I Find Myself Longing For Change And In The Bad Times I Fear Myself

Monday I had a friend over and I got so drunk. Something I’ve done less than a handful of times in my entire life. Drinking is really not something I find desirable shall we say. Anyways, life has been stressing me out more than normal and so I just let it all go. Nothing crazy happened that night but I mention it only so that when I say I missed two calls from the prison, you’ll understand why. It’s because I was so drunk I spent the night caressing the porcelain throne as opposed to watching for calls lol.

I remember being slightly upset when I saw the missed calls on my phone but it was right when I started to feel sick and the nauseated feeling definitely outweighed the sorrow of missing a phone conversation.

Which brings us to Wednesday, when I’m at work. AT WORK!!! And the COMPANY PHONE RINGS, and its the prison number. At work, on the company phone. Not even my own personal cell phone number anymore. This time, it was a female prisoner calling from somewhere in the country (I can’t remember now but I know I recognized the name of the city at the time of the call) but it was registering as the same number that calls my phone. I guess all the prisons use the same outgoing number? I’m not sure. Either way, I answered the call. Apparently it was some girl looking for her aunt. She asked if I was Anne. Nope I’m not. Then she asked if I was someone else (can’t remember I was so in shock, like literally what in the world was going on) so I said no. And she said she was looking for her aunt and I said sorry I can’t help and basically hung up. I was at work and this was just getting crazy now. Then I just let out one of those shocked laugh/chuckle things which led my co-worker to ask what happened, so I explained what happened.

So my boss A storms around the corner ‘that’s not funny’ ‘this has to stop’ Insinuating that I’ve arranged this somehow, or I have power over when the phone rings. Look I’m at work doing my job answering the phone YOU told me to answer. But he just kept going on and on about how if ‘they’re tracking me, and now know where I work, and are calling me here, then they are probably tracking him and my co-worker and it puts everyone in danger’. Etc.

I’m like don’t flatter yourself buddy. Trust me. No one has any interest in you. But good to know your a little bitch who lives in fear. But instead of feed his fear, I did my best to calm him down and explain it was a misdial and it was a girl from a different prison and she was looking for her aunt and all I did was answer the call so he backed off. For the moment. But then throughout the day he used our inter-office messaging system and it kept popping up on my computer…

‘Any more calls like that and you must report them to me immediately’

‘The likelihood of those calls being unrelated are highly unlikely’

I just kept thinking dude just back off and let me do my work. Right now, your causing more of a disturbance and threat to my peace than those calls ever did. I’m sorry you search out fear and panic, but I’m just going to move on and forget about it. If something happens then I’ll deal with it then. But for now, I’ve got enough REAL junk in my life that I’m not gonna create delusional shit in my mind.

So. Lol. Anyone else have ‘random’ prison calls at work and home?

-Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper / Shallow-

Pardon Me Your Epidermis Is Showing Sir I Couldn’t Help But Note You’re Shade Of Melanin

Ok… So feel free to keep reading. In fact I would encourage you to, but I will warn you now that this post will most likely offend some. But, we all know by now that won’t stop me from writing it.

These last few days, this whole race issue has been heavy on my mind. Between cutting out my own family members and dealing with fall out from that, as well as realizing people’s true stance on the issues that have been arising, it just feels like it’s definitely been at the forefront of every waking moment since the weekend.

So I’m going to lay it out here, because this morning, my boss made a comment, that I had to ignore in the moment, and to be honest at the time it didn’t seem like a big deal and I’m sure we’ve all heard similar statements and brushed them off as well. But as the day has worn on, it’s been bugging me.

My co-worker was basically just making conversation and made a comment about what was going on in the States (Charlottesville etc.) and my boss was basically like “yeah… whatever” and kinda shut down the conversation before it could even begin.

Now as I’ve been thinking about it, I’ve realized it’s that exact action, the action of in-action, is the definition of white privilege. By “avoiding politics” or wanting to just stay out of it, because in your “perfect” world it doesn’t affect you, that is privilege in action.

You are proving to the world that by being a white, well off man, you have nothing to worry about, and therefore you can just brush aside the worries or concerns that the rest of the world is facing. You don’t have the fear that your race, gender, religion, beliefs or any of that will lead to anything of consequence for you.

You don’t live in fear of bigotry, deportation, segregation, or random police checks that could end in beatings/murder. You’ve never had to fight for your life. You didn’t struggle to find a job with people judging you on your melanin, or where you were born, or your hairstyle for that matter, let alone a solid well-paying career.

You think that by staying out of it, you are fine, and will not be affected, and that is 100% true. Your life will not change one bit, by you ignoring the struggles of others. You will not know the pain of walking down the street and being called names based on your skin colour. Your days will continue on as they always have, easy breezy lemon squeezy. That is white privilege.

