Life is for the living
I feel stagnant, listless, restless. Like the very air I breathe is holding me down. I dreamed of a life so different from this. I’m living below my potential. It irks me down to my very core not to have accomplished all I dreamed of. I’m on the brink of turning 30 and when I look back on what I’ve done thus far it makes me cringe. I feel like a dormant volcano, heat flowing just beneath the surface, paused to erupt. Some intangible force is keeping me still. Complacency has seeped into my very being and taken up residence. I used to dream of a life so different from this. It seems as if that dream is 10 years and 10 thousand miles behind me now. I put off so many today’s for tomorrows not promised. I waited for signs and signals to move forward instead of blazing a trail. I’m smarter than the average bear, not to shabby to look at, witty, funny… so what has held me back? I realized it’s the fear of failure.
I was taught at a very early age to be afraid. Physical and mental abuse served as instruments to propagate that fear. My father was a mean man, very exacting and strict. He was harder on me for some reason then my brother. I don’t know if it was because I was a female or because I was older but I got the brunt of his anger. If the ice cube trays weren’t filled to the top or there was one dirty fork left in the sink he struck first and asked questions later. I tried to learn the rules of engagement but they were always changing. Anytime things in the house were quiet and I could breathe a sigh of relief, something would set him off and it would start all over again. I learned early on to always be alert to his moods and to always be prepared for anything. By the time I was 12 I had an ulcer. By the time I was 14 I was so depressed I thought about suicide almost daily. I was taught that I was less than, that my ideas and thoughts weren’t as important. I was an extension of my father, never to be mistaken for a whole person or an individual. I was a possession. My wings were clipped, and escape, in the form of my 18th birthday was a long way off. While I served my sentence I was degraded and belittled and there wasn’t much I could do about it. But what is my excuse now? By living this life I honor the man who wielded his power over me so irresponsibly. By living a half-life I give him validation. By believing the bad I was taught, I am ignoring the good that I believe. So why do I continue to live like a prisoner now that I am free? I mean I survived. I never thought I would but I did. I left December 13, 1993. The day after my 18th birthday and I haven’t been back since. I’ve never asked him for anything. Everything I have is a result of my blood, sweat, and tears. So why do I still feel like that broken bird?
I feel so desperate right now. As I write this, my heart is beating a mile a minute and I’m shaking. I feel like I’m scratching and clawing my way out of this state of mind. The urgency of it all is intoxicating and scary at the same time. I feel like I need to purge the details from my soul in order to survive another minute. I know that I am standing on the precipice of change. Instead of waiting for a sign I’m going to step out on faith. Faith that God has my back. Faith that my talents won’t go to waste. Faith that I will reap the benefits of being a good person. Faith that the universe will give back to this orphan and I will be pulled into the fold.
I think in living where I do, I’ve exchanged one prison for another. This city now serves as my subjugator. There is no culture or life; it’s dead with monotony. I see the same faces and places of my youth. They symbolize so many tears and so much unhappiness. This city and those memories are my nemesis. I want to go to a jazz club at midnight and let the music flow thru my soul. I want to hear spoken word at some hole in the wall, where the smoke is thick, and the words are blessed. I want to grow dreadlocks and dye them blond and not feel ostracized. I want to feel the vibrations of concrete during rush hour. I want to live in a city that speaks to me, one that has a story and a pulse. I want to get lost in a sea of beautiful black people all with purpose and goals, rhythm and rhyme. I want to stand in the shadow of a skyscraper and live in 3-D. This place is one-dimensional. I want.
I need to dream again. Giant dreams full of color and sound. Dreams that have me waking up sweaty and wet from the excitement of them. I want to taste my dreams and deem them delicious and worthy. I want to shed this fake demeanor and be a bitch if I want to. I want to say “no” and not worry about who it hurts. Why is no such a hard word for me? I have an extensive vocabulary, and a dictionary/thesaurus for what I don’t know, but the word no eludes me. Why should I sit in silence so others won’t be hurt? Why can’t we all be ok? I want to stand up for what I want for my son and myself. I am his mother, period. I will no longer defer to anyone when it comes to him. There is no more time for me to dwell on the past. I’ve wasted so much already. I have to start living the life I was meant to live. Unlike revenge, dreams are not best served cold. They need warmth and nurturing. You have to tend to them every minute or they will die and you will die a little with them. I will not die with my dreams. I will not rest my head on them and slumber. I will not be languid in the pursuit of them. They will not feel stiff and foreign to me. Life is for the living.
