This is something that I wrote one day back in 2019. Now that was almost 5 years ago. Again a great opportunity to reflect and check back in with myself. What did I Have need then versus what do I need now? How have I grown? How have I regressed? Thank you God for the opportunity to reflect.
June 13, 2019
So, I’m thinking to myself… am I okay? I think this just about every day. Some days it’s yes! I’m great, awesome, fantastic! Some days it’s no, but why am I not? And I spend some time trying to understand what’s making me feel this way. And then some days it’s no. Just no. I don’t want to think about why because I don’t know why. I just feel the way I do, and I don't even want to deal with it.
Today is one of those days. I feel like I’m in the negative. I almost got into the neutral zone. I thought, “Well let me find something that will make me feel better”. I google searched “Ways to feel better”, “Ways to be happy”, and “Ways to make more money” (as if that would actually make me happy). But in doing that I felt even more defeated. These things will never work for me. I’ve tried them. For weeks I’ve thought about trying to find ways to make myself happy. My happiness is a choice, right? I choose whether or not I take the high road in life and live up to my “full potential”. Fuck potential. I don't even really know what that is or who it belongs to. The potential seems to be the thing that people gave me cause they saw that I could read and write a little better than my counterparts. Well, give thanks to my brain because I honestly don't even know what to do with your potential.
But I digress, back to the topic at hand: my mental state. Now I had been suffering with all types of plagues to my peace of mind in the last year or so. Starting with the PTSD from hearing the state marshall, local police, and sheriff's department banging at my door on a Tuesday morning to arrest my boyfriend. He had committed a crime and I knew about it. Still, I thought they weren’t even worried about him. They had murders to solve, right? To this day, I still go into a defensive mood if someone knocks unexpectedly. Then into the depression that came following the birth of my second daughter that I wasn't really sure I wanted. Too scared to make some of the same mistakes I did with my first. Then knowing that I would be raising them alone because… well we’ll talk about that later. Tried to counteract the depression with my favorite drug of choice: sex. And in doing so I doubled my body count in less than a year. Do I really care that much about my body count by itself? Not really. But what if my potential husband asks what it is and I say: 23. And that’s if I don’t fall victim to my flesh again before I meet him. I'm 20 years old and have fucked more men than I can count on my hands and feet? What does that say about my lifestyle choices? Imagine what it does to my self-esteem. “You not a hoe no more, act like it.” That’s what was said to me. I always said my husband would know my flaws and accept me for who I really am… but who wants to deal with all that? Better yet, who wants to marry all that? So all these things, really it isn't even half, has summed up to this point of me sitting at this job crying like a crackhead.
And blaming myself for getting into this funk. I blame myself for the choices I had made even though I preach about forgiving myself from my past. I blamed myself for being so weak and not mustering up the dignity I needed to at least cry in the bathroom stall. This hadn't been my first tearful outburst of the year though. It was probably number five or so. Not as bad as sitting in the back of a classroom crying because I knew nothing they were talking about. To me, crying is just a little release of the emotions that I’m feeling. Not completely cathartic because I normally stop myself from crying. When I find myself in these episodes or something similar, I start thinking about all the times I wasn't sad. How did I do it? How did I manage to be happy or at least content?
I used to be very religious. Only listening to gospel music, no cussing, church every Sunday, prayers at night. And it worked for a while. But I just got tired of it. I was seeing everyone else living life and they seemed happy. Nothing bad was happening to them. If anything they were doing good. And I wanted to do good. Feel good, look good, live a good life. I wanted out of my holy rut and into the world. I wanted to hang out and be free. But that life doesn't suit me well. Partially because I don't align with most people. It seems that some spirits call out to me. I can physically feel them and it's disgusting. Really it's their demons that I probably feel because it's only the bad things, like lust that attract me. But I have been able to transfer some of my energy back to them. Oh yeah, after I moved from religion I explored energy and existential spirituality. Let’s just say I don't know what the hell I’m doing, talking about, or what is going on. I spent money on stones that I lost. So now I’m just winging it off the shit I read on Twitter.
Once again, I digress… I just thought there was some necessary context needed. So I’m crying at work, thankful for the toilet paper I found in the filing cabinet. I just started working here a few weeks ago and even though the people are super friendly, I still don’t know them. I’m pissed off at my relief because she's ten minutes late for my lunch break. And the news articles I read today had me really riled up. So least to say, I’m feeling emotional. And what do I decide to do: I write.
