Those that are close to me know that I’ve been wanting to do a section on my site called Story Time, but this wasn’t how I wanted to start it. Not with this story. I wanted to start with a crazy or funny story, but due to my emotional state because of the recent news stories I figured I should tell this one. Please don’t forget to like and share. Click the video below for the full story…
P.S. Sorry for the static, not sure where it came from or how to get rid of it. If you have any suggestions let me know please.
I’d also like to add…Men would be screaming sexual assault if we held them down and shoved a dildo up their ass. Should we call them a hoe too cause they knew what they were getting into? I gotta stay off social media for awhile smh.
This one is actually old but my blog was down at the time. So here goes…
December 5, 2016
Nicholas is 1 month old
Nicholas has woken up while I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, chomping down on a mixture of two cereals. Rice Chex and some weird blueberry toast cereal that I didn’t buy. I never really can sneak and eat around him. He always catches me and then looks at me as if he caught me cheating on him. I quickly finished and sat the bowl on the dresser and slid underneath the sheets.
I laid next to him with some distance in between us and just stared at him. He looked back at me and started squirming. I laid still and watched as he used every muscle, every bone, and every ounce of his body to fight and wiggle his way toward me. I remained still and just stared. His arms flailing about, legs kicking the air and sheets, slightly rolling on his side. He stops when his hand touches my face. Opening his fist, he rubs his hand across my cheek and for a moment I thought his fight was over.
But it wasn’t. He started back up and once I realized that he wasn’t going to stop until I held him, I reached my arm out and snuggled him. He quickly calmed down and fell asleep. He needed me.
Then my emotions got the best of me. I thought to myself, if only his father would do the same for me. Fight with every ounce of his body to be closer to me. To get his family back. Show me the same strength and perseverance. He didn’t need me. Tears came flooding down.
Nicholas shifted in my arms and shifted my thoughts. He needed me. So I wiped my tears, pulled him closer, and closed my eyes. Inhaled his sweet baby smell and promised I’d always reach my arm out if ever he needed me.
It wasn’t until I was around 8 or 9 that I learned that my brother’s father was not my biological father. My father had sent a card to my mother along with a picture, asking how the kids were and just wondering how we all were doing. I think my feelings about that at first was a little bit angry because I had been lied to, or something that important was hidden from me. It didn’t help that the years following he was not easy to contact. We never really knew where he was. The saying “Papa was a rolling stone” truly applied to him. By the time I hit my teens I remember him reaching out by mail again around my birthday. It was weird because he had sent a map of where I was located, indicating that he knew exactly where I was. However, by then I was not very interested in getting to know him. I had developed a nonchalant attitude to the fact that I had no father in my life. My brother’s father had lost my interest as well due to broken promises.
We moved back to Philly when I was 15 and that’s when I finally got to meet him. The encounter was…I don’t know how to describe it. I was happy, a little excited, disappointed and weirded out all in one. First thing he did was hug me and kiss me on the lips. I was taken aback by that because here it is, I don’t know you and I’m 15 not a baby. He gave me all these things that I felt like were pass downs because I was his daughter. A guitar, artifacts, and a computer. We talked for awhile about our interest trying to build a connection, and then he told me that he would come see me the next day and take me out somewhere. He never came and he disappeared again.
As I got older I realized (as much as I tried to deny it) that a part of the way I acted, the decisions that I made, all stemmed from me not having a strong and consistent father figure in my live. There were a few people that did what they could for the season that they were in my life, and I thank them for it, but it’s not the same. A friend of mine said to me when I was a teenager “You know you’re like that (fast) because you’re searching for love in men that you never got from your father.” I hated that saying and I wanted to believe with every part of my being that that wasn’t true. I wanted to believe that me not having a father had no affect on me. Well reality hit me. I’ll never forget one day my mother took me to see a dance recital called “Dance with My Father”. By now I was grown with a daughter of my own. As I watched the fathers swirl their daughters around pick them up and coddle them, I sunk down in my seat with tears rolling down my face. My mother, me, and my daughter all had missing fathers in our lives. It broke my heart and hurt me to the core. I silently cried the entire show. (I still have the DVD to the show, I refuse to watch it)
When I was pregnant with my son, my mother had searched and got in touch with my father and gave me his information. This was two years ago, and my father was now in his 70’s living in a senior living apartment home. We talked frequently building a relationship, which also connected me with siblings I never knew I had. He apologized for not being in my life and I forgave him. I just wanted to move forward. He tried to tell me his life story almost every time we talked on the phone. I received pictures of him and my mother, family members, and pictures of him over the years. I quickly learned through our conversation that my father was adventurous, BLUNT, a handy man, a photographer, loved the water especially since he loved to fish, loved weed and alcohol, a free thinker, was an avid drug user back in the day, and looooooved women. Oh, and he hated needles. I appreciated his honesty with me, but I wasn’t happy about some of his stories and some of the things he sent me. I was disappointed in the fact that I never really had an idea of what type of man my father was nor envisioned him any certain way, and now that I knew who he was it wasn’t satisfying. We had a little disagreement, and by the time I had my son I was so occupied with him that I didn’t speak to my father as frequently as before. I realized that it was for the better that he wasn’t in my life when I was growing up. He said to me often that he did some things in his past that were bad and that he was a bad man. I continued to tell him that I loved him after every phone call.
