Dear Readers....

The blog will be on hiatus indefinately as your gracious host here deals with her issues. Severe and total depression has taken over as a result of the past week's events compounded with the events of the last year. Please forgive me for the abrubt end, but I shall return. When, I'm not sure.

Miss Jessi

5 Songs That Describe My Mood-- Tired Of Dick Shit Edition

So, I've been bragging to you all about just how wonderful my boyfriend is... and he is a beautiful person... however... he's one of those men. You know the ones who tell you how much they love you, how much they need you... and in the next 5 minutes, they are on a completely different page in a whole different book, on some "I need my space, I don't want a commitment" type shit. WHA?!?

Let me explain. Saturday evening, Hakeem calls me. He's on some "I miss you, I need you, please come over." I'm talking sobbing, sad, blubbering type shit. So me, trying to be Super Girlfriend, run to my baby, because obviously something is wrong. I get to his house, we talk, we laugh, we chill out. Everything is great. We fall asleep on the couch listening to music, he's all "I'm so glad you're here." and I'm eating all this sweet shit up like strawberry cheescake...

The next morning, we wake up, still acting silly and shit, because that's what we do. I have to go to Walgreens, cause a bitch did forget some important products when she left home on some Captain Save A Nigga shit. He said he had to make some runs. I would probably beat him back to the house, so he gave me his keys. This was 11:00 AM. I was gone maybe 30 minutes. He called at 12:30 to say he'd be home shortly. Okay. I go take a shower, get myself together, and sit on the couch watching movies.... and wait... and wait... and wait... and wait...

At 4:10 PM, he shows up... with an attitude. Now, I'm thinking to myself, if anyone should have an attitude, it should be me. I don't drive across town to sit in the house while you go gallivanting all over town. If you wanna kick it all goddamn day, I can sit my ass at home. Gas costs ENTIRELY too much, and I don't got it like that to just be driving back and fuckin forth. If I drive a fucking half hour to his side of town, it's because I'm spending time with HIM, not sitting up in his house waiting for him to get back. I understand it could have been easy for me to lock up, drop his keys in the mailbox, and bounce. I know that. But again, I wanted to spend time with him. Because of our schedules, the only time we can see each other really is on the weekends.

Here's where the dick shit comes into play. He walks in the house with all this attitude, talking about "You can go home" and "I don't have to deal with your attitude" and "This is why I don't need no girlfriend because I need my space" and "I don't need nobody questioning me". Is the nigga bipolar or something? Paranoid delusions? Guilty conscience? I hadn't said a word. Yeah, I could have, but I didn't. We argue because he felt like I was questioning him when I sent him a text message that read verbatim "I'm bored, I'm lonely, I miss you, come home..." Now, I don't pretend to be the most intelligent mu'fucka on the planet, but was there a question in that? Was there even a direct order in that statement? Looks like a request. A legitimate request, since I am sitting all up in HIS house after HE asked me come. So anyways, he wants to watch the Browns game, which is fine, I know that. But he's steadily arguing with me, talking about his friends coming over to watch the game... I knew that too... he made it a point to let me know that some of these friends were female. Yeah, and? I'm not an insecure bitch. So what females are coming over to watch the game. Then he says "Are you going to behave?" BEHAVE??? Nigga, am I fucking five years old? You gotta tell me I need to play nice with your friends? WHAT??? Are THOSE bitches going to behave? Then he says "If you gone have an attitude with my friends you need to leave." So I politely grabbed my shit and was on my way out the door. Because I am NOT about to sit up in here and take this fucking abuse and I ain't did a muthafuckin thing to this fool. On my way out the house, he almost breaks his neck and almost knocks over the kitchen table to beat me to the door. For what? He let "Go Home" fly out his mouth 4 times. So guess what? I'm going home. Then this son of a bitch asks "Are you going to call me when you get home?" I say "For what?" Him, "Because I want you to." I got in my car, started it, and backed out the driveway, without a fucking word to him. Is he serious?

Bipolar, yeah, I'm convinced of that shit.

So, I'm pissed. More pissed at myself than I am at him. Because I know better. Only thing is, when I care about somebody, it's not no half ass shit. It's all or nothing with me. Once it's turned on, it's on full fucking blast. I continue to put my shit out there completely. That's the only way I know how to love. I wear my heart on my sleeve. Hell, I must wear it on my head since I keep head-butting a fucking wall... or maybe on my ass since I keep getting kicked in it... fuck it. They say the only way to love is to do it completely, regardless of the consequences, right? There is a such thing as self preservation, though...

So, I'm tired of the dick shit. And I've been listening to some crazy shit since last night. I bring to you, for your listening pleasure...

5 Songs That Describe My Mood- Tired Of Dick Shit Edition

1.) You Oughta Know-- Alanis Morrisette-- Yeah, I know... Damnit, I'm angry, and Alanis was angry then too...

2. and 3. Sleep To Dream and Shadowboxer-- Fiona Apple-- No explaination needed.

4. Slept So Long-- Jay Gordon of Orgy-- Okay, maybe this one needs a little explaining... Well, I don't really feel like it. Download it if you don't own it and listen to it. That's all I can tell you at this point.

5. Harder To Breathe-- Maroon 5-- U already know...

Enjoy!!
J

Drowning In Reflection (or-- What the hell is THAT staring at me?)



For going on the last, say, 72 hours, I have been in a deep reflective state. I don't know if the "30" just happens to be kicking in, but I've been doing alot of thinking about my life and what has gone on in it since I entered what is considered to be adulthood. I'm not talking about as soon as I hit 18. I was still a tax deduction for my mother at that point. I'm talking about when I first ventured form the security of the proverbial "nest" and started to become self sufficient. I was 22 years old.

