Shakespeare (A Thank You Note) , Part I

"I was runnin'. You were walkin'. You couldn't keep up. You were fallin' down. Mmmmm. There's only one way down..."-Send My Love (To Your New Lover), Adele

Let me begin by saying this. I genuinely do believe he loved me...just in his way, not the correct one.

My junior year of high school brought about many changes. I came to grips with being bisexual. (Don't get it twisted. It's not a "phase" and the only thing preventing me from coming out publicly is the idea the bitches at my old high school will think I was sincerely flirting with them.) I transferred from Columbia High School to the Mississippi School of the Arts. I got my first real job and cellphone. I went through my first mentally abusive relationship. Regardless of if that's what you want to call it, that's what it was and after over a year of tap dancing around the subject, it's time I draw light to it because you all deserve to know the signs of an unhealthy relationship and how to reconstruct if you've already been through one.

I haven't been postponing this topic out of fear or even some goofy "I'm still in love" stuff. I've been postponing because I wanted to know for certain that a) I could write about this without having a complete breakdown and b) that I am, in fact, not that same girl. The truth? For a large part, I have disassociated myself from this time period in order to heal from it. I know I still can't discuss this from a completely objective standpoint, but I can definitely try.

As I've mentioned before in at least a couple entries, I remained occupied by relationships consistently from my freshman year of high school until the summer before my senior year of high school. I had no real personality or anything about me that genuinely stood out. I was a 2D character in a 3D world making myself relevant by the only fascinating thing about me: my freaky side. Opinion on politics? "Neutral." Religion? "I'm a Christian, and I'll pray for you if you aren't." Aspirations? Hobbies? Passions? "I'm in band." Problems? "Daddy issues. And me and my mom's relationship isn't so hot either."

Surely, this isn't the girl you all know, right? I mean the Andrea you know is fun and headstrong and can write her ass off. Is going to end up doing something huge. In actuality, I'll probably run away in a couple years and cut contact with almost everyone. Write some books, buy a house, and just be lowkey as hell until I die. That's the master plan, but my point is that at least I have a plan that isn't just scraps of things I don't want my parents to know or traits I got from ex-boyfriends. How did you people ever befriend me? What was there? (This isn't a rhetorical question. How were you my friends? I mean was I just a good sponge? I need to know.)

By my junior year of high school I had only slept away from home once and that was for band camp, which my parents called and even visited throughout the five days I was there. So as you can imagine, moving out of my house at sixteen and living with all these exciting people (atheists, druggies, nymphos, cosplayers) was overwhelming. What I did know was that I had quickly outgrown my then boyfriend. I came home one weekend with a fake septum ring, to which he responded in disgust (and probably mild horror), "If you're going to wear a nose ring, please wear a different one. That's a Devil's nose ring." ....

Then there was the football game where he embarrassed me in front of my friends by "checking" me about my revealing tank top to which I was "never going to wear that shit again." ....

The final straw was commenting "WOOOOW!! YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL!!!" under some girl's picture (after I had clearly said things like that made me uncomfortable early into our relationship)and the excuse was, "I was just giving credit where it's due. Plus, I'd like to collaborate with her musically." ....

That ended and was forgotten easily. Forgiven, not so much. Forgotten. Yes.

So I moved on. During my self-love trip that I hit pause on and didn't resume until basically this summer, I thought I had found someone I clicked with. And I did. I mean everything just made sense. He was quiet, didn't do the fuck shit I had just left someone for, was funny, cute, seemed like everything that was meant for me. And then two days after we got together and hit the road to go home for the weekend, I get the messages while I'm asleep.

"Hi, babygirl." "Why aren't you responding to me?" "Hello?" "Why are you ignoring the fuck out of me?" "Are you with someone else?" I was colorblind to the flags. The truth of the situation is that we had been messaging through social media, and I just made it seem like that was something I enjoyed doing. I was too embarrassed to tell the truth, which was that I couldn't pay the bill on my phone and my dad didn't do it consistently. That meant I wouldn't be able to even text back until I got home and on my neighbors' WiFi. I was colorblind to the obvious flags, coaxed him, made it my obligation to prove myself trustworthy to someone who ultimately would never trust me. This was October.

Fast forward to December, I'm on my dorm floor begging for a second chance after being broken up with for something along the lines of disrespect or making him feel unwanted. Some shit. I was accepted back and later manipulated into believing he was sorry for the breakup.

It was things like this off and on, off and on for nine months. Me trying to prove myself. That's how you get sucked in. You're not the giving up type. You want to fight for what you believe is love. You want to belong to someone, to something. He's/she's just been hurt before-giving up means being like the other people. If everything was so perfect at first, how do we get back to that? How can a relationship with two people be so lonely?

I was isolated from my friends, all my time accounted for. I was having a 24/7 conversation with someone that didn't seem to like me talking even to myself. And I wanted that. I needed that. Finally, someone that wanted me to themselves. Finally, someone that was selfish with me. Finally, someone I was good enough for. So what if it meant I couldn't hang out after school or that I was so stressed out my period became irregular? That not arguing back meant being held in one spot until you talked or got broken up with? All I knew was that I was needed to someone, and that feeling was new and put an entirely different warmth in my stomach.