October of last year my brother that I had grown close to, Carl Jr., called me and asked had I been in touch with our dad. Said he had been trying to reach him for the past couple days and wasn’t getting an answer. I tried calling and didn’t get an answer either. My mother called me shortly with the news that my father had been in the morgue for over a week. No one knew. The story goes that he died sitting on his couch in his apartment watching tv, alone. When they found him the tv was still on. I sat on the edge of my bed and cried so hard. The weeks prior he had sent me these homemade DVDs that he had made during some of his travels. Every time he called he asked me had I watched them, and my answer was always no. I felt guilty. I had planned on visiting Philly that fall/winter, but my funds just wouldn’t allow it, so I promised him that I would visit in the summer for my birthday. Now it was too late. The first and last time I saw my father I was 15. My brother Carl was beside himself, especially being that he was the closest to him than any of his other kids. Seeing him struggle with funeral arrangements, I found some cheap flights, took off work for bereavement, and flew to Philly for a week.
It was crazy to me that here it is, my father never really did anything for me. At least not since I was an infant. And here I was helping clean his apartment and planning his funeral. It saddened me that this man sat in the morgue for over a week and no one knew. As a human being I still felt compassion for the situation. It was a weird feeling that my father’s death is what brought my siblings and I together to meet for the first time. Halfway thru the week that I was in Philly, and halfway thru many donations from my friends and family to help pay for my father’s funeral, my brother Carl Jr. drops a bomb on me about my father’s checkered past. His experiences as well as others. I reflected on my father’s words to me during one of our conversations, “I was a bad man”. The information that I received was not only heartbreaking but the timing that I received it was just all wrong. A part of me was a bit angry at my brother for telling me this during this time. I couldn’t help but to think if I knew what I know now before I took that flight, would I still have come? Would I still have cleaned out his apartment? Would I still have asked for money for his funeral? How would the people that donated feel if they knew this information? Then I thought about the worst thing that I’ve ever done in my life and the secrets that I hold. I thought about if it were me lying in the morgue for over a week, would I have wanted someone to have enough compassion for me to take care of my body and give me a proper burial. So, I pushed aside my feelings about the information and continued with the process of burying my father. The last day that I was there I was able to get in touch with Medicaid, they paid for his cremation, and I refunded the $900 that I had raised back to everyone. The funeral wasn’t until after I left, and my mother went in place of me, which was very big of her considering.
When I got back home before I finished unpacking, I sat down and watched the homemade videos my father sent me. My daughter came in the room and hugged me while I cried some more. Like many others I’ll never know what it’s like to have a father. No matter what type of man he was, I can’t deny the fact that his blood runs through my veins. I didn’t hear too many bad things from my mother about him growing up and I thank her as well for offering her support given the circumstances. She was his ex-wife, she was abused, and she paid for his urn and held his flag during his military service. All I can say is Rest in Peace dad and I wish things would’ve been different.
When I think of George the lyrics play in my head “Diamond in the back, sun roof top, diggin the scene with a gangsta lean woo hoooo”. He always rode with his arm hangin out the window, bobbin his head to the old skool. Honestly, whatever old skool music I know, I know it because of him cause that’s all we listened to whenever we rode around.
