I Can't Sleep for the First Time in Years

 I think I figured out why J. Cole's retirement is so...emotional for me.

#insomnia #jcole #thefalloff #mentalillness

Mental Illness

    I have no idea who reads this blog, what type of people or why; but in the 5+ years since I stopped expressing myself here, there are still visitors. Google seems to be doing its job. Or Bing. DuckDuckGo? Who the hell are y'all? 

    The last time I stayed awake too long (three days to be exact), my world collapsed. I'll spare the gory details, but the words "acute psychosis" are what I'm trying to avoid (by the way, there's nothing "cute" about it). Besides insomnia, the other commonality between that time is that J. Cole had just dropped a project: The Off Season to be exact. At the time, The Off Season wasn't just "a" project: it was "the" project. 

    "Krispy Kreme dreams. Sometimes my dogs wanna kill twelve," he spat in the first track "95 South." I was smitten. Not only had one of my favorite artists shown up at the right time (hell, I needed something to pace to while I wrote a collection of articles that was supposed to make me rich, famous, and a serious author), but he prophesied everything that I was going through at the time from seeing treasured friends become unrecognizable characters to keeping my head up during an eviction. This feels different, however. There's no current tragedy in my life. There is nothing I'm fighting against and truthfully, there's hardly anything I'm even fighting for.

 J. Cole has been in my life since I was about fourteen, my first boyfriend hyping him up on the phone, always with me dismissing what I'd later find to be good music simply because I hated his radio hits.

 He followed me to art school where my toxic new boyfriend made my "Love Yourz" lyrics his bio after I did (and after we broke up. Yeuck!). He was there again senior year as my roommate blasted "Adolescence '06" and although I had known "A Tale of Two Citiez" and "No Role Modelz" were constantly on repeat on my iPod, I had no idea I had been missing so much of a beautiful album until his lyrics hit me.

A New Love

    I too wanted to be known by the baddest bitches in school, though not for romantic purposes...and my shoes were a little old. I felt he understood me, and that understanding has been holding up strongly for the past ten years. My zip codes have changed, my weight, my relational statuses, even my educational attainment. The constant to all my variables has been being a J. Cole fan (and remaining one after The Apology because that was irreverently a nonissue for me). It's almost like rocking with him all these years made me realize something I couldn't prove in reality: that perhaps I'm not truly the problem. Perhaps if I had felt acknowledged or even worse...validated...the majority of my relationships platonic or otherwise would've survived. It proved that being loyal was never the problem but that my loyalty will never allow me to swallow my personhood.

It will never allow me to say "I'm willing to stay even when I feel unseen, unheard, and ultimately unloved." I'm going to let you in on a little secret...the world tells you things will get better if you do...that if you stop being a mess, people will accommodate you. As someone who has been both a mess and nearly perfect, I can attest to you that it's a lie.

The Reality of "Perfection"

The half-homeless version of me had more friends. The sexpot with her nips pierced got significantly more play from the males (since they've taken to calling us "females" now.) than the prim and proper---dare I say---real me (when wasn't that the case, though?). Lastly, the version of me that holds a degree hardly sees a financial difference between the high school-some college version of me. 

To some degree it's a relief. I thought that all the things inherently "wrong" with me were the cause of me not being "enough." If I was still measuring myself by the arbitrary guidelines of perfection, I would be extremely confused as to why my life is not reflecting the "perfection" that exists within. Maybe another commonality between I and J. Cole is that we're both simply over it regardless of if we have more to offer or not; we both realize that maybe it's time for someone else to bear the burden of transparency, consistency, and ultimately...loyalty.

xoxo,

Drea

Always Stay Gracious: Best Revenge is Your Paper

I know that Kimberly Foster is more educated than myself and has visibly good intentions with her content, but one thing that still irritates the shit out of me is her stating that when dark-skinned Black women have sisterhood and friendship with each other, they're fighting against hiearchies as opposed to light-skinned groups of women "probably upholding hierarchy." 

This implication is gross to me. Yes, I understand what she means. Yes, I understand there will be nuances between our lived experiences, especially with the steep gaps in our social, political, and educational comparisons. Respectfully, her take is still garbage in my opinion. This mindset is harmful because those of us that have dared to risk vulnerability with women in general, but especially women that differ greatly in appearance or aesthetic can attest to the bullying, malicious intent, abuse, and mental devastation it has caused us. 

I rarely meet women that are similar to me in body type, appearance, and compatibility. Even if by some miracle I do, the horrors I've faced by choosing people based off their charm, wit, intelligence, and other qualities I find endearing while ignoring their outer appearances, will likely cause me to withhold myself from them too. I am officially un-open to caring about anyone other than myself and my romantic partner. I am especially, however, cautious of woman-child, insecure, cut-throat women trying to win me over with half-assed performances of liking me. I want bitches to leave me alone, and there is no poetic way to say that. 

I am not bitter. I am not excluding people off the benefit of looking "cool" or being socially acceptable to strangers that don't give more of a damn about me than so-called "friends" or family did. I'm not even looking to make anyone regret their decisions to mistreat me. That would be giving away my power, and alas, I'm unwilling to spare any more. I'm sure everyone that's mishandled me has found their new scapegoat or became one themselves (deservingly so. fucking losers.). 

The irony about spending so much of my life having been insecure and hoping for others to see my worth is that they always did. When I step in a room, I disrupt the flow. People react to me in the strongest ways they can. They have tried relentlessly to undermine my confidence, self-image, accomplishments, and happiness. That behavior is unforgivable and if avoiding a bitch with a wider back than me or darker/lighter skin or even smaller boobs keeps me safe, I'm not fucking sorry for that. None of them were sorry for traumatizing me, so I'm not about to be sorry I don't grant them access to ruin my life. 

After all, that's clearly the goal. What other intention does someone have to try and intimidate you with their size? Or emotionally manipulate you? Or have a clear dislike for you yet are unable to leave you the hell alone? Let it be known that bitches hate more than just my appearance. 

Calling All Black Intellectuals

If you're cringing at the title of this entry, believe me; so am I. The truth is, though, that's actually part of the reason why I'm using it. If you were ever a Black in an AP class, a Black that likes to read, or a Black that at any point followed one of those pretentious ass hotep pages, then you've either been labelled or considered yourself a "Black Intellectual". Why, though? Is blackness and intelligence so rarely compounded that we feel a need to specify exactly anytime a Black person is intelligent?

The truth is, we all (I mean as humans) like to think we're special. That we have these amazing attributes that make people like us and make our lives worth living. The truth? None of us are really all that great. No matter how brilliant you think you are, you have to close your eyes and keep them closed for an extended period of time, you have to defecate, drink water, the whole nine. You have to live, and that's all you need to do. Stop placing yourself on a pedestal because you don't fit into the usual confines of what it means to be Black.

You aren't special and despite any ostracizing you may have faced in the past at the hands of other Black people and the patronizing at the hands of White people, what you do is normal. Not good. Not great. Just normal. Keep reading, keep staying informed, stay hydrated. Witcha Black ass.