As God Intends
A man would think that by hurting me in the present that he was going to satisfy himself or me in the future with the changed human I became. That’s not true. I cannot begin to tell you the fate that gives me. Even after I please myself, I cry uncontrollably sometimes. Grieving the woman I was at some point in life. Sitting under the covers in shame. For no reason. Can I even look at myself the same. It’s as if sometimes a hand will be reaching out for my love and I cannot reciprocate the way they want. Even trying not to cry as I type this because of how strong I have had to build myself to be. How I have had to force myself not to cry when my heart doesn’t need it or want it. And neither does my head. Neurologically or imposing otherwise. Because of what you have done. What you have said. What you have wanted instead of my own wellness. How I have made myself feel as a result of the change. I would become a different person for the satisfaction of you. I would sit and be disregardful to myself and not think about how I felt. Pushing it away. I got tired of that. Tired of coming home with no answers as to why I felt alone inside a relationship or out. I would then bet on fate. I would hope that it would come around. And when it didn’t, I would cry even more. It wasn’t that I wanted to be held all the time. Fear of you not satisfying my comfort would make me approach opening up with trepidation. I would change. And then look at myself and be unhappy. I would recognize a new me after all of the complaints about who I am now that you have changed me. Who I am now that you are seemingly happy with the changes in me. Who I was before you decided to change me for yourself. And who I could have been without you.
It’s like he says in his mind to himself:
“I can do good for someone else, but I can’t be any good for you.” That’s all I hear. That’s all I see. That’s all I feel. I was not raised to respect anything more than honesty. And knowing that secrets often come out in the sheets, what was I up against? Truth or lies? Assets or liabilities? It was never that I reached out to a ton of people when I had gotten hit by the car in Fall 2023 and asked for help or a place to sleep. It was that I knew in my heart the types of friendships and relationships I had dealt with in the past, and that they wouldn’t really ask me to stay. They would just play as they had before. Most of them at least. I needed to breath. And they were suffocating me. Lies. I had a dream one night that a friend had gone and gotten married to what I thought of as the most beautiful person inside and out that I had ever seen or encountered. Throwing it in my face or at least trying to. But I didn’t imagine my life in longevity with her as a result of it. And I had come to terms with that. And that was taken from me. Marriage was on the table. GONE. Fidelity was on the table. GONE. Family was on the table. GONE. And it was kept from me because of the fear of “How I would respond or feel,” But then I realized they didn’t know my strength. I could just wake up and realize it was a dream. Forget if it was real. Don’t even engage in the fantasy is how I started to feel and treat myself. I told myself “Even if this is just a dream, I don’t ever want to be around her again.” What if I told you that there were more than one of those dreams? More than one of those people in the dream doing the same things over and over to hurt me. Trying aspects. And angles. Just to please their disease of the mind. I am sure, what you’re selling as a fake friendship will be of value to someone else. But I never made that feeling real until I dreamt it again. They cannot say that it hurts when your intent was to hurt me in the dream. My guard up in reality. I wanted the same respect I had bestowed on them in real life. And knowing I would not get it is fine with me. I have no expectations.
In being all honest and open with myself, what could she have said in the dream other than “I am sorry I fucked someone you were interested in?”
My response: “What else is new. You’re no different than most friends with devious selfish desires. Be at peace with my absence in your life is all I truly ask. And kindly. It hurts when I think about what you have done. I don’t mind being around you when the universe makes that happen. Not someone playing like they’re God. But I had to get out of my soul how you made me feel. How I knew the true testament was if I was bleeding, you would be nowhere to be found. And that’s fine. God is always around. You were never more concerned than me or my God when it came to securing my family, finding shelter or a husband. And that’s not to blame on you because life happens. I just have to choose a healthy trajectory. There’s a reason for the dream, and it’s likely concerning secrets you will never unfold with me.” It’s like this: you would be the type of friend immense pride in having relations, let alone a relationship with that man I crushed on or adored in front of a wall I painted art on (and there are many); versus wanting the ultimate desire to be seeing me married in front of my own mural. Because the marriage is what I would have been coming to you whining about as a woman. Not being able to find love. You would use that as a weak point and find solace in taking that from me and being as devious as possible. And I don’t hold resentment for the friendship or what it could have been. I just have emptiness.
