Full Plate
Tag: Creative Nonfiction
Love Is Knocking
I LOVE love. I love it even more when I believe it has forgotten me. I love it even more after that when I remember that it never will. As long as I keep this as the center of my thought-process when it comes to love, I will overcome my fears and feelings of loss at love.
I am winning… I just don’t have a medal yet.
I Know…
And It’s Okay
Since my coming out, I’ve been blessed to have those who have not flinched or wavered or faltered in any way, but slowly, steadily, those who have misguided feelings are showing themselves. They do not need to open their mouths and speak or tell me plainly how they truly feel, they are showing me with their actions. Discovering others’ disdain of another based on their sexual preferences or orientation regarding intimacy and love as the one on the inside looking out is… well… quite poignant.
I need nothing from those unwilling to be by my side. I want nothing from them, either. Colors are truest when words are left unsaid and actions can be monitored from afar. Responses to text messages cease. Phone calls dwindle. When before, you exchanged letters, now, those fade into the sun. Reciprocity is a thing of the past. I knew it would happen. Fear of this has kept me tight-lipped for years because I did not want to lose those I love, but life has other plans.
People hold fast to their beliefs or they slowly sink into an abyss of comfort that drags them away from you. Their vision becomes cloudy. They may have a million questions and they may yearn to understand and instead of actually creating an environment for you to educate them, they push you away. They run away.
Listen And Hear Me Loud & Clear!
I Have No More Space For Unrequited Love.
So if you plan on being shifty, wade someone else’s waters. I have no use for you. I do not need hanging hands trembling in the bay unsure of where they should be. I need strong hands sturdy enough to help me along when the waves come crashing. Do not disguise your discomfort with the busyness of life. Ain’t THAT MUCH busy in the world! If you love someone or something, you make time for them or it. Simple and plain. Plain and simple.
People have feelings. They deserve to be treated fairly and acknowledged when they reach out to you. Being a jerk doesn’t win you any prizes. You have something burning inside of you about me and I know…
And, it’s okay. My misery does not want your company.
My happiness doesn’t either.
The Battles We Create For Ourselves
Are The Ones That Break Us
By design, we are all different yet beautiful. Coming out is teaching me what unconditional love is. What life outside of a box feels like. The more I share with my family and friends, the more I am finding out, “but you know I knew that already, right?” And no, I had no idea my family knew the inner-workings of my heart, of my soul. I am rather private. For the most part, I keep to myself. I am significantly older than all of my siblings, so much of what I experienced growing up, they did not.
They looked up to me, yes, I knew that. But, I did not know how closely they were watching me. According to my brother TJ upon me asking, “When did you think you knew?”
“I don’t mean no disrespect sis, but I knew when I was little. I mean, I ain’t never really seen you with no boyfriends except that one dude that everybody liked. I thought, maybe my sister likes women. And then later, when you started dating that bald-headed guy like three years ago, I thought — oh, my sister still likes men. I see no difference in you, sis. I’m gonna love you anyway.
To this, I laughed. I am nine years older than TJ. He and I are quite close. Most people say, he looks a lot like me and really, I think that as well. Most of us have strong features that link up, however, I am told he and our kid sister looks most like me. I found his comment the best way of his expression. Of how he began thinking his big sister was not heterosexual. He has a big heart too and is sensitive in ways that my other brothers are not. As a toddler, he was one who would cry at the drop of a hat. I knew then that he would sincerely be connected to his emotions, unafraid to share, or one willing to listen when listening is of the utmost importance. I was hoping I would be right.
I Am Right In My Assessment.
I know there will be hills that I will ache from climbing, someone will voice their opinion, will Bible-thump me with scriptures they have twisted to fit their model of beliefs and display not one modicum of common sense, but I am in a position to not let that keep me from being me. I have no control over the thoughts of others and my journey into this new life is not the responsibility of anyone but my own. I am tired of limiting myself to being with who I want when I want, yet “in the dark,” cut-off from everyone else. I am tired of waving happiness away because of a way of life that most of my religious upbringing planned for me.
