Where Love is a Scream of Anguish

"If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility." Like the quote stated, I too believe that every one of us are capable of finding love in every individual. 

[a-beautynthe-struggle]

Everyone that tells me to stay patient or keep believing wrongly assumes that I have anything left in me. There is no more left of me. I am running on fumes. I am emotionally depleted. And I don’t have anything else to give.

I don’t recognize myself. I don’t feel like myself. Memories of me experiencing joy make me burst into tears. I feel so far removed from the girl who could be social, who would laugh, and sing loudly and freely. The girl who took up painting in her spare time.

There are no prayers that I haven’t prayed. Apparently they are all wrong. I can’t figure out what to say. What to ask God for or what to even just say to him. There isn’t anything he doesn’t know. There isn’t anything he doesn’t see. So what am I to do with this? These feelings come with no avail. No support feels supportive enough. This makes me feel so ungrateful, selfish, and attention-seeking. This infuriates me more than anything else.

[a-beautynthe-struggle]

I took up painting again :) 

[emfile]

[a-beautynthe-struggle]

My first post after being gone from my burner page for so long was gonna be about solitude, how amazing it is living on my own, and the unexpected beauty of Dallas. But then God put a word in my heart to investigate all this talk about Popeyes’ new chicken sandwich, and I feel compelled to write about that instead.

This evening while half watching the Real Housewives of Potomac I came across yet another tweet about this damn sandwich. So before making the 15 min drive to my nearest Popeyes, I consulted with friends. To no avail, no one had any input. I polled ppl on IG & STILL split decisions. The uncertainty of it all left me with no other choice BUT to see for myself. I made the drive with little to no expectations. I mean I’ve had the Wendy’s spicy chicken sandwich & during my work travels I always made a point to get the spicy chicken sandwich from Chic fil A. I knew that Popeyes chicken surely wouldn’t disappoint, but I needed to know if it was worth the hype, all the tweets and funny memes. Was twitter just doing what it does best; trolling?? Now was my chance to find out.

I picked up my sandwich and grateful that it was only $4 cus I know Popeyes can be a little disrespectful with their prices. On my drive home, what was supposed to be 15 minutes turned into what felt like 20 plus because I was adamant on not using my GPS. My intentions on waiting to get to my place to unwrap this beauty and enjoy it with a nice glass of sparkling water soon shifted after yet ANOTHER wrong turn. I caved. The smell of the chicken in the passengers seat luring me in. At a red light, I unwrapped the sandwich in its cute little baggy and took a bite. Immediately, my once dry lips were completely moisturized from the butter of the perfectly toasted bun. The chicken was obviously everything I expected, but the sauce... the sauce is what separates boys from men. The pairing of the sauce AND the sweetness of the two pickles was something I didn’t know I needed- especially as a non-pickle lover. When one accidentally slipped from my sandwich, I hurried to put it back in its place to savor every moment I could.

When I finally pulled up to my apartment with a quarter sandwich left, I simply paused. Fortunately I was able to capture the moment above. So was the Popeyes chicken sandwich worth the hype?? It is what chicken lovers’ dreams are made of.

[1oveurself]

i wanna be significant to you like the moon is to earth

[kodokaizen]

When you're hood, but also elegant. An entire mood

[a-beautynthe-struggle]

Thursday, 6.20

I’ve really come to enjoy keeping a photo journal of my day. I sat in a restaurant and I felt like I was away on vacation. The music, the sun roof coupled with the perfect breeze from outside made me feel like I was lost in a small restaurant in Paros & not in the middle of a busy city. I let my body marinate in the tub. It felt so good. It was during this part of my day that I realized I didn’t wanna be anywhere else. I realized just how fortunate I am. I felt so good. My time to myself felt healing, refreshing, & everything I needed (even tho that isn’t an adjective). My creative juices are overflowing.

[a-beautynthe-struggle]

Wednesday, 6.19

Although today wasn’t nearly as exciting as yesterday it was cool cus I made this salad. What if after all of this I learn to be ok with stillness and being by myself.. 🤯

[a-beautynthe-struggle]

Tuesday, 6.18

I spoke to most of my favorite people today. I finalized the list of apartments I’m interested in, many of which have washer and dryers in the unit 😎. I got lost in the Berkeley hills and I ate well. I baked, which I loveee and don’t get to do enough of. I napped. I couldn’t sleep last night because I was anxious, worried about how I’m gonna get back in shape and shed these lbs before school. Not sure why I put that pressure on myself that it has to be now or before school. My body does so much for me. I’m so grateful for her. I’ll continue to unpack where this pressure comes from.

[vacillating-bpd-queen]

Important.

[bled]

[black-culture]

[a-beautynthe-struggle]

Yo.

[nakedverite-deactivated20200209]

“Even the silence has a story to tell you. Just listen. Listen.”