In the 8 years that followed that monumental event, I have been emotionally and verbally abused, suicidal, threatened with violence (including but not limited to fists being raised and guns being pulled and pointed), taken advantage of sexually... pretty much beaten down and broken in just about every way, shape, and form you can think of... and it all stems from choices I made. Stupid, selfish, childish choices.

We've all done it. Think we're grown and no matter what anyone else says, we do what we want to do, and say fuck it. Consequences be damned. My friends saw the signs of extremely low self esteem, but I didn't. I always thought I gave off the air of confidence, almost conceit. To me, being the biggest flirt I could be, getting as many men I could to pay attention to me (no matter what kind of attention) was what I needed to feel alive. To feel worthy. I thought the ability to bury all of the pain and torment I felt from a marriage that failed, "boyfriends" that belittled me and used me, and the burning feeling of inadequecy was a special talent I possessed. Not knowing that by not dealing with those things, letting it build and build, it would eventually come back and bite me in the ass. I thought that since I kept a journal and wrote poetry that was enough of an outlet for me. I never thought I would be in the position I found myself in one night about 4 months ago.

I have no idea why I feel comfortable enough typing this into cyberspace. I haven't even told this to my best friend.

There's an entry I wrote in May about a young man who I'll call Dick. I chronicled a 5 year period when I was basically the dumbest bitch on the planet. I gave and gave and gave to this man everything I thought he wanted... without giving any thought to what I wanted, or needed for that matter. What I thought I wanted was for him to love me. What I got was taken advantage of, lied to, used, and degraded. The sad part about that was I knew it. I knew that he didn't love me. I knew that he never would. Instead of letting it go, I decided to "tough" it out, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he would come around and see what a wonderful person I was and would fall hopelessly in love with me.

Problem with that theory is I was not this wonderful person. I was this needy, self loathing glutton for punishment. Even though I claimed to have been in love with this man, there of course, were others. They gave me the affirmation and attention I needed so desperately. They told me I was beautiful long enough to get in my pants and then vanish. They'd show up periodically, and I would let them all back in my good graces (read: between my legs), because I thought that was a genuine sign of love. I mean, they did love me right? Why else would they keep coming back? I was too blind to see that all I was to these men was a hole to stick a dick in every now and again when all other plans fall flat. I was the last minute booty-call bitch on the way home from the bar at 3 AM.

Was I really that bad?

Damn.

Somehow all of this came to light this one night...

I was sitting in my bedroom one night. Me, my journal, a bottle of Gold 1800, and my Discman. In my headphones was a song called "Doctor Doctor" by DJ Uneek featuring a singer named Gemini. It was one of those "I'm sad, I'm lonely." nights that happen to all of us at times... you feel sorry for yourself, you shake it off, and then you move on... but this night, I couldn't shake it. I was dealing with the pain I locked away when Dick told me that he and another woman were having a baby. Then dealing with his mixed signals when we went on this trip to the Poconos that I should never have gone on... Dealing still with my granny passing away. Dealing with friends that betrayed me. All going through my head was everybody uses me. My job, my friends, men. All I was to everyone on this planet was an opportunity. Not a person. A come up of some kind. And I let it all happen. I allowed all of this to happen. I chose to let everyone who abused me in whatever way into my life. And I chose to keep them there.

Something's got to give.

Tears began to roll down my face non stop. I get up from my seat on the bed and go to my dresser to grab tissue... and my reflection in the mirror caught me and I couldn't move... now, this is gonna sound real crazy.. and maybe it was the tequila... but my reflection was not of my face... it was of the twisted, miserable, shell I had created over all of these years... an eveil demon... it was the ugliest thing I had ever seen in my life, but I couldn't look away... how did I let it get this bad? How did I let this happen? What happened to ME?

I hated what I saw. I stood there knowing that this must be what everyone sees when they look at me. I'm not the cute girl I always thought I was. I was this ugly, distorted, whatever the hell this is staring back at me... and I didn't want to be that anymore.

That night I realized that I needed to make some changes. BIG changes. I'm still in the process of making those changes. Just that for some reason, the last few days, this shit has been haunting me. I mean, I am involved with a beautiful man who loves me. I love him back too. And this is totally different form any of the other romantic encounter I've had. My life is going better. My family is getting closer. Things are good. It just feels like my past is going to bite me in my ass and fuck up the good shit I see when I look in the mirror.

Things are looking up. I don't see the full reflection of me yet, but I don't see that demon. I just hope things continue to get better.

Maybe I need some therepy. I think I'm going to look into that.

He's Met The Parents!

So... this past weekend, my boyfriend met my parents... now, I don't know about ya'll, but for a man to tell me he wants to meet my parents, that's a pretty big thing. I didn't force him. He actually kind of forced me. He'd been bugging me to meet my parents for about a month now. I don't know why I was so hesitant. I mean, I had met all of his brothers and sisters... hell, I met all of his father's side of the family 2 1/2 weeks ago at the family reunion... I spoke to his mom for about 45 minutes on the phone (She lives in D.C.). He'd met my brothers, but I was still a little leary of him meeting my mom and dad.

But I think I figured out why I was so skittish about him meeting my parents. The last "boyfriend" my mom met was Logan. Those who know me well know about Logan. Logan is the idiot I followed blindly into marital hell in 1998. My entire family LOVED Logan. No, really. They loved him. He could do absolutly nothing wrong... until of course, he did everything wrong. That's another post, so we'll move on. What I'm getting at is this; I think that since that Logan fiasco, my parents are kind of uneasy about my judgement. Even though it's been 7 years since then, I think they believe that I may fall face first into some more bullshit, simply because I love a man. I like to think I've learned valuable lessons between then and know that will keep me from doing that. Still, I worried about what my mom and dad would say about the man I have chosen to spend hte majority of my time with.

And you know what? They like him.

That's what's up.