I think the most encountering challenge is for someone to not recognize how wholesome I am. And for that I have no patience and truly apologize if that hurts you. But knowing that you can bare your soul to me and trust me makes me know what I am worth to you; in my own eyes. But I don’t necessarily recognize what I am worth to you in your eyes because you refuse to break down barriers and boundaries. It is not my innate refusal to break them down, it is an old challenged oligarchy. This is why. An oligarchy is defined as a government for the few. What if me, you and what is ‘ours’ is considered ‘the few’? And within that government we need alignment, representation, respect, honor, and honesty. But I am not getting that. It feels like I am battling a different subset in which you refuse to see my respect for a relationship and the depth I require in said relationship. Otherwise, I feel no alignment. And we have no government to supercede ourselves. We are not working together in a sense. You sit on your side of the bed and I sit on mine. You don’t see it as simple as I do. Pull the covers off and look in my face. But it’s an excuse to you, that you sympathize with. You don’t see it as a venture for you to save my soul from myself. And by saving my soul from myself, I mean crying for 12 hours because I am frustrated at how little you truly understand me or how little you want to give effort to that understanding.
Mesmerized by the health of going with the wave. I know the motivation to be better and more productive should be there. What if it was a jump start on eternity that I feel is most productive? You might feel like a jumpstart on tonight and nothing else is productive enough. And so, I cry more. There is no depth. No 20,000 leagues like I dreamed. And I was taught to dream big, if not in reality, then in fantasy. Taking forgiveness as the true battle of the war with myself. Not that I don’t want to be forgiving or forgiven; but I worry about not being taken in general.
Sit on the toilet and take a shit while I sing. That is love to me. You be the DJ. And yet, I cry when that’s never completed. My grandmother used to say “I don’t know how you feel unless you tell me.” But I was always expecting someone else to come in (not necessarily in her place) and know how I feel without me telling them. My kids do. But it was me realizing that you don’t depend on my blood supply or my safety or well-being in the same way that they do or my grandmother did. My strength can be something very foreign to you. And yet fragility is a word you refuse to associate with me. It wasn’t me forgetting I am the fragile twin, it was me not wanting to read into that. Wanting to always stay strong.
Strength can come in numbers. And I sometimes view it as minutes. Minutes and moments in time that provide clarity and recollection of who I can be with love around me. To know that my mental illness with depression and anxiety and ptsd is not a reason to pull myself further from people. But the grief eats at my soul. Grieving who I was before all of experiences in life that made more emotional than ever before. I might walk different, talk different; seem stronger. But still just as fragile, if not more and entirely more emotional. A leaf falling from a tree could make me cry. It makes me wonderous at times and wandering at others. For fear I need a wander guard in real life because you might not want me. And maybe I will misread your need for space, and leave entirely. But as a man is that fair to you? It’s not, and so I cry even more. Because by that time, I have already figured out I locked myself in handcuffs and can’t really move just yet. Where is the key someone might ask? The key is time. Inquisitions. Questions. Mannerisms. Acts of kindness, love. Endearing concerns for my wellbeing and that of my family. I guess these are things I would not want to bypass and ignore. So I pace on the depth of my sadness at times. I am that someone and someone has to right? I often wonder if I am too harsh with my boundaries. Too impatient with myself. I just want my home back. And right now my home in my heart is shattered. I thought I could have protected my home from the tornado inside my mind when I broke down on March 18 2025. And never forgetting what my heart felt like at that time. It wasn’t the first time I had broken down and cried like that. I thought it was maybe because I am so close in proximity to where I grew up and I miss my grandmother’s presence often when I need to be cared for. She would sing to me “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”
The house that is my heart was torn and breaking down. But I could feel the windows shattering. Exposed, I felt. Even in a room by myself and homeless as I am right now, I could feel the roof caving in, in my heart. Stay strong I whispered to myself. The front door to my heart padlocked and it was a whirlwind inside my heart, mind and soul. Stay strong for your children. Eventually a landlord will get back to you about a house. Everything else will fall into place. As God intends.
Momma changes, but my love and motivation and strength as a mother never will.
I disregard the ignorance of others when it comes to my blog. I can reupload posts from 2008. But I don’t need to prove anything to you when you’re insecure enough to question dates of a blog that I build.
XOXO,
El’Aundra
