I Wrote This for You

"I had a feeling that I belonged, and I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone..." -Fast Car, Tracy Chapman


Today, the sun is out. It's been raining a lot lately. I'd like to think it's because you aren't here. I lie. You're always here because you're always on my mind. My head is so congested, but I'd rather it be congested with thoughts of you than of my pessimism. Several times, I've been behind a closed door with nothing but you and my notebook. Who knew the entire world could fit into a room?


The last time I cried, you held me close to you. You smelled like everything right about life. You smelled like Christmas, the first sip of water after a run. Like new love. In that moment, I felt like I'd always be eighteen, always residing in the shelter of your arms. It'll be one of those moments I inscribe on my skin so it's close. I'll never brag about "beating" you in 2K because you could've blown me out. Instead, you kissed me, took my controller, brought Golden State up by like forty points, then gave me my controller back and still threw the game. "I love you" isn't always said in three words. Sometimes, it's two. "Stop worrying." Eight. "I don't know what I'd do without you."


You're a stark contrast to everything I've ever known, and sometimes I resent you for it. For being genuine. For being luminescent in all the places I'm dark. For believing when the numbers just don't add up to me. I'm sorry I'm not always receptive to good things. I'm sorry that I apologize too much. I'm sorry for being insecure. I'm sorry for being so small with such a big mouth. I'm sorry that I'm sorry for these things because you love every one, everything. Every extension of me. I didn't intend to write a love letter today, but as it turns out I'm better at exposing myself on a keyboard.


Imagery has never been my strongpoint. Words to describe a specimen of your beauty evades me. I keep writing, keep analyzing, keep trying. They just never seem to be enough. To save my life, I can't find the right letter combinations to do you justice. I'll stick to three.


I love you.

Temperaments Lost in Forgiveness

As aforementioned in my last entry, I attended performing arts school for the last two years of my high school career. Let me explain why this was such a crucial time in my life. In regular public school, I got out at 3:20. Most of my former classmates could tell you I got through entire days laughing. It passed time. It blurred my vision (I'm a crier-laugher), thus making a haze that made things more bearable. On the cliché side, I laughed to conceal my pain; however, I did this unbeknownst to myself. What did I have to cover up? There were people I loved going through much worse than me. Two of my close friends, for example, lost their mothers to cancer and even the treatment stage was pure tumult for them. I knew teen moms, sexual abuse victims, and of course don't allow me to forget the trials people around me were suffering that were not to my knowledge. In short, I laughed because I thought I had no reason not to.




It wasn't until I transferred schools and had to sit in front of a computer for three hours a day with nothing but myself and my story, I realized there was more to me than just the surface level, and I began to drown in it. It being everything I was and am. Prior to leaving my hometown, I had been involved in three serious relationships. The first being a confusing, pessimistic glimmer of happiness. The second being short-lived and ending, well, because of me (I promise that will be explored later. Y'all will know my character flaws quite intimately, I assure you.) The third carried over into the first couple of months of MSA, and quite frankly, surpassed the amount of time it needed to.


Do NOT misunderstand any of this. I don't write out of spite. That would make me a weak artist. Just know that I will be honest with myself and others throughout this journey, and if I so happen to make people mentioned here uncomfortable, the posts will be edited as-needed. Until then, here we are.


Where was I? Right. Third serious relationship. Here's the thing about dating in a small town. Everyone knows you, everyone knows who you date, everyone knows what you do, where you go, etc. There is no such thing as a private relationship. There's actually no such thing as a private life in a small town if we're being as frank as possible. Me being me, that doesn't fly well. I don't like people in my business without invitation, and two years ago, I hardly passed out invites. I feared judgment in every spectrum, be it from people I knew well or complete strangers. Thank God I outgrew that shit.


As I was saying, my relationship was quite open to the public regardless of my stance on it. Being back in my hometown for the summer is conjuring up a bunch of faces and emotions that I'd be content not seeing or feeling. Period. This isn't coming from a hateful place. The stank faces and apparent disdain just get annoying. For one thing, I forget people. Not on anything bougie. I just real life don't remember people. I've been away two years, only coming and going on weekends. I don't have a mental filing cabinet of how I know people or knew people because I've been affiliated with so many new people. So when I get the looks and finally put two and two together, I'm just left wondering why people care so much about someone that forgot they existed.


I digress. This isn't even fully about that. What I was trying to say is, my relationships here kept me preoccupied. I had self-made drama to distract me. Same thing junior year. I had a relationship to distract me. It wasn't until my senior year when I realized I had somewhat disassociated from most of my peers and spent a good majority of quiet time with myself, I found out a lot about me that I would've preferred not to know at one point in time. Now, though, I'm grateful for the knowledge.


That being said, I had/have a lot of pent-up anger and aggression that culminated in my reactions to simple things. Arguments with my mom over the radio stations because I blamed her for how my dad treated me. (Again, will be explored when the time is right) Feeling severely abandoned when people aren't where they say they'll be. Feeling ashamed or embarrassed over my sexual identity and choices. Forcing myself into a religion sophomore year to publicly repent for things that were no one's business and that I had nothing to feel guilty about.


