I imagined the feeling I felt in my body when he spoke was the same as cryotherapy. I felt chills is what I’m getting at. Listening intently wasn’t something that we were new to. But in the old light of who we were to each other’s past, it’s important you know I was secure in myself and who I was and what we were. I did not listen to the endless reckless banter those around me had. Because I knew what we had between is. What he told me is what it is. And I think I lost sight of that. Because it’s never been the way that other people are comfortable with. But it’s always been REAL. It’s a connection I don’t expect anyone else to understand. But I know we can talk for hours.

Let’s put it like this, if I am inspired by him then I can essentially use (not in any negative way of course) him as my personal motivation. And he has confirmed in past conversation that I was an integral part of his life. I like to sit in the light of that truth. I like to sit in the light of truth that our souls are kindred. No matter what happens. I have a friend, and he has the same.

We are given the tools to make friends rather early, but we are not taught how to keep them. We are not taught that there are so many different friends and people. Most importantly you can’t box people into one group. We keep friends by aligning ourselves with those who are on a similar path as we. The companionship in working towards a similar goal or milestone in life is wonderful. But the only person I need to ask about anything I’m not clear on that he said, is him. Nobody else has his perspective. Literally and figuratively.

I always assumed that pain was a part of life. I mean, when you go to the dentist, they offer the option to numb the pain. Who really says “No thanks!! I won’t take the Lidocaine today!” I tend to be hurt by the things I cannot change.

It was such a gloomy boring day for me. My mom was getting married. I remember my look on my face in the prison photo she has of all of us standing there. I was the only one without a smile. That day there wasn’t one to be found. My heart hurts when I think about why I was given this life with all of the struggles in it. And when I told people, they would always say

“Go write a book!”

As if that’s the easiest thing in the world to do. And do I have the patience to sit and do that? The answer was of course hell no at the time, but now I am looking at it differently. My grandmother died in 2005. On December 31. I am numb on Christmas Eve. She took care of my brother and I when my mother lost custody of us. But even with her, she was always on my ass about something. Always riding my ass. I mean, I just could not get a break. My brother was a kiss ass on the other hand and was treated as such. So when I turned old enough to go live with my mom I jumped. I mean, what teenager wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to go live with a parent that didn’t really keep an eye on you? This was back in the AOL Dial-Up Internet days. When chat rooms were so cool. To think that there were probably 42 year old creeps behind the screens. So I packed my things and went to go live with my mom. It felt like freedom. I guess it felt like love too. I don’t think about it now without tears coming. That was really all I wanted from that woman. Was real, honest love.

When she met her husband (to whom she is still married to), we were the first to know his credentials. Which were not impressive by any means. He was in prison for murder. Cold blooded murder. Ahhh, our stomachs were turned the fuck out. We “liked” him because we didn’t really have a choice. She kind of forced it on us. And even when we lived with her when she moved to live closer to the prison he was in, she would try and get us to go on what they like to call “trailers” (visits that prisoners can get with their families and the family stays in the “trailer”. It could be a dorm type of room too). I never went. I was scared.  She would try and ground us if we didn’t go. That shit was not flying with me.

My beauty had a jump around 17 and 18. Always got attention. Tall, long legs, yellow-boned, long hair… I had it going on. And so her husband would make some really disrespectful comments sometimes. I could never understand why. I can’t say that I was naive I just didn’t think it would happen to me. I remember one day she came and talked to me about her husband wanting her to start a “photography” business. I was always into photography. But this wasn’t the click and send to a gallery type of photography. She was talking about taking pictures of us (My sister and I). My sister was 15 at the time. I was 17. I was floored. What? What? Whatttttt???? My answer was no. Even when she tried to hook me up with another prisoner there. My answer was no. My sister has always been gifted. A kind heart for sure. Too kind. And she’s unaware of the ways of the world so her mind has always been a couple steps behind. When my mom asked her she obliged… To anything she asked. I felt the guilt. I knew what it was like to be controlled by this woman. Hell, being the oldest of 6; I knew her better than anyone. But how could she? How could she do that to her daughter?

