Install Theme

Stereotype Killer

I am the stone that the builder refused, the saint that sins frequently, and the indigo child that runs wild. I am the unicorn to the lion and we created a supernova. I'm something like amazing.

On Our Knees…

I’ve been reading all kinds of shit lately because my state of mind hasn’t consistently been in one particular place. This used to only happen around the time of my birthday and holidays. Another month has been added to this but it won’t surface for a few months to come. As holiday season resonates all around me, of course I’m reminded of this big, dark essence called family. This darkness is only in relation to my blood relatives. I’m not perturbed by the friends who have become family…and since I get to choose who those people are, if they ever start to become part of the same big, dark blood related cloud, I take it as a sign that something needs to change immediately.

One of the random things I’ve been reading is about John Henrik Clarke. He was a historian, professor, and writer best known for devoting his time and attention to African history. I was reading about his contribution to the Black Power Movement and something he said jolted some childhood memories awake. It was his statement concerning oppression and how can a slave and their master serve the same God.

That simple ass statement made me think about all the nights I prayed on my knees for a way out of my childhood. It made me remember some of the ways I plotted to end my life at a young age to escape the tyranny of my father and the stagnation of my mother. It reminded me of all the books I read to experience a reality totally different than my own and some I read to feel like someone out there could relate, even if it was just from their vivid imagination. It made me think about how everything that I emotionally suppressed as a child was perfectly contained until I had a child of my own and was forced to face it all in order to be a better mother to my daughter than mine was to me.

Amid all of these annoying ass swirling thoughts, the one that kept surfacing with the loudest of energy was the praying to God. My father made a big deal out of praying. There was a specific way to do it and if you didn’t do it his way and a certain amount of times, there wasn’t a guarantee that God was going to listen or receive what you had to say. So on our knees, became the default. The position could change based on your circumstances but I remember being taught that this was the position for personal prayer in your home.

I prayed every chance I got though and in any form I was in at the time the need for prayer hit me. Laying down, while being beat mercilessly, standing up, while people were talking, sitting in the car, riding the bus, using the bathroom, washing dishes, while doing my chores…you name it, I was praying while doing it. The entire time, I was praying to the same God of my oppressor. There were many days and nights I asked this God to save me and my sister but I never heard anything back in relation to “of course I will save you.”

It didn’t matter that damn near half my day would be me asking for help. Those beatings never stopped. I even asked for God to make my mom help him to stop. That wasn’t answered either. I asked for God to put it in other people’s spirit to help him stop. No one rescued us. For a time I even reasoned with myself that maybe I was asking too much for me AND my sister to be saved. Maybe I needed to just focus on myself and THEN work on saving her. That shit didn’t work either.

I eventually stopped praying on my knees as a small act of defiance against what my father had taught me. The prayers weren’t working anyway so fuck it and I felt better doing it my way, while still trying to figure out what the best prayer would be to liberate me from this hell on earth. It wasn’t until I was 14 years old that I decided God was more interested in whatever my father was praying about because even though the beating wasn’t anywhere as close to the frequency as when I was younger, there was still the looming presence that it still could happen at any moment.

It was during a conversation we were having and I guess my eye contact was too intense and it earned me a backhand to the face. While I’m not intimidated or scared of my father now, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t back then…he was almost 6 feet and 5 inches…he was a garbage man, with arms that looked like they could choke horses and massive hands that looked like they could bend iron. Friendly [looking] was never a word I’d ever apply to him…not even now. So imagine being hit in the face by someone of this stature…and this was a first for me. He’d usually only hit me with leather belts and wooden cutting boards made into Boards of Education.

As I felt my face heat up and something warm run out of my nose, it was like a light bulb had been turned on. God was NEVER saving me. I’d have to save myself. I don’t know what stopped my dad at that point because he was never one to hit us once and that be that. It was always excessive amounts of force and repetition so we didn’t forget who was in control and had the power. I do remember him saying, “don’t ever challenge me again”, and walking away. I was confused because how did direct eye contact become me challenging him? I was listening to what he was saying and didn’t want to break eye contact out of fear that he would continue to belabor the conversation or punish me for not paying attention. I couldn’t win for losing.