George and my mother got together when I was around 7 years old and were together up until I was in middle school. He was the closest thing to a father figure that I ever had. I remember his house being our home away from home. Well they were engaged. We went over to his house every weekend and I was always excited cause I had my own room with a tv in it, he had cable and we didn’t, like really all the good stuff was at George’s house lol. He treated my brother and I like his own and we were a family. He took care of us. Even though it didn’t work out between the two of them (for reasons that’s none of my business) I know they loved each other and he taught my mother a lot. I remember her being annoyed because everywhere we went somebody knew George and he had to stop and talk to them for damn near an hour. We could never go any where and come RIGHT back home. Every time we got in the car it was literally a trip, nothing quick about it. I can still picture him drippin in jewelry, waves in his head, and smelling like Joop cologne. I remember being fascinated by all the things he had.
He was a good man. Even after him and my mother split, he still took me to school every morning and sometimes picked me up. Even after that ended I knew that if I ever needed anything I could call him. He lived down the street from us so he continued to drive by, honk the horn, and wave at us whenever he saw us outside. It was comforting to know that he still cared and was looking out for us.
Time went by, I grew up, moved away, and lost contact. When I first heard about George having health issues a couple years ago, I made sure to visit him while he was in a rehabilitation center recovering. I wanted him to know that I still cared even though I wasn’t in touch. Every now and then I would ask my mom how he was doing whenever he ran across my mind. On March 9th his niece messaged me on Facebook to let me know that he had passed. Of course I was very sad but it wasn’t until I attended the funeral and saw him that it weighed heavy on me. When I heard all the other stories from other people and just thinking about how he was good to us, I just broke down in tears. George was the best example of a man that I have to date. He worked hard and was a provider. He was stern but yet kind at the same time. I’ll always be grateful to him for that. Rest In Peace Georgy Porgy. P. S. He gave my mom the nickname BoBo which to this day I still have no idea where that came from.
I’m still not over this. A day after attending George’s funeral, March 20th, I learned that my big brother Carl Jr. had passed away. I got up that morning, still with a heavy heart, scrolling Facebook and saw my brother’s picture posted with a caption that read “Rest In Peace”. It felt like my heart stopped. I thought to myself this can’t be true! NO!!!
The day that I met Carl Jr. he cried and he hugged me so tight. I’ll never forget that hug. From day one when we first spoke he always seemed so excited to have a little sister. Always genuinely concerned with how I was doing, how my kids were doing, and what was going on in my life. I never felt so close and connected to someone I only met a couple times in my life.
I know that Carl Jr. took our fathers passing very hard and a couple times he also pulled disappearing acts. Unfortunately, Dec 31st was the last time I had spoken to him. I had been angry with him at the time over a promise that he had made and didn’t fulfill. Even though I was over it soon after, I didn’t reach out to him and vice versa. I think he thought that maybe I was still angry with him, but I really wasn’t. By now I had planned on moving to Philly in the summer and planned on spending a lot of time with him when I got there. When I learned about how he passed I became angry. The selfish side of me felt like he left me behind and that he wasn’t thinking about how many people loved him. The selfish side of me felt like every time I get close to something, it’s taken away from me. That anger isn’t there anymore but I’m still very hurt behind it. I never thought I could miss someone so much that I hadn’t even spent a lot of time with. The memory of the last time I saw him still lingers in my mind. He hugged me so tight and said, “I don’t want to let you go”. I love you and really miss you Carl Jr. and I hope you know it. Rest in Peace.
Have you ever been in a relationship where both of you did some things wrong and instead of solving the problem or coming to an agreement you continued to point the finger at each other? Well that was basically the overall reason for my recent break up (without going into details). It got so bad that arguments were literally occurring every day. Hurtful things were said and petty things were done on both sides and unfortunately there was no fixing it after that point. Somewhere down the line the fun, trust, honesty, respect, compromise, and consideration was all taken out of the relationship. I made one last attempt, but it was too late. We just couldn’t see eye to eye on certain things.
I sat back and had time to think about everything. I realized my faults and most times couldn’t bring myself to admit to them when I should have. Pride is a motha. People like to say well everything happens for a reason but that doesn’t soothe the pain you go through when you go through a break up. Even though we were only together for a short time I can honestly say my feelings for him were very real and I loved him. Still do.
The hardest part about going through a break up is not being able to see their face, feel their touch, or hear their voice again. Plus he was introduced to the world, family, and friends and you have to go through that whole “we just didn’t work out” thing with everyone. I’m a deep thinker sometimes and I feel deeply, so whenever I’m going through something unfortunately it’s hard for me to just let it roll off my shoulders. I will almost always put up a strong front because I never like to appear weak, but inside I’m hurting and extremely disappointed.
