“you bringin out a side of me that i don’t know… i decided we weren’t gonna speak, so why we up 3am on the phone?”

 

i just spent three hours on the phone with… my past.

exhausting as ever. but good… and, i think, necessary.

and it’s finally all over.

again.

he was the one who asked for this last coversation.

one last chance to say it all…

surprisingly, he spent a majority of the time apologizing. for everything. and it was pretty emotional for me because he’d never said sorry before.

in over twenty years. not once. not in front of his parents, police, or even during our court-ordered therapy.

never.

until tonight

he said he was sorry that he ever laid hands on me.

he said he was sorry for every time he hurt me in ways that were not just physical.

he said he was sorry for every time he made me feel like he didn’t love me as much as he did. and that he did… love me.

he said he was sorry that i hated him.

he said he was sorry if how he treated me shaped my opinions of love and relationships.

then we spent a lot of time talking about the last two years.

why it was good… why it was bad.

why i couldn’t let the past go.

but why i was still glad we had reconnected.

and yet why i… why we… still think we need to close this chapter. completely.

we both have an opportunity to start our lives fresh.

and with no hard feelings. no uncertainties. no unsettled feelings.

with closure.

and i need that desperately. not just from him.

from everything.

“ayo, my whole life is under non-fiction, drama friction”

if you really know me, you know that drama follows me around.

like. my. fucking. shadow.

and always despite my best efforts.

the last twelve months have been dramatic. an emotional mess.

but not much of it was mine.

i mean, sure, i felt emotions related to every single thing that’s happened… but i could have remained indifferent in every case.

if i’d wanted to. if i were built that way.

but the truth is that i care too much.

up until this point, i’ve never really been at the forefront of my own story. could you imagine, in the movie version of my own life, i’m not even the leading lady.

when i left my last relationship, that was the goal… that was the point.

to do ME. to find joy. and i’d lost sight of that.

for the month of november, i’m hoping to detox… from toxicity?

i just need a break—one where i’m not worrying about my mom, brothers, in-laws, cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, friends, co-workers, clients, neighbors… strangers.

basically, all the people who aren’t busy worrying about… me.

and that list isn’t all-inclusive. it’s not everyone.

and yet it is.

it’s time for me to refocus (again).

i’m claiming 2017 as mine, bitches. steer clear.

“and everyone else is just trying to pick up the pieces… man, how could you touch so many fucking lives and just leave us”

 

today marks one year since we lost kaye.

damn, time flies.

i still think about what happened… what’s happening… and what’s gonna happen. now that she’s gone.

will life ever normalize for her husband? her kids? her family? us?

will it always feel empty? will it always feel unsettled?

i think about all the things—good and bad—that wouldn’t have happened in the last twelve months if she hadn’t left us.

i’d trade it all to have her back.

is that selfish? to want her back? to want to undo what has happened just to have her here… unhappy and hurting?

but i do. i want it back.

i’d rather go back and try and fix it than deal with what’s left here without her.

i love you, kaye. forever.

“though i can’t let you know it, pride won’t let me show it… pretend to be heroic, that’s just one to grow with… but deep inside, a nigga’s so sick”

 

after 19 years with the same therapist, i’ve decided it’s time for a change.

i’d been going to him since the very public incident with my high school ex that happened in the summer of ’97. this doctor has practically seen me grow up in the time i’ve been a patient of his.

in the last 10 years since i stopped working in the south bay, we’d done most of our sessions via skype. and tonight was one of those nights.

i’d brought up the most recent encounter with the high school ex, and how i couldn’t understand his jealousclingy, and aggressive behavior towards me now that a) he’s moved across the country, and b) he has a new girlfriend.

my therapist’s response involved calling me sexy and beautiful. and i just can’t find any reason a therapist should ever use words like that. ever.

the remainder of the hour was a blur. i couldn’t tell you what was said by either of us, or if i’d even said anything more. i was stuck.

i spent the rest of my evening dissecting what i’d done to encourage that response. did i invite it?

wait, what?

what. i’d. done.

i went to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. my hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. i was wearing a t-shirt that said mac & cheese. and no makeup. i looked neither sexy nor beautiful. i couldn’t have invited it… right?

then i backtracked our conversation. he’d asked me earlier about the last time the ex and i had been intimate. and then he asked me how it was.

i’d answered the question based on how it was emotionally. but now i was stuck wondering if that was indeed what he was asking.

he started asking other questions, none of which i answered honestly. because my trust was compromised. i shut down.

after 19 years—the last of which has been a clusterfuck of problems and emotions—i’m having to find a new therapist. and that in itself is no easy feat.

so basically, i need therapy because of therapy. c’mon life… can i seriously catch a fucking break?