I Never Fit Into That Box
So, why was I constantly trying to keep myself there? I created a war within me. The battles I fought needed heavy armor and up against myself, I was not winning. I was only breaking and withering away. A revelation hit me, that caused me to say, “You know what? You want to be happy, be who you are. Do not think about it, Tre, just do it.” And after that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of FINALLY! My heart slowed down its beating. I could breathe better.
“Cousin, I believe this is gonna help you so much in relieving the depression and anxiety you have been dealing with for years. You are learning that it is okay to be you.” ©Akua
And it is okay to fully be me. I have made a pact with myself. A personal declaration that I intend to stand by, to etch into my skin. I will make my life easier by being who I am and nothing more. I looked at myself in the mirror and declared that. I meant it.
I Am Focused.
I carry the strength of powerful women in my bones, women who will cut you with their eyes then tell you to get over it without a trimmer in their voice. Women who have been fighting for me without my knowledge. Women who will look you in your eyes and tell you while they stand on flat feet and shiftless legs, “you’re lying.” A long line of women who have stepped forward and said,
“You better be who you are while you still can.”
I Will.
Just bees and things and flowers
Just bees and things and flowers
Just bees and things and flowers
My life. My Life. My life. My Life
In the sunshine
Everybody loves the sunshine.
Originally published in Other Doors via Medium.
Second Best, But First Born
I think about how crazy my upbringing was sometimes and there are bits and pieces that stir me up in ways that I cannot clearly understand or explain.
I am a child of divorce.
A further description: I am the eldest child from a divorced parents home who remembers so much more than her siblings and who has a lot more good memories of her Father to hold on to than her siblings as well, except her youngest, which is her sister.
To be frank, I am head over heels about my kid sister. There is nothing (within my power) that I would not do for her. Being nineteen years older than someone gives you such a distinct perspective on life when there’s a need to share experiences and my kid sister comes loaded with questions. She’s an intensely intelligent young lady and I am not surprised by this. Often the saying in our family to her is, “You are so much like Tre.” Or different variations of that phrase and I want to shout to everyone telling her this to stop!
While I’m appreciative of their comparison, I see the dismay and feel the worry from my sister as she struggles to make a name for herself. I am so proud of her. I do not know what it feels like to have a Father raise his daughter beyond twelve years. That connection has to be an intense one and my sister has that. She has had our Father since her birth and at the age of nineteen, he is still very involved in her life. My Father and I only recently began renewing a bond that fell from its pedestal when I was still in grade school and it is awkward, but we are both growing within this process.
Last year, my sister entered a University in close proximity to Atlanta, GA. The kid has a full ride, Presidential Scholarship and is excelling in every way possible. Again, I am not surprised. From the moment she began speaking, I could tell that she was going to press on in life in a way that could be considered unstoppable. I did not/ do not worry about her. Not in that realm. I had/have other concerns about her growth, like first heartbreak and how will she heal from that? But, those bridges have not yet formed, so we cannot cross them.
What sparked this post? Our Father’s worry over her entering school for a higher education four hours away from them. Not within his immediate reach. My kid sister was sheltered. Someone’s eyes was always on her. I grew up quite independent and left for college at eighteen, worked full time, and never returned home. I have been out of school for fifteen years, however, last year, when my sister was beginning to make her path into an unknown world, my Father called me up frantic and nearly in tears.
“Tre! Hey. Hey. Can I talk to you? Will you tell me about your college experience?” The question came as an instant gut-punch to me. I thought, “Now, you wanna know about my college experience?! You mean, the one you had no hand in, the one I struggled with, the one in which I worked full time and had classes full time, busted my face too many times to count regarding love because I had no MALE figure to point me in the right direction, the college experience that left me with debt after a lost scholarship?! THAT COLLEGE EXPERIENCE!” I thought these things, but I did not say them. I am good at pushing my feelings to the side in order to cater to someone else’s and I could tell my Father was hurting. The one child he truly raised was beginning to leave the nest. It wasn’t a time for me to break fool on him.