I was taught at a very early age to be afraid. Physical and mental abuse served as instruments to propagate that fear. My father was a mean man, very exacting and strict. He was harder on me for some reason then my brother. I don’t know if it was because I was a female or because I was older but I got the brunt of his anger. If the ice cube trays weren’t filled to the top or there was one dirty fork left in the sink he struck first and asked questions later. I tried to learn the rules of engagement but they were always changing. Anytime things in the house were quiet and I could breathe a sigh of relief, something would set him off and it would start all over again. I learned early on to always be alert to his moods and to always be prepared for anything. By the time I was 12 I had an ulcer. By the time I was 14 I was so depressed I thought about suicide almost daily. I was taught that I was less than, that my ideas and thoughts weren’t as important. I was an extension of my father, never to be mistaken for a whole person or an individual. I was a possession. My wings were clipped, and escape, in the form of my 18th birthday was a long way off. While I served my sentence I was degraded and belittled and there wasn’t much I could do about it. But what is my excuse now? By living this life I honor the man who wielded his power over me so irresponsibly. By living a half-life I give him validation. By believing the bad I was taught, I am ignoring the good that I believe. So why do I continue to live like a prisoner now that I am free? I mean I survived. I never thought I would but I did. I left December 13, 1993. The day after my 18th birthday and I haven’t been back since. I’ve never asked him for anything. Everything I have is a result of my blood, sweat, and tears. So why do I still feel like that broken bird?
I feel so desperate right now. As I write this, my heart is beating a mile a minute and I’m shaking. I feel like I’m scratching and clawing my way out of this state of mind. The urgency of it all is intoxicating and scary at the same time. I feel like I need to purge the details from my soul in order to survive another minute. I know that I am standing on the precipice of change. Instead of waiting for a sign I’m going to step out on faith. Faith that God has my back. Faith that my talents won’t go to waste. Faith that I will reap the benefits of being a good person. Faith that the universe will give back to this orphan and I will be pulled into the fold.
I think in living where I do, I’ve exchanged one prison for another. This city now serves as my subjugator. There is no culture or life; it’s dead with monotony. I see the same faces and places of my youth. They symbolize so many tears and so much unhappiness. This city and those memories are my nemesis. I want to go to a jazz club at midnight and let the music flow thru my soul. I want to hear spoken word at some hole in the wall, where the smoke is thick, and the words are blessed. I want to grow dreadlocks and dye them blond and not feel ostracized. I want to feel the vibrations of concrete during rush hour. I want to live in a city that speaks to me, one that has a story and a pulse. I want to get lost in a sea of beautiful black people all with purpose and goals, rhythm and rhyme. I want to stand in the shadow of a skyscraper and live in 3-D. This place is one-dimensional. I want.
I need to dream again. Giant dreams full of color and sound. Dreams that have me waking up sweaty and wet from the excitement of them. I want to taste my dreams and deem them delicious and worthy. I want to shed this fake demeanor and be a bitch if I want to. I want to say “no” and not worry about who it hurts. Why is no such a hard word for me? I have an extensive vocabulary, and a dictionary/thesaurus for what I don’t know, but the word no eludes me. Why should I sit in silence so others won’t be hurt? Why can’t we all be ok? I want to stand up for what I want for my son and myself. I am his mother, period. I will no longer defer to anyone when it comes to him. There is no more time for me to dwell on the past. I’ve wasted so much already. I have to start living the life I was meant to live. Unlike revenge, dreams are not best served cold. They need warmth and nurturing. You have to tend to them every minute or they will die and you will die a little with them. I will not die with my dreams. I will not rest my head on them and slumber. I will not be languid in the pursuit of them. They will not feel stiff and foreign to me. Life is for the living.
posted by Meka at 9:08 AM
14 Comments:
so whats stopping you? you have clear aims, go do them. I feel your pain but its time for action. Doing nothing is worse than doing something and failing. take a chance. maybe you have to step out of your comfort zone and out of being who you are at the moment or maybe you need to step INTO your comfort zone and start being who you know you are. you dont have to take it all in one giant leap but you can if you ish or you can just take it in baby steps but just sitting and doing nothing will only make you feel worse. come on girl, you've been through alot use the same strength that got you through that to help you make your move.