It came time for another trailer and my mom asked my sister if she was going to go. To which she said yes. I never had good feelings about these bullshit “visits”. It later came out, when we were grown and on our own that something happened to my sister. See, to understand where the story is headed, you have to understand where it began…

My mother has an amazing voice. And the story is that she had a full scholarship to Juliard contingent on her graduating high school. She had dreams of being an Opera singer. Those dreams never became a reality because she got pregnant at 17 with me. The spiral was all downhill from there. Drugs were appealing to most people back then and she was no exception. They began to consume her life. And so she lost custody of me when I was almost 2. She never regained it from there. And I don’t believe she ever really tried. My grandmother told us at a very young age about my mother’s mental illness. With my grandmother having a degree in Psychology, it was something that she was familiar with. Schizophrenia. I remember the word being a very long one. Being a Spelling Bee champ, even I had some difficulty with it when I first tried to say it. Nana was forthcoming with the description of Schizophrenia. I remember “Multiple Personalities” being one of the key points. Her explanation for that fit my mom’s behavior to a T. Her radical ups and downs. And it seemed like she would just “switch.” The switching wasn’t discreet that’s for sure. It was very noticeable. I always felt ashamed of the way my mother would act sometimes. So ashamed… I hated going out in public with her. I hated when she would talk to us in that horrible way. It was all a mess. One thing I can say is that nothing is as it seems with that woman. She will say one thing and mean another. Which is why when she came into my room that night and said “Lonnie, I need to talk to you”, I was apprehensive. The talk surfaced and concerned a trailer that she had just gotten off of and my sister had gone on. “She wants to fuck my husband and I am not having it! That is so disgusting. She acts like a little whore. My husband wanted to try something with her but he said she was too fat for him.”

By now your mind is reeling right? You read right. “So you’re saying your husband was going to have sex with her?”

“No”, she stated with firm irritation. “She was coming onto him and he refused.” From there I just wanted the conversation to end as quickly as possible. I was disgusted. I’m pretty sure I just dismissed her entirely (as usual) and went about my business.

Now, this conversation transpired over 10 years ago. But my mind put something together. I remember all the times my mom would be like “Night, I am going to bed.” and we would sneak out of the house. She was heavily medicated and on sleeping pills which would knock her the fuck out. To the point you could shake her and she wasn’t waking. So in some cases… if you have a script for a medication, you can take that medication on a trailer with you so long as it’s in the original bottle and you have the pamphlet that shows the photograph of the pill. Well… I thought to myself a couple years ago, “If she was knocked out like that when she’s sleeping how does she know her husband didn’t do anything to my sister while my mom was sleeping?” This was especially a possibility after going through what I went through with his creepiness. I always maintained a level of IDGAF when it came to her and her husband. But I didn’t believe what she said about my sister. When I asked my sister she denied it and I would just tell her that if she needed to talk then I was here.

If she needed to talk. Those few words have burned a hole in my soul ever since.

My phone number hasn’t changed in so long. Which is a good thing. Shows stability right? Not always. In this case it showed vulnerability. The phone call that I got was nowhere near the type of call I wanted. The conversation was heavy, sticky, and dark. It was him. Her husband. Let’s fast forward to the part that matters. The rest is filler and will be in another segment.  “Have you ever fantasized about someone and never been able to tell them?”

“No” I said

“Well what would you do if you did? Would you tell them?”

“Huh?” I said. I really had no fucking idea what this moron was talking about.

“Well I am the type to be blunt and tell it like it is. I’m not going to beat around the bush. I have fantasized about you ever since I met you.”

Those words were like little knives in my skin. I was 13 when he met me. T H I R T E E N.  “Don’t ever call me again. Lose my number. I don’t ever want anything to do with you.” That red button to end the call couldn’t be pressed quick enough. My heart sank. I felt violated. Alone. Ashamed.

The conversation with my mom went the way that most conversations go when girls come to their mom and say that their husband has touched, fantasized or violated them. I mean, think about it… How many stories have you heard where the mom was supportive, strong and took her daughters side and divorced the sick fuck? Hardly ever. I will never forget the words that came out of her mouth… “Well, I don’t know what he said because I wasn’t there. He said he didn’t say that and I believe my husband. He wouldn’t do something like that. Why would he be interested in you anyways?!”

Well my sentiments exactly. I felt like I lost 2000 brain cells after talking with her about this. She was so oblivious. The conversation stopped there. Forward to now, I got a phone call from her. She was asking about my kids and wondering how they were doing (pretending to care). I told her they are fine. She said “I wish I could move up there and help you but my husband said he doesn’t want to deal with any drama”

“What are you talking about drama ?”

