awakened
Category: Health
At What Point Do Bi-women Tell the Voices In Their Head to Be Quiet?
How does one spend five years with someone and still not know them?!
Single, Black, independent bi-women hear voices, too.
Beatrice is a 36-year-old charge nurse in the OR for St. Agnes Memorial Hospital in Blue Lake Falls County. She is a sufferer of migraines, a prisoner to insomnia, and a magnet for bowed-leg men who don’t know any better.
On the eve of her fifth anniversary of work, she began reminiscing about Mike. Mike with the double-dimpled cheeks, endless credit line, and badass walk. But . . . he was a stranger to commitment.
Why is it Mike?! Why would she think about him after the way he left things between them?
He still has two bags of clothing and a pair of shoes in my closet! The nerve of that man! He was supposed to come and get this shit months ago.
She looks around her somber bedroom for clues. Did he leave anything else? No. Just his voice.
And his voice, along with that of Charlie and Omaira’s, seemed to play hopscotch in her mind multiple times per day.
Charlie scooped her heart right from her chest, licked the pain away that surrounded it, and added more. Intentionally or unintentionally, she still isn’t sure.
Omaira had been a woman she met through a mutual friend (let’s call her Sydnee), who thought she would like to try something different. And “different” was perfect for her for five years.
Until it wasn’t. Omaira gave Beatrice one last orgasm before stealing her vintage jewelry, three pairs of costly heels, and the spare key to her car. The car — she had taken to a local chop shop. Easy money.
She wouldn’t find out Omaira had been battling kleptomania until weeks later. She spins the thought of it around in her head once again.
How does one spend five years with someone and still not know them?!
She hated this quality of hers; the knowing and unknowing of things she so casually continued to do. She wanted to hear something else. Anything other than their voices.
Needless to say, these were people she shouldn’t be thinking about, but she was. And isn’t that how love is sometimes?
It sneaks up on us in one of its best disguises, lures us in, carves out a piece of our heart, and then exits stage left — leaving us limp-lipped and unamused.
The alarm clock screeches. It is 06:00 AM. Another night without sleep. Another night without rest.
Another night of fighting those voices in her head.
Originally published in Prism & Pen via Medium.
The Transition to Microlocs and My Hair Journey in Phases
Phase IV: I marvel at the length, and I am in love with every strand
I continue to be amazed by this journey. The path is curvy with twists and turns, and on some days, I am unsure where we (Ájá & I) are headed, but I am glad we are on our way.
My last wash and interlocking session was on March 11, 2023. My hair was out and free to grow and lock and become a force of beauty and strength. And it did exactly that.
On Sunday, May 07, 2023, my cousin had the tedious task of washing, re-sectioning, and interlocking my hair. I am no stranger to these methods now; I am a soldier on a familiar battleground, and the war is almost at its end.
Just under two months after my last wash and interlocking session, I am greeted by more length and a fuller head of hair.
There is peace in the calming hands of another
My cousin does an incredible job with my hair. When she washes it, my soul is moved. I can feel the cleansing process while it’s taking place, and my mind is at ease. She scratches it in sections and pays attention to the dryer spots.
She is like a surgeon — the way she dances around my head with her fingers; plotting the best ways to relieve itching. My hair always feels ten times cleaner and lighter after her hands have massaged my head.
She is thorough yet gentle with just the right amount of force to push away dirt and dandruff buildup. It’s fascinating — the washing process. I am not only in an impeccably relaxed state, but I am also overcome with serenity and joy.
When my hair is clean, I know the next steps are to interlock each section and pull any new growth into its rightful places for continued growth and locking.
With every session, my anticipation heightens
During every interlocking session, my anxiety builds. I am anxious to see the outcome. However, there is also an intense amount of patience — knowing that this process provides added length and replenishes the hair as well.
I wish I had the words to describe how I feel walking around with an ever-changing head of hair. I do not.
We started this process as microlocs, but my hair has loc’d in a way that is clearly its own. My locs will probably be bigger than microlocs or even sisterlocks, and I am all right with this.
Whatever Ájá wants to do, I am on board with it! This transition is one I signed up for and perfection was not in the cards.
I want to see what the end of the year will bring when we make it to a full year of interlocking and patiently waiting.
I want to know what December 2023 Ájá will look like. And I know with my cousin’s hands creating, washing, and maintaining my crown of glory, the sight will be one to see.
