The Tone of Recourse
The tone of this goes out to the people who have doubted me relentlessly.
Let me guess, you’re heartbroken. And by the time you read the rest of this, I cannot be blamed for the rest of the heartbreak. You don’t have to read it. I don’t choose to interrogate and blame someone. Just get better and be stronger.
If I told you what was on my heart, mind body and soul you would feel a type of way. Although I am not saying I write this with the intent to make you feel a certain way. I say this so that you have truth. And you know the pain I go through. Then you can have a peace of your own. Knowing all the while…
“I treated her wrong.”
That’s all someone wants people to realize. In most aspects it’s to be seen that you are going to change who you are regardless of if someone holds hope for you changing or not. And despite the pressure to be something I am not, to get angry, to sit down and say nothing; I do quite the opposite. Some are teachers of strength. And silence in measures we cannot see. Which I appreciate. I appreciate the solace and strength someone holds to control the world with a touch of infinite patience. Infinite grace. And do I do my best to exceed these expectations for myself? Yes. I do. But I falter. I do not seem as graceful as others want because of strength.
The desire for weakness was a real aspect of my life and relationships. Which winds me in a shadow of doubt and despair more than once. Calming effects of the life for which we desire, I have often found myself with nowhere to turn. I can call it pride. I can call it grace. But it is a reason that I never reached out and asked for help. I didn’t believe. I didn’t feel like the person could help me at that time without playing psychologically manipulating games that would wind me up in a tunnel of destitution. And there I would sit thinking this is it.
“Give up why don’t you.” I can hear those worthless voices saying in their day-to-day work. In their lives they enjoy so much while I sit in torment. A culture of desperation it has become. And sometimes in order to live, I have to consider not looking at someone with the glasses of judgement. Looking at the soul of the person. Why do they act the way that they do. No matter what that judgement may be. It could be race. It could be salary. It could be job title. But knowing the right way to turn and the right thing to choose is something that has led a path of importance in my life. And unjust action such as discarding my things and selling them off one by one can only burn the soul that does that when they want to see me out on the street because they are innately jealous of the talents I possess. It astounds me. You don’t have to be jealous. Don’t have to be threatened. I am humble and at peace.
What if I told you that my attraction is something that changes daily? What if I told you that someone I was in love with and going crazy over, and seriously attracted to last year is not the same person I would love today? Does that mean I am too damaged? Does that mean you have done too much? Does that mean you are going to do too much, and I already know that so I immediately shut down any form of attraction or dreaming as quickly as possible? Some have had the sudden realization that I will daydream about them and take advantage of that. They know I am a writer at heart, love singing (and pressure me to open that up to them and sing or read but I do the opposite). I SHUT DOWN). I will write poems about that shutdown. That breakdown where I cry out for my twin because I feel like that’s who I’m calling for when it comes to the other half of me. Not a man. For whatever reason, they still hold no interest in me or affection for me and entertain someone else. Largely to irritate me even more. But it doesn’t bother me at all.
“Let’s get some literary inspiration out of her.”
Not realizing that draining the energy from me and taking from me can innately take from them as well. It could have breathed life, had I not been so hurt. Had I not been so abused with words that I approach with trepidation in my sleep. So forsaken. And not being a fortune teller, I have no way of telling how they feel. I just know that I have a sense of adoration that needs to disappear. Because I feel attacked. I don’t feel adorned. Cared for. Honored. I feel exposed. I want to rid myself of you. So I can feel normal again. I somehow cannot be yourself around that person. It’s somehow impossible. So hard for me to comprehend. But it’s not incomprehensible that someone wouldn’t find inspiration for a script. Or a song. Or a book. It’s just those without boundaries, feeling like their access has no expiration. Like they themselves have a sense of entitlement to my peace.
Time heals wounds. And I have to allow myself to have the time and space to create. Nobody wants to create a masterpiece in a pile of dog shit. In literal or metaphorical terms it stains the very desire of them to be their most creative selves. And sometimes because of the God complex of others, they feel like they must test you and make sure you are ‘ready’… what if you were born ready. On your own terms. Because they are the terms God has set forth and he doesn’t directly share those terms with others. Why should or would he? That’s an entire level of disrespect and karma that stains art. It makes it daunting to look at that model. That singer. That actor. That artist. To know that they were played with so much because others were threatened of their success or talent that could be reached if they are allowed to direct their own creativity that was God given. But I believe that’s what makes you the best artist. Being able to sit at a table and be yourself. Without feeling played or played with. When you feel played or played with it’s much like arguing the value of morality aspects in Diversity Equity and Inclusion at a business perspective. Yes, there’s a bottom line. But making it all about money ruins perspectives of it. And brings forth bad karma.
knowing I have a beautiful body that I built on my own is justification for my own free will to accept myself. Not for you to abuse. But you being an outside person see my body as an object. And me as lucrative. For your greed. The bottom line being money. The morality being me wanting to love myself more than you ever could or would. If I adopt that aspect of life, and interrogate myself about how other people feel about my body I will feel hopeless. Because of your judgement. What about if I don’t care? I don’t care about your cough when I walk by? Your snickers? Your wayward eyes? Your cat-calling. And I just move through life as if your objective is to objectify me and my objective is to realize…myself.
Without people around you like this, you can have a sense of yourself. You can breathe. Live.
Sometimes people think that because of your disposition in life you aren’t worth anything more than what your salary grade is. Or what your last relationship was or measured up to. They feel like they can play with your options.
’Oh you have a bridge? Or veneers?’
‘I’m going to hook my boy that has dentures up with you. I don’t want you.’
I began to write about a character named Nola in a story in 2019 on a notebook. She had a family. Dreams of being married. Being an architect. An only child, she thought she was destined for more. Until her heart was broken for the first time and she came home to an empty house when all she had known was a husband and a dog. The dog was her child. The husband was her life. And it sent her into a spiral. She had friends that were in the nursing field but she never wanted to be a nurse because of how much pain she saw people go through. How much injustice there was in life sometimes. How could people be so hurtful, put a badge on, and play nice. So when she came home she would draw house plans. And her husband built her dream house with her. And that’s the house he left her in. If he had cheated, she had no clue. But coming from a place where her foster parents were drug dealers and had a trap house; she had aspirations of being more and felt like she was more. She believed in love. The guided touch of her husband made her think he was very faithful. Very kind. But there were life aspects of wisdom that made her know more about life than he knew about her.
That’s all I can share for now.
XOXO,
El’Aundra