Girls, Guns, Gangs, and other G's

"Warriors and Conans hope euphoria can slowdance with society. The driver seat the first one to get killed. Seen a lightskinned nigga with his brains blown out at the same burger stand where &*!@ hang out. Now this is not a tape recorder sayin' that he did it, but ever since that day, I was lookin' at him different..."-m.A.A.d City, Kendrick Lamar

I've spent the summer making it a personal mission to know every lyric on Kendrick's "good kid, m.A.A.d City" album and track eight is the one that made me a)officially stop smoking and b)want to learn more about gangs. Living in a retirement town like  I know that gangs exist; however, they've never been anything I fret over. I wear the colors I please and am more worried about terrorists in white hoods burning crosses than I am about getting shot in a drive-by. Specifically, I've taken interest in girls' roles as gang members. Like males, they're often in it for the security and sense of belonging to something, but girls are willing to be sexually assaulted by every member of a gang to earn rank. That's terrifying. Not to mention if a girl is just affiliated romantically with a gang member, she is a gang affiliate by association and cannot cross into parts of town where rival gangs reside. It's scary to know that had I gone to Chicago and thought I'd met a decent guy, one day he'd randomly ask me to hold some coke for him. That's another way it happens. One day you're just "doing favors" for a guy-holding drugs or guns for him. I'm aware most of my current readers are fellow  but I know at some point that will change, so it's important to me that I reach broader topics. Ladies, please be careful about who you offer your time to. No, not all men are trash, but as a whole, they are. Do not look for completion in a relationship. Find completion in yourself. Do not endanger your life or the lives of those who love you lusting after something that can only be found when you aren't looking or creating it yourself. Are men innately manipulative? I don't believe so, however I do believe their jollies are gotten off by causing us to be submissive. Do not fall into the trap. I don't believe in gang affiliation for anyone, however I'm speaking to women because there is already so much we are susceptible to. Let's not add to it with gang full membership or even affiliation. My hood chicks, please understand that just because it is in your nature to be a "ride or die" doesn't mean you have to ride for someone willing to always compromise your security. These saggin' ass, half-grown, "It doesn't feel the same with a condom on" men are NOT worth your time. You deserve a love without violence. You deserve a love without bullying. You deserve a love that is not centered around your thickness or the lusting for your beauty. Know your worth. I speak specifically to you because I know none of you get the proper reassurance that you need. People are too intimidated by your personalities to be willing to understand you too are human. Love isn't just for the cosplaying Black girl or the conscious Black girl. Hood girls need love too. You all are not stupid. If anything, you are smarter than all of us. You know how to make a lot out of so little. You know how to have a good time. You're yourself in any given situation. All I ask is that you please use your creativity and street smarts to better yourself. Do not fall under the trap so many of our mothers and grandmothers fell under. You are not obligated to be loyal to anyone other than yourself. I love you.

If This Were a Song

"But heroes only existed in comic books, and I guess that would've been alright if bad guys only did too..." -Dave, "Kick-Ass" (film)

I never post when my blog is updated anymore. Whoever reads, reads. Technically I've always felt pretty nonchalant about my views on here while still craving larger amounts of them, but I'm realizing that was because I wanted people to know me. Now they will just have to try on their own accord. My transition to adulthood has been an alarmingly graceful one. When writing about my present endeavors, I usually refer to myself in the third person. "Adult Andrea" did this or that, made plans to do this. Of course I'm aware that "Adult Andrea" is me. It's just weird seeing myself as being reliable for me. I'm accustomed to going above and beyond for others and rarely taking genuinely good care of myself. One thing about those tables, though, they always turn. I'm here for it. If I absolutely had to make a playlist for what I've been going through, it would have a fair amount of Pink, K. Michelle, Bobby Caldwell, Kelis, Kendrick, and random twerk music. Growing into myself, growing myself, what's the difference anymore? It's all good. It just doesn't always feel good, which is to be expected. No, I haven't made any groundbreaking new discoveries about myself other than I will always win. In some form or another. That isn't to be cocky or to say I've never taken/will take a loss, but I know that I appreciate everything I go through because all of it is going to make me a better form of self. If I had to pick the best feature of this time, I'd say it's that I don't do anything intentionally harmful. I leave people alone that I know I need to leave alone. I try (I promise to God I try so hard) to get a sufficient amount of sleep. I quit smoking. I make time to do the things I care about and love the people that love me. It's amazing how resentful you are of people enjoying life when yours isn't going so well. A lot of my recent past anger stemmed from the inability to love and nurture my own needs emotionally. Lashing out at people that cared for me just because they were capable of caring for me better than I could myself. I used to worry religiously about losing my mind. On the contrary, it's just been found or created rather. If this were a song, it'd be melancholy and somber. I feel the desperate need to try and fix the world or offer it something bigger than me and my good intentions. How? I mean, if I were to speak to one racist every day for a year, would it mend anything? Can I end gang violence? Help every homeless person I meet? I know these are all group efforts and are things that must be repaired gradually, yet I still find myself falling into a bottomless pit of pessimism every time I pick my phone up. The thing that is so devastatingly irritating about being this age is that the possibilities are endless but so are the limitations. I'm young enough to take chances, yet too old to throw caution to the wind because fucking up could mean spending the rest of my life repairing it. If this were a song, fuck, I don't even know what I'd call it.