I marvel at the length, and I am in love with every strand
My hair is growing. It flows on its own and lands just above the nape of my neck. There are sections that are longer than others, but this is to be expected, as I am also growing out a short haircut.
I stare at myself in the mirror. I gaze at my graying edges and perimeter, and I am wooed by these changes.
I am not the same woman. I am changing along with my hair, and every day brings a newer side to me which I am eager to embrace.
The Powers That Be promoted me at work. They have invited me to be a part of our Engagement Team. These novel happenings are keeping me sane and giving me hope for a brighter future.
There is still a deep pain from the loss of my beloved cousin early last year, but I am moving along on a happier note.
I no longer carry grief in my pockets. I hold her memory close to my heart, sit in my favorite chair, and twist my hair because of a new habit.
And with each twisted strand, I think of Chrissy, and I wonder if she’s enjoying this journey with me, too.
I am happy with Ájá’s growth. I admire the length of my hair, and I long to see how long it will get before I become tired of it being too long.
I don’t foresee this happening. I have happily embraced every phase so far. I am positive this will continue.
December 11, 2023, will be one full year
At the end of this year, I will share where my hair journey has taken me.
One year of growing locs and maintaining them is steadily approaching. I am patient as I mark each day off on my calendar.
I have a few pieces of hair that have already locked and my heart flutters at the sight of them.
I am on my way to loving a full head of dreadlocks, and my soul can do nothing but smile.
Transitioning hair is a topic I love to discuss now. There will be more to come.
Part I, Part II, and Phase III
Originally published in An Injustice via Medium.
Out of Touch – Pandemic Haibun Challenge — Becoming Unstuck
Thanks to my dear friend, Tre, for hosting this challenge! Before the pandemic, I wasn’t aware that so many people would miss physical contact with others. How could I not have known something so obvious? By not having thought about it before. I have a bad tendency to scoff at people who are touchy-feely. The […]
Out of Touch – Pandemic Haibun Challenge — Becoming Unstuck
Many of you have seen my post here about the Pandemic Haibun Challenge that’s currently underway in my publication, A Cornered Gurl via Medium. Above is a response to it from a writer here in our WordPress community, Magarisa. Mags is a dear friend of mine; we don’t need to speak every single day or week or month, but we are linked to one another in a way that cannot be described. We always meet back up in the middle, and it’s a beautiful thing.
I follow her for the peace she possesses, her love of language and sharp imagery, and her ability to single-handedly murder a writing prompt.
wear & tear
headache
throbbing, left-side
light a
disturbance
logged out
from work early
tried to rest,
couldn’t
a hopeful vision
an audio narrative poem: a hopeful vision
if you were to tell me
four months ago, I could
be seeing clearer or my
eyes would shift toward the
light and not give me a
headache later, I would have
called your bluff.
it is amazing what insurance
binds us to — how we have to
cater our health to the
possible noncoverage of something
necessary for our mental growth
and overall well-being.
a recommended optometrist,
highly skilled in her field will
takeover my care for keratoconus.
she will now be a part of the
team who will see me twice
a year for an eye disease I didn’t
know I had before
two Februaries ago.
I hope she and my ophthalmologist
can tag-team this life-invader and
direct me onto new paths
concerning my vision.
as I think about the possibilities
coming my way — the mere fantasy
of reading without blurred lines
or double vision or constantly
squinting may soon become
my reality.
when a blockade positions itself
in your path to try to deter you,
a spirit higher and stronger than
it can ever be, swoops right in
to show you another way.
hopeful vision is something
poking me alive daily, and with
its looming presence sneaking
up on me quicker than I assumed
it would, I am overcome with
relief.
maybe, I am one step closer
to seeing what I need to see
and being who I need to be
while living visually impaired.
©2022 Tremaine L. Loadholt Originally published in CRY Magazine via Medium
Monday, August 22, 2022, I will have my consultation with my new optometrist who is in-network with both my medical and vision insurance. My last optometrist (the doctor who first diagnosed me with keratoconus) had rescinded her connection with my insurances — making her an out-of-network provider. I can now proceed with getting the scleral contacts I need to help move me toward a more enhanced vision. I cannot tell you how happy I am about this. Thanks for reading and for listening too.
A Cornered Gurl 
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