Imaginary Friends Pt. II All My Barbies

Barbie and Ken’s relationship played out a lot like my mother’s favorite soap opera, only ten times more dramatic because Ken always ended up without a limb or two after being caught shacking up  with one of Barbie’s attractive friends.  Sometimes Barbie would run him over with her pink convertible that was missing a wheel or there would be an all out domestic brawl.

It was during these theatrical hours long “play” sessions that I had no need for Memo, Tebo or Julie.  All My Children had become All My Barbies and make-up sex was a guarantee in these dramatizations at which point Ken would be granted his limbs back – You know, logistics and stuff.

When my third grade teacher suggested to my mother that I was probably too young to be watching Susan Lucci’s character, Erica Kane, strip down to her skivvies with just about every male character on the ABC soap opera, All My Children, she was probably right. Although, my mama wasn’t having it and I don’t blame her. Not only was another adult woman telling my mother that allowing me to watch such smut was bad parenting, these hour long episodes served as serious bonding time for her and I.  It continued to do so until I moved away to college in Los Angeles and just didn’t have the time nor the patience for daytime drama any longer.  Let’s just suffice it to say that my imagination had expanded from the dead returning from the grave and when you’re an eighteen year old female on your own in a big city, the distractions are endless, not to mention your own personal dramas.

My fanciful dreams of one day moving to New York City and landing myself a part on the show, specifically Erica Kane’s daughter, Bianca, were a distant memory by the time I trekked to the west coast. Memo, Tebo and Julie were, too.  I had the advantage of distance, over 1,600 miles of distance, in fact.  With that kind of space, one no longer needed imaginary friends and disproportionate, big-boobed, blonde pieces of flesh colored plastic to create it.


Being Human

I think sometimes I get so caught up in writing something of substance that I forget that I actually have solid, strong feelings on a day-to-day basis. I think my feelings are a part of the reason why it takes so goddamned long, at times, to generate the next blog post. Needless to say with that introduction, I’ve been feeling all the feels as the kids say nowadays.

It’s a daily struggle whether or not I’m going to opt for a distraction in the form of fermented grapes and an hour’s worth of some fictional character’s drama or if I’m really going to go head to head with all my shit, which usually entails some form of incessant introspection and typing, deleting, typing, deleting, typing – I think you get the picture.

Being gentler with myself, allowing myself to do and/or say things that before, I may have brutally, undeservingly, chastised myself for is something I am intently working on. Realizing that I’m human and permitting myself to behave as one reminds me of realizing, on multiple occasions, that my mother was also human – not just a mother or a parent but a woman with a past and experiences that I had nothing to do with. This, thankfully, made our bond stronger, essentially building a strong foundation for a magnificent friendship and I can only foresee the same happening with myself. The gentler I am with myself and the more I can understand about the things I say and do without lashing out will hopefully, in time, create greater inner peace and harmony – a friendship with my soul, if you will. By no means am I tooting my own horn because I have a lot of work to do yet but I can say I’m off to an impressive start.

Have I mentioned that I go to therapy twice a week? Well, I do and I find it necessary to keep my anxiety at bay. My mind is constantly thinking. I have never been able to master the art of meditation if there’s anything even there for me to master. I would love to be able to switch off my mind the way vampires can switch off their emotions in the CW’s Vampire Diaries – yeah, I watch too much TV. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would sound like – the nothingness of my brain. If I didn’t believe that everything was possible, I wouldn’t be convinced of the possibility of not thinking – not with the way my mind has worked for the last thirty-one years at least.

I tend to be an open book but to be honest, there is quite a bit that I do not share, that I don’t feel I can or should share for various reasons – the first and most important reason being that I do strive to maintain some semblance of a private life. As writers, especially as writers of the personal experience, non-fictional type, the lines can become so blurred that, at times, it feels as if one is cautiously writing which can feel limiting because while I cannot speak for all writers, I can say that this is therapy for me, too. Sometimes, the cathartic need to share is so intense yet so inappropriate and not sharing something can unfortunately create a deep and powerful sense of loneliness. I’ve been so busy sharing all of these personal stories that so many people can relate to but what happens when I can’t share something for fear of invading somebody else’s privacy or for fear of the negative social backlash? As I said earlier, it’s so easy to forget that I, too, have feelings. I’m a writer, a woman amongst so many other things – I am human.

Playing with Fire, I mean Sand

I’ve built countless sandcastles with the sincere intent of using brick and mortar. I’ve sorrowfully watched all of them wash away, feeling like the reverse big, bad wolf – vigilantly huffing and puffing in a desperate attempt to keep them standing, to salvage anything because anything is something. Nothing ever remains no matter how badly I desire it to. Perhaps that is an indirect, subconscious reason why I have an intense, though manageable, fear of water.