I haven't really written anything for leisure or for emotional cleansing like this in years, but I needed something to help me. I can remember crying out “Help me!” like I was in some sort of actual danger when really it was only my emotions controlling me. It's a very scary feeling to be left alone with your thoughts, especially the bad ones. And I felt so alone for so long, I was starting to question if this was the way life should be. So I decided to write and it felt good. Some tears came to my eyes, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I had finally felt some sort of relief and could breathe. Not only could I breathe, I could sleep. I was actually falling asleep at the desk. This was a remarkable gain because I hadn't been sleeping well for weeks. Either difficulty winding down or uncomfortable laying down. Writing has given me everything I needed to finally relax. Even if it was temporary. I had released enough pressure to subdue the tears. No more crying was a step in the right direction. I just needed to stay going the right direction.
With all the temptations and triggers in my world, it’s easy to get off track. “Take a left turn” as I call it. Don’t two lefts make a right? Well, I went left once some time back and kept straight. Straight down a path of self-loathing and despair. I didn’t look for sympathy though, I didn’t want it. I wouldn’t even tell anyone how I was feeling. I kept everything between me and the paper. This is all I had. My only friend was a piece of fucking paper and only a mindless cleaning spree would cause me be to alone again. If one of my associates who think they are my friends were to read this I bet they would feel betrayed. I feel like it’s me against the world, so I’ll stand on that. It’s safe to think this way because I can’t betray myself. Maybe it's just because I’m looking through my lenses of unhappiness that I see only adversaries, but who can I really consider an ally?
I wrote a rap some time back:
I’m not a rapper, just your average girl writing poetry
Who’s flow is sweet
Putting my name in it so you know it’s me
Woe is me
Confused about life and I’m supposed to be
Never had a friend to be a friend and stay close to me.
Never finished the rest, but it probably would have gotten sadder and sadder. Because that's the only feeling I recognize and can express. Sadness. I translate that sadness into so many different actions and reactions, it’s like I was never sad in the first place. Only it’s just a temporary fix. It doesn’t permanently erase my disgust or disdain for my life. It just distracts me from the woman I see myself converting to. The woman that I don’t want to be, but it seems as if my destiny has been chosen for me. I have no choice but to be her and that fact scares me to death. The jezebel, man-eater, the Proverbs woman that I’ve learned about and seen so much of during my short 20 years. I have become her and am somewhat proud of it. But only I know what little satisfaction this lifestyle always gets me. That’s why I try not to stress and worry because most things are temporary pleasures.
I wish I could catch my breath because I feel like I'm suffocating right here. I got hot all of a sudden. Normally I'm freezing at work but now I nearly want to come out of my sheer kimono I have on. Working on only 3.5 hours of sleep and a medium iced coffee, I feel a false sense of energy. I know I’ll probably be crashing later, I just hope it's much later because I have things to take care of today. A quiz to study for, a speech to write, plus I need to try to catch up on my sleep (I know you can’t really do that, but let me live). Last night was a blur and I’m a little proud about it. After several failed attempts to relieve some tension, I called up an old friend of mine. Not really an old friend, more like a constant friend who I can call on almost anytime even though I know he’ll never be more than a friend. We can lay together and sleep together but I don't know much more than besides his name. When he had a baby, I had to learn through the grapevine, but I thought we were closer than that. It just reminded me how “close” I am to everyone. They say “I’m only a phone call away”, but in reality, we're lifetimes apart. I don't regret it because for one I was satisfied, for two I did something I've been wanting to do for a long time. Take control. Be empowered. God did it feel good, beyond that it felt great. I was able to control the situation and guide the outcome. In my head, I thought, “You are a powerful woman. You have control. You can sway the course of actions. Only if you take charge.” Yeah, it was something small, but it woke up something bigger. Something that had been dormant in me for so long. My power. For months, probably years, I’ve been giving my power away. Letting other people control how I felt and what actions I took. It was draining as felt like I lost more of myself every day. I was a puppet to the world, unaware that those pulling the strings didn't give a fuck about me. It was all about them. So last night, after I sent a risky text to a man I've known most of my life, to do something that we’ve done at least ten times before, I took the first steps towards my freedom.
I heard somewhere that we have the freedom to and freedom from.
Update - June 5, 2024
I know this post is longer than others, but I can't help the raw emotions that I felt at the time. I can picture in my head 20-year-old Alexis, working a temp job, going through school with little to no guidance or support, feeling stuck in the place where I was. I can admit my faults and now that I'm older and more experienced, I have accepted and grown to love this version of myself. Over time, I learned these waves of emotions, the highs and lows, were normal for me and couldn't be avoided. Nor should they be condemned because this is who I am and there's nothing wrong with me. It wasn’t my diagnosis with Bipolar Disorder 2 in 2021 that made me realize this, but with an analysis of my Human Design chart in 2022.
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