So God stopped being real to me and became this abstract thing that I now believe we make up to anchor ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, I do believe there are sentient, celestial creatures out there that are far more intelligent and advanced than humans…but I’m not sure if they see themselves as entities that require our allegiance and prayers. I think we tell ourselves that because it’s easier than figuring shit out ourselves and being 100% accountable for our lives. That’s an entirely different subject though…

At 14, I decided religion was no longer for me because there was no way in hell I’d ever compete for the attention and help of an all-powerful being at the same time someone who worshiped the same God, prayed for whatever was allowing them all of that power over me. I took my life into my own hands and spent the next two years plotting to either end my dad’s life, end mine, or what I eventually ended up doing, leaving what was considered my home.

The two years between 14 and 16 are kind of blurry when it comes to my interaction with him. I stayed as far away from him as possible but still maintained enough respect for him to keep his antagonizing to a minimum. I did pretty good until I started coming home late from school because the bus was breaking down. Anyone who rode AC Transit in the 90s, especially from Skyline High School is well aware of the frequency of breakdowns. He said if I came home late one more time, he was going to beat me. My bus broke down and I knew that was the day I was never going back home…and I didn’t. I knew in my heart, one of us wasn’t getting out of that house alive that day and I had already accepted the fate that would come from ending his life.

So when I think about getting on my knees to pray, it’s attached to an unholy thing. I don’t even pray like I used to. I don’t even look at it the same. In fact, I don’t even like to use the word, especially not in regards to others. I don’t know where these prayers go or end up. There’s no way of any of us truly know…we rely on our belief to solve that answer for us. I talk to the universe because that’s a real thing to me. It’s tangible. I don’t ever assume that it’s always listening or will give me what I want just because I request it. I do look for signs and I do think it’s my responsibility to work for what I want manifested.  When things align, I say thank you to myself and any unseen forces that contributed. But it will never be on my knees that I ask or beg for my freedom or anything else. Not ever again in this lifetime.

what once was, is no longer. don’t keep trying. let it go.

try as I may, my brain cannot wrap around some of the things that people do. I often wonder if they see the insanity in their own actions or if that’s their version of normal. for instance, when people decide they don’t want to be in a relationship anymore. whether it be friendship, romantic, business, or anything else that was once a constant and no longer is. if you are the person who decided to walk away, how do you manage to get upset that it’s over? IT IS OVER BECAUSE YOU WANTED IT THAT WAY!

especially when the other person has given you opportunity after opportunity to rectify whatever was “upset” between the two of you. so when they’ve finally said to hell with all of this and they’re done but you decide you want to come back, how are you angry that they don’t want to be bothered?

do people not realize this is a cycle of abusive, controlling bullshit? maybe they’re too close to the situation to be able to tell how manipulative, stressful, and immature this behavior is. also, when that anger of not getting their way (even though it was initiated by their own desires), leads them to do harmful things to the other person. whether those harmful things are physical, mental, emotional, or verbal…I honestly think some people are just operating from a place of complete lack of self-control and they might have impulse control issues.

I’ve watched people do this in their relationships with others, not really thinking I’d ever be involved with anyone who behaved like this…only to experience it with four people over the last 5 years. I just don’t see the point in playing these types of games…do these people do this because they need some assurance that people care about them? do they do this because they have nothing better to do with their time? do they do this because they need to seek professional help?

I don’t have the answers and I won’t even pretend to with speculative statements. what I do know is that I’m not here for this bullshit. ever. if you make it clear you no longer want me around, I will leave…and I will stay gone. there is no amount of manipulation that will ever make me want to return. you could turn a hundred new leafs between the time of our separating and your attempts at reconciling. this behavior doesn’t make me feel like I’m safe…therefore, let the shit end.

there are billions of other people in the world that you’re better equipped to be around…I’m no longer your person. let it be the end.

being connected…

you ever get the feeling that you’re supposed to know someone deeper than a surface level because no matter what you do to steer clear of them, they keep ending up directly in your life path? I’ve only felt this way about a handful of people in my 39 years of living. one I was best friends with for 12 years…another one is pretty much my doppelganger (if I broke down all the details, you’d swear it was a premise for a sci-fi feature)…there’s an eerie timeline associated with the man I ended up marrying that leads me to believe our paths merged in order for us to have our daughter…and lastly there’s someone that I can assign no specific factor to but it’s almost as if the universe is yelling at me to not walk away every time I try. I get all these signs that it isn’t what I think it is but I can’t know until some preordained time. I never get tired of trying to figure shit out but this is always the weirdest part of life…being connected to people and not knowing why but FEELING that it’s necessary to my growth and development as a constantly evolving human being.

