Segmented

"Hot Like Fire" by Aaliyah

...hotter than a summer day in California / got me feelin' like a Sundae and I want ya...

I was watching CNN and Anderson Cooper (who does want to marry me...haters) reported that a new study tanning is just as dangerous and carcinogenic as cigarette smoking. I feel as though I already know that and I am a little surprised that this wasn't common knowledge. It's like when George Michael and Rosie O'Donnell came out of closet. Were there really people who didn't know? What is wrong with you?

Especially George. You most definitely had to know that was coming. Wake me up before you go-go...and those tight, tight shorts? Come on. George is as gay as I am African.

So tanning may lead to cancer, like everything else does. Like I said though, shouldn't we have already known that?

I have always found the phenomenon of tanning to be a bit peculiar. White people want to be darker and Black people want to be lighter (This can be extended to all peoples of color. Cultures of colored folks around the world reveal evidence of the importance of complexion).

I remember learning in high school history classes that in Europe, people with money did not work outside and were therefore pale. It (complexion) became a class indicator. Those who were pale were obviously wealthy, spared from the physical labor and visual evidence of working under the sun. Poor folks were tanned.

Now, a tanned complexion is an advertisement of sexiness, sophistication, and even health (although it has always been obviously unhealthy to me).

I have seen some girls tanned to the brink of Negrodom. From a distance, they look mixed. I wonder where the shift took place, when being "darker" became attractive.

White girls lay in a tanning bed and get cooked all day. Black girls rub in bleach cream to peal away a few shades. I guess none of us are really satisfied.

Why is this news? I thought we already established that tanning beds were bad.

Enemy of the Shape

"Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'" by Michael Jackson (Can't believe they killed my Michael)

...too high to get over / too low to get under / you're stuck in the middle...

I am learning to not give a shit. Excuse my French. I do not typically use profanity in my blogs (or even in my journals). It isn't really a conscious thing either but I noticed it a few months ago. I can be a little profane, especially in my moments. However, when I read my journals (that I have kept since I was in the 5th grade), blogs, journals on my laptop, or anything written, I don't use profanity. Weird huh?

Anyway, my life is becoming my enemy. I am chronically unhappy but simultaneously incomparably elated. It might not be elation but I have this undying hope that I, my life, the people in my life, the circumstances of my life will change for the better. I am not sure why. I have moments of despair in which I wish I could be hit by a bus. Sometimes those moments are so bad that I might throw myself in front of a bus.

But they are followed by optimism. In myself, I will still feel the same sadness, coated by a warm, milky, visceral covering of "you'll be fine". I don't know where it comes from and it hasn't always been the case. I used to have to go to the hospital when that optimistic covering wasn't there.

The constant sadness and this new optimistic overcoat produce this feeling of indifference. Things go wrong, I cry or lament, then I stop and go about my daily business. I realize that none of these things can kill me. The issue was that these things made me want to kill myself.

I told you about the conversation I had with my Mama right? On the phone? I thought I was going to go crazy. I was shaking, hyperventilating, drooling...looked like I should have been in a padded room. Thought about throwing myself in front of that bus (and far more disgusting and morbid exits of life). And then this thing clicked. I felt as though something turned off and I started to not give a shit.

I explained to my friend Patrice that she could easily be the death of me. For reasons I am not totally aware of, my mother possesses tremendous power over me. Her opinion, her state of mind, her feelings are inexplicably important to me and so it has been all of my life. I have spent my life being confrontational but it never bothers me because I always feel I am protecting myself or what I believe. But with my mother, I always feel wrong, out of place, and guilty for having and expressing my opinion.

But she doesn't know. She doesn't know how I love her, how I admire her, how I want to learn from her.

I can't explain what happened, but I just don't give a shit. And it isn't just that I am not worried about Marie or Sheikh's opinion. I don't care if they are in my life. I don't care if we resolve anything.

I am almost inclined to say I don't care if I have any interpersonal relationships. I do know that I want a few. There are definitely some people I will always want in my life of course. But there are many people who need to get the hell out, are taking up space, and sucking up much needed air.

The things is people are just annoying. We are just selfish, lazy, unkind creatures. There is no such thing as unconditional love. There is no such thing as real respect. There is love of convenience, gossip, and malice. And then you die. No? Hopefully, if I just stay away from everyone, eat alone, shop, watch television, and text the few people I can tolerate, I won't die by my own hand.

At 22, I have seen enough to not even be alive, however, I am here, stuck. So while I am here, I just want to be not sad. I hesitate to say happy because it's elusive and most often temporary. I just don't want to be sad anymore. I am not always a good person. I don't always do the right thing. I don't always tell the truth. But I am no different or worse than other people and I don't think I deserved to be treated the way I was by many people I made central in my life.

So, I don't give a shit. It doesn't bother me. At least not enough to kill myself. I don't have to have them in my life. Don't you wish anxiety and depression were time limited illnesses? When is this over?

