesn’t listen. He sometimes misunderstands, and you find yourself wanting to bop him in the head, but you realize he’s keeping your freelancing butt afloat while you’re also in school. So, we won’t do that. We won’t push it while he’s pushing us. We keep praying and hoping for the inspiration to keep going and writing so we can fly, fly away. Into what, though? Adulthood?

More struggles.

All winnable, by the way. I have no doubt in my mind that I can overcome every single one. Just not when I want to. But it will happen. I just haven’t vented in so long about the things bothering me. Especially with my muse. She sorta led me to this place of re-starting a poetry project about a book for one of my exes. Which, mind you, is always shaky territory. Thinking about them, digging up long gone memories and thoughts, and then wondering how they’d think or feel about it. I mused about it on Twitter, and I guess the more I really thought about it, the less appealing of an idea it became, again.


Yes, again. The idea to write a poetry book about one of my exes started a year or two ago. I actually took a page from my black poetry book to come up with an intro, titles, and more. When THAT seemed like a shitty idea, I vowed never ever to write about him. I fought the idea every single time it came up. What would be the reason to write about him, ever? I blocked him on every email account I have, so I wouldn’t feel compelled to write to him or vice versa. (Yeah right, who’s thinking about me? lol.) I purposely forgot his number. The only things I remember about him–he once had a full head of curly hair. I think he cut it off into a shape or something. He’s fairly tall, and he makes these chicken pocket things that make you want to eat like 600 of them but you can only eat about 10 before you get spicy poops. He lives in Riverdale.

Boom. That’s it. Aside from fractured memories of the last couple times we talked, and the hard-wired remnants of our relationship…s…, there isn’t a lot to shake a stick at. So if it’s all dead and buried, why would I re-ignite whatever’s left?

Ay, there’s the rub.

My muse led me to THAT particular moment to bring in that Buddha wisdom. Believe me, I was pissed off. When I have an idea I feel is a strong one, I drop everything to get what I need to jot it down. Being led by the muse who has taken me down many roads and streets, only to leave me in the dark was a mess. It took 72 hours and some change to realize she was doing it for a reason. She was telling me something big.

Let me just lay it out.

I do think about my exes. Well, let me correct myself. I think about one ex in particular a lot. Believe me, it is a cringe-worthy affair of internal chastising and “what are ya thinking ’bout him for?!” kind of thing. I think about him and cringe when it becomes romanticized. I feel quite pathetic, because it’s been so long outside our initial relationship, the re-hashes, and the friendly talk. Why him? I look back at failed tumblr crushes and that other failed rehash with the other ex, and I see why. That, of course, makes me feel worse lol.

Still, I’ve worked with myself. It’s human to think of the people in my life whom I’ve felt like were there for significant parts. There’s a dark side to questions unanswered. However, I can admit to thinking of the good and bad times. They shaped me. They taught me some things. The challenge? Continuing to tread in this world to find something better, so the past will truly be the past.

I use the word “never”, often. “I won’t think of that person again”, and “I will never think about that guy again”. In some cases, it has been true. There are some people that “never” applies to, and I’ve stuck with it. There are certain “nevers”, however, that stick as well as a cheap gluestick. These are the cases of “never” that hit you out of nowhere, and you find yourself asking “why the hell is that coming up?” These are the cases of never that have been waiting underground to hit you at 3 in the morning.

Blah, blah. Never say never.

I’ve let thoughts frustrate me. People. Projects. Life.

It happens.

As long as you and I are alive, it will keep happening. How we act on it? That’s the key.

I will not say I will never write about any ex. I will only say this–I do not think I have a purpose anymore.