Then there are the thoughts of wondering if they are with someone else. Have they already moved on? Did they ever really love you? Why couldn’t we fight just a little harder for the relationship? Maybe we just need a break? Maybe he’ll come running back and we can fix things? But the likelihood of that happening just isn’t there. Sacrifices were made on both sides and I can’t help but to think it was all in vain. I took a chance on love after not being in a serious relationship for 5 years and it just really sucks.
In the end I know I have to be strong. I have new opportunities coming up that require me to be focused and have my head on straight so I’m going to push through this. I guess I will have to look at it as a lesson learned.
I hope you guys started the New Year off right, I know I did! I attended a black and gold themed house party with my homegirl and we had a great time! It was good seeing old high school friends and catching up, all while vibin to mix from the DJ. It’s always funny when you run into people from high school. Some look and act pretty much exactly the same, some people changed (that would be me), and some people got SUPA FINE (the DJ lol). I didn’t really do much dancin, just posted up with a drank in my hand and did a lot of head bobbin lol. Of course there’s always a little ratchetness that occurs at a house party but it’s all good. A girl seemed to be upset with someone and a fight almost happened. Crazy thing is the drama was happening right in front of me, but I couldn’t tell you who she was mad at for the life of me. I kept looking around but didn’t see anybody else as upset as her. Anywho like I said I had a good time and I look forward to joining everyone again next year.
A new year for a lot of people is the beginning of a new journey. We start reflecting on the past year, preparing ourselves for change, and making New Year’s resolutions. My resolutions are usually the same as most peoples…let go of some things, lose weight so I can be summertime fine, be healthier, and just continue to strive to be a better person inside and out. But this year I want to go a little more in depth and be a little more specific so I decided that I’m going to do a vision board. It’s a great idea to help you stay motivated and stay on track of things. I’ve provided some example below that I found from pintrest if you’re interested in creating your own.
In my opinion there is nothing wrong with wanting to better yourself. Although I think change can be done at any time not just at the beginning of the year, I don’t criticize or judge people for making New Year’s resolutions. As much as I love social media it’s sad how many discouraging remarks I saw in regards to people wanting to change. There was one meme in particular that was circulating all over the internet. It symbolized a black woman wanting to leave all of her problems in the past and start brand new for the New Year. When I say people on Instagram can take somethin good and tear it to pieces smh, I mean they recreated the meme over and over again to be so negative. I just kept thinking I don’t see anything wrong with this picture and what’s really sad is it was the black men more than anybody that was tearing the sista down. Hey we gotta do better people…but when you know better, you do better. Peep the pics and video below…
P.S. Why did I receive a text from an Ex that I hadn’t talked to in over 3 months on New Year’s Eve? That’s what I’m NOT gonna do for the year 2015! Ain’t nobody got time fa dat!
Inspiration for a vision board…
***YOU DON’T HAVE TO PUT YOUR EMAIL TO COMMENT. DON’T FORGET TO LIKE AND SHARE :-)***
Years and years ago I was in a physically and verbally abusive relationship. It’s something that I still get very emotional about whenever I talk about it to people, especially people who are insensitive to the subject. A lot of times I read on social media or have conversations with people who say things like “if she keeps going back to him then it’s her fault she keeps getting beat up” or “well she’s stupid as hell for taking him back” or “some women get in a man’s face and talk a bunch of ish and they deserve to be hit”. It’s crazy the things I hear and read and I can’t help but to think, where is the compassion for the victim? Unless you’ve lived the nightmare before how can you be so opinionated about it?
Although I do think getting in someone’s face is provoking them, I still think at the end of the day we all have the choice in how we react to it. Everyone has the right to defend themselves when someone gets physical with them, but if they didn’t touch you, you shouldn’t touch them. Period. I understand sometimes it’s not that simple but that’s the way it should be. From my experience and also from what I’ve witnessed verbal abuse and manipulation usually comes way before the physical violence which a lot of people fail to realize.