Deuces.

House of Broken Mirrors

"Speak Lord" by the Clark Sisters

...can't sleep at night / and you wonder why / maybe God's tryna tell you somethin'...

Yesterday, Marie called me to whine about some things that are really none of her business. Without giving you the mundane details, the theme of the conversation was about how I am throwing my life away, I don't listen to her, and I am living a fantasy, thinking that things in my life will improve on their own.

I indulged her for a little while and let her talk. I responded and participated. I didn't even notice the escalation of her emotion.

I eventually told her not to worry about me. She and her husband decided at a point that I was too much to deal with and washed their hands of helping me (or whatever it was that I needed). She was offended when I said that, but that is the truth. That is even what my father said not too long ago. I was confused about all the help and favors they were offering me after being so hands off. He said the "hands off" approach was intentional, which I knew.

But she seemed offended by that proclamation. I said that I just want them to be my family that I can come over and visit with but the details of my life are none of their business. "Just be my Mom. You don't have to be responsible for me," I insisted in a soft, reassuring voice. "I am not your mom," she replies. "I will not sit around while you do nothing with your life. I will not be your mother. When you are ready for me to be in your life, you will have to come to me and say that you will listen to my directions and accept my help".

I should laugh now. But it isn't funny really. Like I always complain, my mother loves me in a conditional manner. She loves me as long as I am doing what she wants me to do in the way that she wants me to do it. If I am not, she is not my mother. So it has been all of my life (I learned that in psychology). My parents have always been quite dramatic in their reactions to me.

My whole life, I have been chased by anxiety because everything that I did wrong was treated as if it was broken forever, not fixable, the end of the world. Most of the things I was doing or saying were typical of my developmental stage. I was confrontational. I was rebellious. I was rude. I was angry without provocation. I was emotional. I was always appropriate in my maturation progress and they were always so unbelievably dramatic.

Their dramatic responses were also unfair. They would decide to take drastic measures to manipulate me into cooperating with what it was they wanted me to do.

I understand that they are my parents and honestly they are good parents in a way. They always have my best interest at heart and I know they have the best of intentions. They just go about it wrong, in a very tumultuous, manipulative, controversial way.

But anyway, here I have been saying, since I realized it, that my mother's love is conditional. If she is not happy with me, she does not love me. But I say it in this ethereal manner, as a possible diagnosis, without the tangibility I would like.

Yesterday, she made it tangible. She said, in so many words, that you are not doing what I want you to and for that reason I am not your mother.

After that, I didn't want to talk to her anymore. I told her that was an awful thing to say (probably one of the more ridiculous things she has ever said to me) and I wasn't interested in hearing anything else she had to say. She seemed to get mad at me about being so upset about it. She said "You keep hanging on to that". What the hell else am I supposed to hang onto? You just told me that you are not my mother because I said I don't want you to meddle in my affairs. You weren't worried about what I was doing a year ago so why are you worried now? I reconciled that I would have to do for myself.

That was the resolution I came up with. They would no longer have control over my life because they were no longer financially responsible for me. Our parent-child relationship now optional because I do not need them in the same way anymore.

However, this resolution is not adequate for my mother. She still has to have some say, some control. I need to listen to her.

I don't need to listen to her. I told her that despite her perfect intentions as a parent, she and my father did some things wrong. They were unfair. I was very hurt in the process. So I don't trust them anymore. If anything is to go wrong, they will criticize and exit. I cannot trust that they will stick around when things aren't going smooth or I am not doing things the way they want me to. It is as if I shouldn't live my life but I should abide by the pre-written directions they have for my life.

Lastly, Mom said, "Don't come to the house unless you are coming to see your Daddy because I am through". That was just before she said that I will have to surrender to her direction before she will be my Mom.

Something is wrong with her. She is angry or frustrated or depressed about something far bigger than me. I know she is worried and I know she means well, but I am too sensitive to deal with her. I therefore bow out. She is not my mom I guess. I will not talk to her anymore.

Yesterday, after I thought I got off the phone, I started to shake violently, cry, and clatter my teeth. I felt lightheaded and wanted to cut myself with something. I thought I was going to lose my mind. I have done the depression, the ideation and attempts, the hospital stints, the numbness and the destruction. I will not do it again.

She could very easily drive me crazy. I am still fragile and not recovered from the first mess. So I bow out. I haven't always made the best decisions, it has been hard on the family, and she has been stressed out and riddled with emotion that she will probably never share with me. However, I don't deserve some of the things she says to me and I quite frankly won't let her say them anymore.

This is what my poor father has to come back from Sierra Leone to deal with. He hasn't seen us in almost two months. He has been outside in strenuous heat, Monday through Friday, sun up to sun down, overlooking the construction of a family house for a family constantly falling apart. It will break his heart.

But I'll tell you one thing, this is the last time I will cry about this shit.