“Well the stuff with the letter.”

“What letter? Seriously, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You know, when you wrote that letter to him.”

“Well it wasn’t a letter at all, so lets get rid of that idea. And it was when he called me and told me he has fantasized about me since he met me.”

“Well either way, he said he doesn’t want any drama. He would never come right out and say that I couldn’t move up there but I just know he doesn’t want any drama. You know? I wasn’t there to see or hear anything so I don’t know what was said.”

I couldn’t get off that phone and end that conversation soon enough. Typical response. Typical reaction. 

I said goodbye. I think I meant it this time. I want that word to mean something to me. And as long as I continue to allow to be treated like shit by her and her husband, “goodbye” will always be a temporary end to a conversation. I want it to be permanent.

*Note: I personally have to have 6-8 shots of Novocain. But I had one shot of Lidocaine for an abscess and it helped. Totally different feeling/effect.

“If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” -Romans 12:18

I found this quote today. I correct myself, I think the quote found me. It has been so difficult to adjust to the new way of thinking that promotes peace in your life. Peace in your life is so hard to find, and even harder to keep.

People always say “I don’t want drama”… if you have to make that statement, you more than likely enjoy having drama in your life. I do not feel the need to tell someone that I do not want drama. You can see it. My actions speak to it.

I truly believe if in the mind of someone that is unhappy with themselves or their lives; they believe that they are doing all the right things by “hating” on you and what you are doing. Why is what someone else does so much of our business? Why do we care so much? Why not just worry about what you have going on? It’s too easy to do that. I feel honored when someone decides to talk negatively about me. That means I am renting space in your head, and I welcome that. But it is much healthier to worry about yourself.

I am so excited about this journey of peace that I am on. Everything you do doesn’t need a reaction. It just doesn’t. I no longer want to do things that please other people. I want to be pleased with myself. I want myself to feel like MY SELF. There is your quote of the day from me… “I want myself to be MY SELF.” I believe in manifestation. I truly believe that if you want something to happen you must work to make it happen.

It’s amazing how exhausted you are after having a child… I don’t remember too much of the pain from my first. More of the reason being that it was 8 years ago and less of the reason being how busy I was. Even though I was entirely young and clueless. Jax was an unexpected emergency c-section. And Nev was natural. These two different experiences have completely shaped how I feel about childbirth… I don’t want any more children right now. I have experienced both ways of having them, I have a boy and a girl; and they are both wonderful.

Recovery has become something of a soirée of sorts. I have tried my hardest to sit still and relax while the boyfriend is taking care of Jax, but the impossibility of it is overbearing so I get up and do something to keep busy. Keeping busy is what I have done since I got out of having my c-section. I had Jax at 11:05pm and was in my private room by 3am. Sleeping until 8 the next morning. It wasn’t the best sleep in the world, but it was completely drug filled and foggy. I could barely walk, had these balloon space boots on my feet and ankles to help with blood flow, and I was overly irritated. I had to have help with everything. But when they told me that they wanted me to walk later that day, I was game. I was on board with that, and from that moment forward, until my discharge day; I was busy as a bee. And it felt great. The Dr saw my progress and took my staples out on Day 2. I can’t say that this is the experience I was told about, nor was it the experience that everyone has…but it was definitely something to remember.

I often find myself hallucinating at 3am because I have been up for so long and have quite totally lost my mind. I can’t wait for him to fall asleep so I can get an extra couple minute of sleep. I often forget that babies don’t like cold bottles and dread dragging my sleepy ass to the microwave to warm his bottle. These are the common musings of the beginning of life with a newborn baby. But when he sleeps, he does sleep well. And how could you not like that? His schedule is getting much better. I feel like babies are really good with making their own schedule. With the boyfriend’s work schedule sometimes it’s hard because Jax likes to be wide awake at 3 am and Daddy has to be to work at 6:30 for a 14-hour day. But how does mommy make this work? I sleep on the couch. I have a memory foam pillow and fuzzy blanket stored downstairs just for me. These days are cherished, and I wouldn’t trade for anything.

I am actually watching a brand-new episode of SNL… I am actually awake to watch this awesome show… Fantastic!