We've spoken on IM several times and you always said that we shared similarities, but never really elaborated. From this post, I see alot of parallels with us. I know how you feel living where we live. Being immersed in so many, regular, vanillaish(you know how I make up words lol) surroundings makes you feel weird or different for even thinking about being another flavor. You've moved past harder things than this struggle right now and have not succumbed. We will always reach different plateaus in life. The fact that you don't like the level you're on and are even allowing yourself to want to move beyond it,speaks volumes. Listen and you'll find that your wings may have healed even faster than you believe they have, without you knowing it homie...I hope you find a way to not only dream big again, but to tranform those dreams into reality for you and your son.
""Unlike revenge, dreams are not best served cold. They need warmth and nurturing.""
TRUE!! You have a clear and vivid sight of what you want to accomplish! You are such a strong woman that I know you can reach them!
Great Post!!
What a painfully beautiful post.
You aren't even thirty? Girl, you can still go after your dreams!!!! I know what it is like to be in a place where you do not feel alive. Take steps to be where you want to be. You can do it!!!!
Yes girl, Please break free of the fear . Don't jump without a plan, but calculated risks are worth it. It's very difficult to attain happiness if you don't even try. Ever heard the joke about the worthy blond asking god to help her win the lottery?... and after weeks of her begging and praying, god told her "look, I'll help you win - but you gotta at least buy a ticket first!". You have to reach out a little for your dream. My motto is a cliche, but it works for me... "Shoot for the moon, and even if you miss - you'll still be among the stars". I honestly feel that I cannot fail and be any worse off then the lowest points in my past. If you think of it that way, realize that you made it through some of the worst feelings and situations in life, all the bad possibilities don't seem quite as bad anymore. Good luck.
I don't know if you meant to write your post the way you did, but it came across as chapters. The prologue, the body, the stanza and of course, there is no epilogue because you are still here among the "living."
Seems to me that you know what needs to be done and sometimes, just sometimes it's a matter of putting one step forward and following with another until the walk becomes a sprint.
Years ago, not feeling like I was getting the most out of life that I could, I had to reconstruct myself and purge bad habits. I rebuilt myself from the bottom up. Not so much fixing so many "bad" things about myself, but altering things so that I could maximize my potential.
Everything can't be done and altered that way of course because there are things that are beyond our scope of changing, but the things that I could change, went out the door. In time that is. No way I could just do it overnight regardless of how much I wanted it so. You seem on the cusp of greatness. The only thing in your way, is you. Make it happen miss Meka! The rewards will be sooo sweet!
Go do it!
I'll keep you posted
Peace Sis, Nice Blog, and trust you're not alone.... just sounds like you're living the "shadow" of you, and not stepping out into your own sun daring to be you. Its happens, but trust success is not an accident babes, its planned. So even if you're in the shadows (of you) start planning how you're going to do thing in the "sun" (of you) get a journal, write down a goals, define success, define failure, write down what you can control, and what you can't, this will help you to start seeing yourself in that sunlight...
Well just my .02
-bk babe showing somelove, over and out!
P.S. Ditto on what Luke Cage said, and did, in rebuildling himself, I myself am "under construction."
Wow, you poured alot out in that post. I am familiar with many of your childhood memories. I've learned to break down really big dreams into little bite sized pieces. Start today with just a small piece, even if it is just to write down your goal.
All my best, hope you'll be feeling better.
I love your blog. Its tranquil and beautiful...
Hang in there!
Definitely, do your thing.
I am younger than you, and it seems like i am heading down the same path that you took. I am still definitley young enough to change my ways. But i am scared...scared of the world..love..and life... But i guess living is just living and you go along the road weather it is bumpy or not.
And for my advice for you.....let yourself free.....YOU ARE STILL ALIVE! thats what counts. ........let yourself free to live and love again......and scream......go the top of a hill and scream....it helps so much......
it is not your time to die yet.....live it, before your time is up
..we only have 1 life
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