I guess you would call these soul ties.

When Stars Collide

The Sun was always in awe of himself, pleased beyond measure with the idea that no matter what happened in the galaxy, his importance was by far more superior to any other star. Planets revolved around his existence and nothing excited him more than to be needed. On the days he wanted to hear his name uttered without fail, he effortlessly gleamed brighter.

However, there was one entity that seemed to operate on its own plane of existence. No matter how hard he tried to pay her no mind, the Sun couldn’t help noticing something was functioning as if his light wasn’t a necessity. He expected daily reverence and endless appreciation but this odd sphere appeared to be on another course. It never crossed his mind that her presence was just as important as his own. That could never be for nothing was more important than he.

So he made it his business to find out why she didn’t exist to serve his majesty.

The Moon’s purpose was fully aligned with a larger picture. Just as her presence affected every planet and star around her, they were unquestionably necessary to her as well.

She couldn’t tell you her exact point of origin but she felt her placement in the Universe was by great design. Being fully cognizant of all dark matter, she was still respectful of the gravitational pull that kept her focused on the task at hand; to provide light to those in darkness. She served anyone in need of direction, specifically Earth, who she’d grown fond of.

However, there was one meddlesome and obnoxious star that constantly went out of his way to be a distraction. Nothing within a million light years of his presence was left to function peaceful. Everything was about how golden he could shine for everyone else to see. “Look at me! Look at me!” he would often yell, not caring about his inappropriate timing. Sharing functional space was not his strong suit.

The Moon had managed to go millenniums without paying the Sun any attention. Lately though, it seemed like she was being specifically targeted. During those times, she allowed her light to fade so as to throw him off her path. She had no interest in his lightness of being which consumed other planets and stars whenever they’d get too close. Several managed to smolder in ecstasy while most painfully combusted or burned out from exhaustion.  It annoyed her to no end that he never concerned himself with whether or not anyone else had a specific purpose. The Sun’s light emanated only to serve his petty self-interest. To be adored.

Yet, there was no denying the mesmerizing beauty of his existence.

No one had caught the Sun’s attention like the moon, causing him to be drawn to the Moon for a better view. He grew to have an insatiable thirst for something other than his own glory. A noticeable amount of planets, specifically Earth, were affected by this anomaly, painfully crying out as his movement away from them created irreversible damage. The Sun’s admirers deserved better but their anguish became insignificant as he became drunk with the dark side of the Moon. The more he was drawn away from his normal course, the more gravity pulled him towards the weird satellite. She had an undeniable glow that was new to him but felt so familiar and then it hit him. She was a source of light and just as magnetic as what he loved most, himself. However, it was too late to pull away because at the very moment he realized millenniums of his existence were at stake, he was minutes from smashing into her.

Tides were out control, days and seasons were becoming out of sync. There was turmoil on the Moon’s favored planet and no matter how much she tried to figure out what she’d done wrong, there was no justifiable answer. Her guilt for longingly gazing at the beautiful, trouble-making star ate away at her as she realized time was flying by.

It began to make sense why she had never paid him any attention in the past; once you looked close enough, you became trapped in awe of his shine. It was all the moon could think about as she moved further away from her orbit. The Earth deserved better than her current wavering allegiance.

For eons, she’d been illuminating their path and now that the Sun had gotten close enough to cast light on her own darkness, she wanted nothing more than to bathe in his warmth. The moon knew her purpose was not to be intoxicated with his intensity but it was too late as she turned around to see him smashing into her.

Neither the Sun nor Moon were aware of the Universes’ continuous smile as the dark matter between them begin to disappear with every inch that they moved closer to one another. While the Sun appeared to be preoccupied with his selfish pursuits and the Moon wrapped up in the guilt of not serving others as well as she once did, they were operating according to a plan set in motion long before their acknowledgement of one another. It was their collision that would lead to the birth of something bigger than their attachments to self and others. The clarity they needed and their true purpose was revealed as the impact destroyed them both.