But, I did so after our phone call. I cried. I thought about the many years I spent time giving myself to boys, men, girls, women, searching for that love I did not have from my Father, and I just broke down. I screamed. I shouted. And then, I thought about something my Father said before we ended the call and it helped me put things into a better perspective. “You were always so independent. You did everything fast; walked, talked, learned, and became an adult before your time. I did not have to worry about you. You had it altogether. I worry about your sister. She’s not like you in that aspect, baby. ”
I knew what he was trying to say, but it didn’t make me feel any more loved. It actually made me feel like he had an idea of who I was but did not know I had to be who I was because of what I did not have, a Father. Parents do not know what they do to their children unless they’re told. They do not see us when our pain is most visible. In that moment of my breakdown, I felt second best. I felt as though my life was no longer a concern, I am grown, there’s nothing more to my growth that can be watered on me to help me grow even stronger, and I did not like that feeling.
I have yet to tell my Father how his asking about my educational life so many years after it has taken place makes me feel and I doubt that I will. When you have voiced your opinion on so many things with one person and you get reactions that are often wrought with accusations and finger-pointing, you learn to just be quiet and accept it for what it is. It is a part of life that keeps me on my toes. Truthfully, I have to be.
There will come a day when my sister will ask me of my college experience and I will tell her all that she wants to know. But, that day isn’t here yet. But, I will be ready when it arrives.
In Dog Years
I prepare for life as it comes knowing that I have a companion who has been steadfast for ten years. I enjoy peace and quiet and am mostly calm and my surefire supposed “Yapper Mixed Breed” is calm too. Anything one can think of to want in a pet, Jernee is it. She hangs at my heels, my shadow, tracing my steps. I’m severely anemic. I have been for years. Separate from that, I’m one dubbed as “a carrier for sickle-cell anemia”. I.e., I have the trait.
I do not plan on having children, so worrying myself silly about my mate’s health is not a concern. Not in that realm. Plus, there’s no mate. Bloodwork is a normal part of my life; having it drawn every three to six months has been my normal for the last eleven years. If ever I change physicians (which is rare), my medical records accompany me. There’s a lot of history to report and I make certain the new physician is “in the know”. I lack the essentials needed to maintain normal levels of iron and ferritin. At one point, specialists thought I was bleeding out. I had several procedures done to search for the bleed in question. When they could not locate it, they wanted to refer me to yet another specialist, one well-versed in hematology. Just a head’s up, telling someone you believe something is wrong with their blood is a frightening thing to hear.
I was younger and a bit more of a spitfire then, so I told my Gastroenterologist that I was done with all the testing. I felt like a guinea pig, like someone to poke and prod until a resolution presented itself. I wanted a normal life. One with no needles, research, procedures, etc. But now my body still isn’t producing enough iron on its own. My MCV level is almost always at least four points lower than the norm and my iron and ferritin levels struggle to make it just over the normal range. If I do not take my iron pills and eat the appropriate foods, those levels drop significantly.
Jernee is my little helper. Years ago, I would be so fatigued, I’d nearly pass out. Prone to letting me know when I needed rest, Jernee would hover near me without fail. She was like an alert. Nowadays, she follows me around more than she has before. It makes me believe that something is off-kilter. My next appointment for bloodwork and a checkup is at the end of July. I feel great. I do not feel odd, fatigued, nor do I feel as if I am lacking anything. But, Jernee is never wrong. She senses things well before their reality shapes in front of me.
I will not worry, though. I am doing what I should and I am also staying out of the heat when it is far too hot. Staying hydrated is important too. “By the book”, when you live with an illness and you want to be compliant, that phrase and implementing it, is key. “By the book”. As the dog years pile on, I am living my life knowing that not only do I have my health in good hands, Jernee takes it into account too.
A Cornered Gurl 
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