Promises are something I’ve completely lost all faith in. I simply don’t believe in them. Maybes, possibilities, you-never-knows, perhaps – those are all concepts, “sandcastle words,” that make so much more sense in my personal existence. I’m even careful not to think too far into the future because even that is a destination in which there is no guarantee of reaching.

Life goes far beyond just being unfair – it’s downright cruel and deceiving. When good things are happening in seeming droves, I have this inherit tendency to automatically expect the rain to come and we all know – when it rains, it pours. Again, with the water.

I’ve become an expert at the art of distraction – that thing that adults do to avoid dwelling on matters that are out of their control or simply to procrastinate things that we don’t wish to take control of in the present moment. Perhaps being an expert at such things isn’t something to boast about but I can’t necessarily label it as a bad thing, either. In fact, I think it’s quite necessary at times. In my life, it’s been synonymous with “rolling with the punches” and “taking it day by day.”

The alternative is to laugh in the face of adversity – not because it’s funny or as some unusual, intimidation tactic but because life is a fucking beach in which I build sandcastles and I’ve been through my personal worst. I’m still standing and I’ll still be standing tomorrow should I be hopefully granted another day on this Earth. Sometimes, laughter is all the energy I have in me these days because with tears come, yet again, water.

If it isn’t obvious at this point, I have a lot on my mind tonight –it’s not just a single thing, person or happening but an entire slew of past, present and possible future occurrences. In addition, and this might not be as obvious, you’ll notice all those “sandcastle words” continue to come up in this post and I’ll bet if you read past posts of mine, you’ll find a plethora of them. There is nothing like laying next to death that will forever embed a sense of urgency into your mind and body and remind you of life’s only certainties.

I’m tired of playing in the sand but I’m afraid I have no choice – at least in this lifetime.

Now, listen to “Sandcastles” by Beyoncé




Watching the Wheels

I wanted to write a quick, spur of the moment blog entry so that it doesn’t appear as if I have given up on A Righteous Revival.  I, in fact, have been working on the “revival” aspect of my life. It gets tough sometimes – not gonna lie about that. And the uncomplicated truth is simply that I haven’t wanted to write because it brings up unwanted memories and emotions that, more often than not, are negative.

I’ve come to some difficult realizations as of late that are going to take some time to sort through and turn into some sort of positive reinforcement – Namely, the immense anger I am harboring toward David. Forgiveness is more than simply stating, “I forgive.”   If one doesn’t feel it in his/her heart, in his/her soul, it cannot exert its many benefits and the only person that this anger slowly destroys is I.

I still haven’t figured this one out though I have figured out that the reason the anger is so intense now as opposed to in the past when all of the turmoil caused by David’s disrespectful actions and less than subpar behavior was being inflicted is because I am no longer in love. Thus, proving firsthand that love can be dangerously blinding. The blindfold has been off for quite some time and I see everything I went through during my three years and some change spent with him much more clearly and rationally. My anger is justified and I don’t blame myself for feeling it but I do not want to feel this animosity any longer. I do so want to learn how to forgive.

I’ve also been missing my mother more so than usual. I’ve been refusing the memories, good and bad, and I try to occupy my mind with work. When I’m not working, I’m desperately seeking other distracting outlets, mostly things that aren’t necessarily the healthiest in excess. I am aware of my actions so I am not worried and I assure my loved ones not to worry as well when they express their sincere concern. Acknowledgment is the first step to a healthier mindset and lifestyle.

Needless to say, I haven’t allowed myself the time to write because my mindset hasn’t been balanced. The amount of energy I wish to dedicate to my craft, my passion, has lacked due solely to my emotional instability. My anxiety has been frequent and manifests itself physically in addition to the emotional chaos it imposes. I have had an itchy rash underneath my left armpit for over a week now and epidermis that, despite the 100+ degree weather and humidity, is suffering from chronic dryness. Nightmares are nothing new though definitely a nighttime burden and my mood swings are a debilitating force to be reckoned with. I do feel sorry for those who spend the majority of their priceless time with me as of late though bless their earnest hearts as they continue to devote that time to my company.

With all of that being said, I do have many wheels turning – positively confident ones, at that. I do hope to share these exciting endeavors with you sooner than later once they begin to manifest into something slightly more tangible. I’m urgently attempting to be gentler with myself so while I do beg your forgiveness for my prolonged absence, I cannot beat myself up for it. I thank you, my readers, for your continued support and joining me on this journey we call life. As I always say, I will be okay. I always am. And as my mama always proclaimed, “It’ll all be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”