— Jacqueline Woodson, Brown Girl Dreaming  (via silver-blonde)

[a-beautynthe-struggle]

I’ve realized

how much I just need the extra help and support from my immediate family. Like that is the root of it all. I just need my parents to take on more of a parental role. And I think that can look like a lot of things. Like if they don’t have the emotional capacity to be supportive maybe they can throw me a couple dollars here and there. Offer to pay for a plane ticket to Dallas, a hotel on the way there, a coffee table, something. And if they don’t have the financial means to do these things, maybe they can take on a more emotionally supportive role. Check in with how things are going, encouraging words, more so than criticizing ones. Offer to make dinner a couple times a week for when I get home from work. There were so many times that I helped my sister in a financial bind, offered to pay to get her nails done, spa days and things like that, and I just don’t feel like these things are reciprocated. I don’t feel like my emotional, financial, or spiritual support is reciprocated. And just like calling a white woman out on racism, having these discussion do not come without fair share of tears. Maybe I’m simply not grateful enough. But I feel like I come home to run a household and raise my adult mother. I have to remind her to do her hair, or brush her teeth, shower over the weekend, or change her clothes. I no longer encourage her to eat healthier or workout because I don’t have the energy to deal with the tears. I’m trying not to be resentful of my mother being so negligent with herself while simultaneously criticizing me for “falling off” or “not properly taking care of myself”. I think I knew this part of moving home would be the hardest. Because at least with the other place, I knew that there wasn’t another adult person I needed to tend to. And more often than not, people were providing for me. They would make dinner for the house sometimes, or offer me food, or help fix things around the house, that responsibility wasn’t solely on me. That felt good. I’m not gonna lie, I do look forward to being in a loving, healthy, relationship because then I could have some damn HELP lol. I hope I don’t lean on my partner too much for that. Idk what the feeling is, but I felt such a happy sigh of relief when I was dating Fe and I would come home from a long day of work and he would have a meal waiting for me on the stove. Even K, he would tell me to come over and work on my application essays and he would prepare dinner for me. Those times did not go unappreciated or unnoticed. I need the universe to offer me the same support that I offer my immediate family. I daydream about what it would be like to not feel so alone and on my own in this world. 

[a-messy-evolution]

I still have the claw marks on my body from the last man who loved me too sharply.

Don’t love me too sharply.

His love never hit but, God, it hurt.

It exhausted and pleaded and begged mercy.

The last lover found me hidden and left me in pieces.

Parts impressed

Parts confused

Parts loved

Clawed to pieces

Searching for a lover in me

Finding, instead, indifference

He ripped

And I let him

Even helped at times

Because anyone who loves me this much must be lovable

And it hurt

And I broke myself trying to love a man I was never meant to love

And he hurt me for making a fool of him

Even if by accident

Don’t love me too sharply

I know how that can turn out.

Pick me up gently

Kiss my bruises

Hold my hand

Feed me.

Slowly.

Slower

Stop.

Just checking if you could

Stop.

Need to know that you are capable of stop.

My last love was a run away freight train

And I was not nearly enough track for his speed.

My last love left claw marks

Don’t love me too sharply.

Please.?

[dspressed]

Just a reminder that Vincent van Gogh did not eat yellow paint to make himself feel happy, he ate paint, and drank different chemicals because he was suicidal and this is why he was not allowed in his studio while having breakdowns. He also did not paint starry night and his other great works because he was depressed, he painted most of them while he was in recovery and demonstrated his hopefulness and love of the world through this. Most of his great works were painted from his room at a hospital. Van Gogh’s depression should not be glorified. His hope and effort toward a better life, as well as his recovery from depression should be glorified.

[awww-scrap]

If I may add, he did not cut off his own ear, he went into a manic depressive state and got into a fight with a friend who cut off part of his ear by accident. It’s unsure if he actually did commit suicide (he was shot in the stomach, and he was seen getting into a fight with some boys earlier that day), but nonetheless, he lived a sad and painful life, not one to admire. He only sold one piece when he was alive, his mother destroyed every painting of his that she had and constantly reminded him he couldn’t replace his older brother Vincent, a baby who died a year before our Vincent came to the world. He admitted himself into asylums on multiple occasions. He traded paintings people considered garbage just for a sandwich or a single beer, paintings that are now worth millions were once traded for a goddamn sandwich. He was disrespected, called weird and insane. He would have had painted 6-7 paintings a week when he was feeling good before going into depressive states and not painting for weeks or even months. He worked hard, trying to get better. His pain shouldn’t be glorified, but his recovery, his desire to keep going should.

[a-beautynthe-struggle]

Everyone that tells me to stay patient or keep believing wrongly assumes that I have anything left in me. There is no more left of me. I am running on fumes. I am emotionally depleted. And I don’t have anything else to give.

I don’t recognize myself. I don’t feel like myself. Memories of me experiencing joy make me burst into tears. I feel so far removed from the girl who could be social, who would laugh, and sing loudly and freely. The girl who took up painting in her spare time.

There are no prayers that I haven’t prayed. Apparently they are all wrong. I can’t figure out what to say. What to ask God for or what to even just say to him. There isn’t anything he doesn’t know. There isn’t anything he doesn’t see. So what am I to do with this? These feelings come with no avail. No support feels supportive enough. This makes me feel so ungrateful, selfish, and attention-seeking. This infuriates me more than anything else.

[24kblk]

it’s all good by boogie. bushwick, bed-stuy + qb. 2006.