Before I met my ex-boyfriend I was happy, confident, ambitious, and sure of who I was and what I wanted. I was that strong minded girl who said I would never let a man put his hands on me. By the end of the relationship I was 40 lbs. heavier, miserable, insecure, lacked motivation, and didn’t recognize the person I saw in the mirror. I was completely opposite of what I was before. Before, I was that girl who cared about her appearance before she walked out the door. Afterwards I could give a rat’s ass and just walked out the house looking any kind of way. I went days without even combing my hair. I was depressed and it took a while for it to become apparent to my mother but once it was she subtly made an intervention. Not everyone is so lucky. Prayer alone cannot help you out of that situation. Family and friends turn their backs and give up on people who keep going back because they don’t understand or know how to help. If you have no support and no one to help pull you through what do you do?
Here’s my story:
The first time I saw any signs of my ex being an abusive person, I ignored and justified it. I had witnessed him choke his ex-girlfriend during an altercation one time. I had witnessed her act crazy as well. She tried to run us off the rode on multiple occasions, once with her infant in the car. So my initial thought was well she ran up and hit him first and she was screaming that she was going to do something to me so he was just protecting me. Throughout the 3 years we were together a lot of our arguments would be because of the fact that he was still seeing this woman and lying to me, which was probably what was driving her crazy as well. His possessiveness and insecurity because of our big age difference also played a major role in our problems.
He had started his manipulation early on in the relationship. He had a problem with the way I dressed and being the woman that I am and wanting to please my man, I stopped wearing anything that showed off my figure too much because I knew it would lead to an argument. He would even snap on men in the grocery store for looking at me. If I put on some body spray before leaving the house it was “who you trying to smell good for” then that caused and argument and he subsequently poured all my body sprays down the drain. According to him all of my close friends were bad for me and he even tried to turn me against my mother so that I would have no one. Eventually it was hard being friends with people and either they cut me off or I cut them off. He would start arguments with me out of nowhere but then turn around and tell me how much he needed me and that he had no one but me. He would cry and tell me deep dark secrets and use them as excuses as to why he acted the way he did. So that made it hard to leave because I would feel sorry for him. I had been around his family and friends and yes he had burned those bridges so in a sense I felt like he did need me. All of these things I had put up with because I loved him but also I had eventually lost all self-love in the process.
The first time it got physical I blamed it on myself and my mouth. By now I had been doing the same thing he was doing to me which was cutting below the belt during arguments. I told myself well I should have walked away and that’s what I’ll do next time before it gets physical. Well next time came and he wouldn’t let me walk away. He would take my glasses and car keys so I wouldn’t drive off. He would pin me down so I wouldn’t leave. Even when he fell asleep I didn’t try to leave in the middle of the night because I feared what he might do to me if he caught me. He would always wake up begging and pleading for me not to leave him and apologize a million times. During all of this I also felt like I had nowhere to go. Even though my mother would have welcomed me with open arms to come back home, she had a husband that I didn’t get along with. I felt like I had no friends or family to turn to, nor did I want to be alone. By now because of the mean and hurtful things he would say and because of my appearance I felt like no one else would want me. There were even times I had gotten spit on, punch, choked, and kicked in front of his family and they did nothing to stop him. So I just felt like nobody cared and at some point I became financially dependent on him as well. I had gotten so used to this dysfunctional relationship that there were even a few times where I hauled off and hit him first because of something that he had done to me. In the beginning the sex was a big part of why I stayed too but toward the end I was so disgusted by him that I didn’t want him to touch me.
One time I almost passed out while he was choking me. It was then that I was determined to get on my feet financially and leave him when I got the chance. The final straw was the day I was scared for my daughter’s safety and that’s the day I left and never looked back. Some people are so drowned in what’s going on that they never get that rude awakening. My mother moved me on the other side of town which helped a lot because it was really hard to move on.
I say all this to say that there are so many layers to domestic violence. It’s not so cut and dry like most people think it is. Mentally after dealing with all the verbal and physical abuse you are messed up in the head, which is a big reason it’s so hard to leave. You’re confused, feel alone, financially unstable, insecure, and depressed. There’s barely any common sense or any light to hold on to. I hope that anyone reading this shares it and it opens your eyes to the complexity of it all. I hope that people can be more sensitive on the matter. I keep seeing people comment on the Ray Rice situation and they are being so cruel. People have even created these memes or pics poking fun at the situation when I feel it’s not a laughing matter. Women are losing their lives over stuff like this and yet so many people are quick to judge and blame the woman. It’s not so simple.
*Don’t forget to like and share. Email address is not needed to comment
A blog about concert reviews and other good stuff!