All of this, everything, is rushing back to me at once as a friendly reminder that being here was an infection. I grew up with these people, though. Until MSA, they were all I had known. I'm not throwing them under the bus. I did/do love some of my people here. I won't forget they stamped my passport to a place I came to consider home. However, that doesn't mean I'm willing to revert back to a meek form of myself, which means as long as I'm still here with the combination of my smart mouth and ever-present chip on my shoulder, trouble will find me. And I'll combat it head-on. Forgiving and forgetting aren't synonymous.

College

 

Last night, I confided in my best friend that I’m feeling really intimidated about college. Now, this is a conversation that was explored countless times in the safety and comfort of my literary class. I’m an alumna of the Mississippi School of the Arts. My two years there, I lived in dorms and explored the dimensions of other people, so of course we had countless conversations about plans after high school and what to expect. The truth is, as told to me by my friend, college only appears to be daunting from the outside in. Once I’m there, all I have to do is pay attention, and I’m pretty much solid.

            That should be the end of it. I should be confident and comfortable in that explanation because it came from a trusted source that would never steer me wrong. And yet…I still find myself slightly intimidated by the idea of uprooting my life to pursue a degree that got me laughed at by the owner of a pizza joint in Brookhaven, Ms. Perhaps I’m just overthinking it. I know myself. I know my capabilities, but all too well I also know my weaknesses. I procrastinate. I have awful spending habits. I can handle large scale issues, but I might cry if a roach flies around my apartment in Chicago. It’s just me. That’s who I am.

            Honestly, though, making the adjustment isn’t what scares me. I’m capable of change. I mean, MSA taught me that. I moved out of home at sixteen, scored my first job and kept it for almost a year before resigning, became a better writer, and learned a good bit of things about myself both good and bad. The move doesn’t scare me. Finding a job doesn’t scare me. Feeling like I may fall into an endless cycle? That does scare me. My mom went to community college for like a semester before admitting school just wasn’t for her. My dad went to college, but he doesn’t have a degree that I’m aware of, and my brother has a GED.

            Not attending college has never been an option for me. Watching my family struggle, I felt compelled to go as it appeared to be the only way to avoid poverty. Needless to say, I spent a good bit of my life looking at careers that would catapult me to six figures in a short time span. I care about people, so I settled on psychology before realizing everybody and their mama wants to be a counselor. I considered being an OB/GYN at a point in time before taking health science class at our career center and realizing I honest to God just don’t have the stomach for a medical career. The beginning of senior year, I finally came to grips with the fact that I would love to be a full-time writer and until I can afford to do that, I’d like to be an English professor.

            I am comfortable in this decision and think it just makes sense. I never want to stop writing. This way, I get the stability I need to pursue my dream. I just…worry. I quit McDonald’s after like a month because a) it made my soul itch and b) I sort of wondered when the other people there 30+ decided fast food wouldn’t be temporary. I’m not knocking anyone’s hustle by any means. You do what you have to, but it isn’t irrational for me to think that could easily be me. Stagnation terrifies me; however, I’m determined to let the chips fall where they may. Whatever happens, I’ll bounce back. Promise.

Reasons Not to Say Sorry

I knew something was wrong when I found myself consciously walking softer mid-strut. Or when I had to water down every compliment given to me. "Oh, Drea, your makeup looks nice." "Thanks. I think I should've blended my eyeshadow more." When I found myself apologizing for having my own toes stepped on. I'd catch myself and wonder why I was sorry for taking up space in this world like all matter does (and like all things that matter do). I realized it probably had little to do with my home training (my parents talk mad shit, but they value good manners) and more to do with my crippling self-awareness. It's embarrassing to admit I spend a vast majority of my free time looking at myself and have done so for years. When I'm out with friends, going to the bathroom magically becomes "Hey, squeeze out the little black things on your nose time" as if a self-conscious hybrid of Bambi and Rudolph is less distracting. Seriously, I felt a little ridiculous last week reprimanding myself for missing the back of my thigh when I shaved. My legs still looked incredible, and I was wearing my favorite shorts. There was no cause for dissatisfaction, so I invented one. What's the real problem? Could it be after years of wearing clothes I was forced to or needing permission to have a resting bitch face ("Smile, honey. Don't look so mean."), doing what I want feels guilt-provoking and immoral? Perhaps, but as much as I'd like to believe this is a societal issue, I'm convinced it's just...me and my inability to consistently like myself. That changes today. Anything not growing is dead, and if I'm seeking validation for loving my walk, my talk, disdain for bras, or my loud lipstick colors, I'll never reach nirvana. At this point in my life, I have to realize the power I wield and use it to the fullest extent possible. If my confidence makes others uncomfortable, that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them. Reasons not to say sorry? I am alive, I am human, and I am worth more than constant confinement and self-doubt.