Another Day, Too Much Time

It’s Memorial Day. The weather is perfect, the breeze is nice. I didn’t do much of anything this weekend. My Mama hooked me up and I was able to rent some movies from Blockbuster to help me get through the weekend since my cable was turned off.

My kids left to be with their Dad for the weekend and as soon as they left I developed a cold which quickly turned into the flu. I’m having trouble breathing, my body aches, my mouth tastes nasty and to put icing on the cake- my cycle came on, which has left me an emotional wreck.

All of the lights were green on the way to my uncle’s funeral. I was one of the first to arrive. When my Mama got there she gave me the funeral programme that we made and I sat by the door handing them out to everyone who came. I even read the eulogy, but we called it a Life Portrait.

After the funeral, after the hugs, after the tears and awkward conversation I drove back up to my neighborhood and my booty was caressed by it’s favorite lover, my couch. I drank some theraflu and poured a glass of orange juice as I watched the movie Crash again. Now you know I think this movie has a ton of points for discussion and the first time I watched it I mentioned a few of my favorites and I’d like to remind you of one other.

Remember the asshole cop who pulled the couple over and molested the woman in front of her husband? I don’t think this was about race. I believe this was about excercising control, the control he did not have in his own home. He had to watch as his father suffered physically. He probably felt helpless in that situation. His work, his badge, his authority became the only outlet to exert control.

The anger he felt inside had to be released somehow. Often the pain is projected toward people who don’t deserve it.

I’ve seen it happen in black families time and time again. The black man is out in the workforce grinding and taking shit from whoever. His anger builds. His heart hardens. He feels helpless because he has to work under harsh conditions which are debilitating to his spirit. He goes home and releases his frustration through harsh criticism on the kids and his wife/girlfriend. He has to throw his weight around. He feels his lashing out allows him to regain a bit of his manhood.

The black woman. The black child. The black family bears the brunt of this cycle. As women, we have to look this man in the eyes and try to understand the root of the rage. We try to brush off the attacks and make life as less complicated as possible for him but it is still not enough. For every blow to his manhood he takes from society, we women feel the pain.

For many who have been reading my words for a while, you know that I have been through an abusive cycle with men in my life. They all have the same controlling, destructive spirit and I cling to them for dear life, hoping for approval and acceptance. I guess I hoped that if I was nice enough or loved them enough or was good enough in bed, they’d learn to appreciate me and value my presence in their lives.

I attract the same type of men. Well, let’s say I choose the same type of men- over and over again. Men who do not know how to love themselves. Men who have no relationships with their fathers. Men who label a woman who gives so much of herself as “easy” and “stupid” and takes my devotion and kindness as a sign of weakness. Their inability to accept my love is an indication of their weakness too. Sometimes I think that they hate me because I show them love and because they don’t believe they deserve love. They want me to be distant, uncaring and stoic. My act of kindness is seen as being fake or a tactic to try to get something from them.

It’s not. It’s genuine. But you could never get them to believe that.

Wow. It’s almost June. It’s been 4 months since I’ve seen or spoken to my children’s father. I am amazed and grateful everyday that he is not a part of my life anymore. YOU HAVE NO IDEA. I never thought his abusive words would end. I never thought I’d get him to stop. I had gotten used to hearing how worthless I was and on quiet nights the phrase still repeats itself muffled by the affirmations I feed myself daily.

So many times I rationalized that I deserved his disparaging treatment because I had not gotten my life together yet and he was a successful attorney with investment properties and a long term relationship that looked solid as a rock.

My friends all agree that this has been life changing for me. Still…still…sometimes I still hear his criticizing words. He has many friends and everyone loves him. He gets tremendous praise from everyone who meets him because he treats them so well..and me…well…I guess…I guess I was the white sheep in the group. He absolutely hates me and would prove it everyday if I hadn’t gotten the ‘no contact’ order. God bless the judge.

Damn. I hate to regress but it’s my damn life so fuck it. I’ma be me.

It’s funny that victims of abuse are often considered weak and stupid. How is that?

We love despite the bruises. We take on the pain of others in hopes of helping them heal. We take blow after blow and still stand, believing the best for you and praying for a change.

Blah..blah..blah…

I can continue to risk being hurt to one day gain love…or I can turn back into the man hating bitch who uses men for (safe) sex ultimately abusing them the way I had been abused.

Decisions, decisions…I’m so damn dramatic. ~smile~

But what is life without a little drama?