It was then that they realized no matter how good they were separate, being together would always create something far greater.

Another Monday…

I never knew having suicidal thoughts was called suicidal ideation until maybe a year or two ago. I don’t talk about this often because people for real act like if you aren’t having a nervous breakdown every moment you’re around someone, you ain’t really going through shit. The first time I had suicidal thoughts I was about 14 years old. They shifted to other thoughts that would endanger other people so I left my parents house at 16. I managed them with drinking and drugs. You don’t need to know what drugs because that ain’t important. Fast forward 13 years (when I got pregnant with my daughter) and I started taking my health more seriously because I wanted to have a healthy pregnancy. Those suicidal thoughts came back though because I was embarking on something that terrified me and I had very little help. I was a mom to another human being. After she was born, I daydreamed about how to kill myself everyday for two years. I never went back to drugs but drinking? I didn’t stop drinking heavily until I was diagnosed with diabetes, 6 years later. From 2009 to this day, music has kept me from ending it all and it’s mainly been from listening to Kid Cudi and Mac Miller. Oddly, two people who struggle(d) with their own mental health issues. I don’t know why certain artists appeal to me and my way of thinking but they do, so knowing Malcolm will no longer make music that keeps me off the edge is… more than just a sad thing for me. It makes me think about things I don’t want to and how to develop healthier coping mechanisms. I don’t expect people to understand or relate to this, especially when some are quick to call people who take their lives, selfish. There are compassionate people out there who want to know what’s troubling someone so much that they don’t want to live anymore and I’m grateful that they exist. I won’t attempt to make this into anything pretty because this is just what life looks like when it isn’t “fine”.

speak of me in death as you would while I were alive. or would it kill you to be honest?

because of recent events, someone asked me what I wanted people to say about me when I died and how I wanted them to feel. I’ve been asked this question on numerous occasions and my answer doesn’t change. I’d be dead so what you think and feel about me wouldn’t matter. these things matter more to the living.

but playing along for the sake of conversation…if you didn’t fuck with me while I was living, don’t fuck with me in my passing. if you did fuck with me, speak of me accurately. as if I was sitting right in front of you. I don’t like fake ass people while I’m currently alive. if we’re rolling with this, would you think I’d like them once I died?

if our feelings about people at death are solely about them, we wouldn’t feel a need to project how we want others to feel about us.

but I suppose this too, is a part of humanity.

about sex…

was reading an opinion piece about sex and their belief was that without emotion, sex is just sex. I’m of the belief that there are some PEOPLE (men AND women) who can have sex with no emotional strings attached. I’m also of the belief that regardless of emotional connection, each sexual interaction is an exchange of energy… whether we’re trying to project/receive it or not. there’s no sexual experience with another person where we exchange nothing. we don’t have to know, love, like, or be attracted to the person. we swap pieces of ourselves with anyone who gets that close to our body. it becomes a greater (more meaningful) experience when the connection of what we’re swapping, is mutual. I have learned that THIS is why it’s important to be careful who you have sex with because…sex is never JUST sex.

“how you choose to act” and that last part is where a lot of us fail…but we don’t have to 🤷🏽‍♀️ #thewickedthedivine #yesIreadcomicbooks #noitisntimmature #respecttheseartists #friendship #emotionalgrowth

“how you choose to act” and that last part is where a lot of us fail…but we don’t have to 🤷🏽‍♀️ #thewickedthedivine #yesIreadcomicbooks #noitisntimmature #respecttheseartists #friendship #emotionalgrowth

these feelings I’m feeling.

there was a time when I chose to be emotionally retarded on purpose. that word (retarded) isn’t being used to poke fun. if you remain open to emotional growth, you feel tremendous amounts of pain. swallowing physical pain most of the time growing up made it easy to choose not to feel things that will hurt even in your bones. I can’t tell anyone how to shock proof themselves from reality. even though I now choose to feel everything & some days it’s like drowning, it’s better than knowing refusal to emotionally grow will hurt anyone close to me.

we don’t have to become the monsters who’ve terrorized us.

I refuse to leave the legacy of being an emotional terrorist.

© Stereotype Killer

Theme by Dubious Radical