And I get it. I totally obviously do. Maybe not to the extent of my boss being that he’s male, but I’m a white woman living in a fairly white society, and I have a good paying job and a house and a car and life is good for me. But I have also been on the other side of things.

I was a white woman in Kenya.

I was lower than low. I was a woman, which is difficult enough even for Kenyan women, and I was white. I was a Muzungu. I walked down the street and had that insult hurled in my face on the daily, among MANY others.  It’s the equivalent of being called a N****r here in North America but for whites. Not everyone appreciated me being there. They thought I was there to steal their jobs and their money and whatever else goes through a racists head. I had to walk with E or my farm boy or a crown of neighbors when I went to town for my own safety.

So when I talk about white privilege, yes, I get it. I have it. I am privileged here in Canada. But I am actively choosing not to be blinded by it. I know from personal experience how it feels to be judged by my skin color, and nothing else.Those people in Kenya didn’t know anything about me other than the fact I was white, and still assumed I was a horrible individual based on that fact alone. And since then, remembering how I felt, the feeling of being unsafe, or almost in constant fear, I have consciously made a decision to never judge anyone based on skin color, tone, hair, or where they were born etc.

I will however form my opinion of you based on how you treat myself and other humans around you.

So yes, I understand “politics” can get annoying, or draining and you don’t want to talk about it sometimes, but that’s what privilege does. Makes you think you are safe and secure in your own little bubble. Allowing you to feel it unnecessary to join in with these situations.

But I’m saying maybe step out of your bubble for a second and stand back to take a look at the actual shit going on in the world. Not to fan the flame and spread hate and oppression, but to support the people who need it. Especially if you are in a position to do so.


-DC Talk/Coloured People-

Mama She Has Taught Me Well Told Me When I Was Young Son Your Life’s An Open Book Don’t Close It ‘Fore It’s Done

So I took the kids to the park yesterday and as Z went off on the slide, Little E and I had our “conversation”

The whole “Why doesn’t Dad live with us?” question that he had asked me earlier in the day… I thought I had mentally prepped my answer, thought it through, and I thought I was ready to handle it in a way a 6-year-old would understand, without many follow-up questions.

I thought wrong.

We sat on a park bench and I told him that dad used to live with us and asked him if he remembers living in Kenya with him. He said oh yeah. I went on explaining that something happened between mom and dad, where dads imagination/brain made him think he was in danger a lot and at that time, his mind told him that mom was a bad person, so he hurt mom. So I made the choice that even though at the time I loved dad, I had to make sure you and Z, plus myself, were going to be ok. Because I didn’t know if dads mind was going to think up any other silly things that might hurt anyone else. So I took you, and Z and we moved out of the house where dad was, and back to Canada to live with Nanna and Nonno.

I wanted to make sure everyone was safe. And now, like I’ve told you before, dad takes medicine to help his voices go away, so he’s not scared anymore. But the medicine also makes him very tired. Which is why when he visits you and Z, he just likes to sit there and doesn’t talk much or have the energy to play with you.

This whole time Little E was taking it all in and asking a few questions here and there, but then he asked this ‘how did you disobey?’

It occurred to me that Little E STILL remembers what happened to me (he was unfortunately in the room) and also still views it as a spanking. I do spank my kids very rarely, but I don’t beat them like E did me. I think because I closely monitor what my kids watch on TV or see online etc, this was the only ‘violence’ he’d really known. So the only word he had to describe one person hitting another in any fashion, was spanking. And therefore, since I obviously don’t spank my kids for fun, he associated it with the fact that I must’ve been being disciplined for something I’d done wrong in the eyes of E. Totally reasonable though process for a 6 year old.

So I explained that (please bear with my very basic explanation, he’s 6 not 16, I had to make sure I was on his level) husbands and wives don’t have to obey each other like kids should obey their parents. Parents have to teach kids because you’re still learning and we are there to guide you. But moms and dads should be a team. Not one the boss of the other. I’m still on your team Little E, but I’m coach. There’s a difference. Ok? He kinda nodded but I think he still wanted to know what I did wrong to warrant such a ‘spanking’. Probably so he could avoid that behavior in the future and not get in such “trouble” himself.

But I reassured him that dads medication made sure that when he’s with Little E and Z, he’s ok. Meanwhile my mind is screaming out a million ‘what if’s’  And reminded him that we’re doing great and having fun living in our house with just the 3 of us.

That’s when he pulled out “Maybe I’ll have another dad one day, that would live with us!” And I said yep. (and then of course the tears welled up, seriously what is wrong with me these days) One day mommy will maybe start dating a man and then get married and you and him can talk about him being your dad. Because Little E, E will always be your dad, but… and then he interrupted and said ‘but then I could have two dads!’ With a big smile on his face. I said ‘one day, maybe.’

And in my head simply thought how much I wanted that for him as he joined his sister in the park.


-Metallica/Mama Said-

I’m Friends With The Monster That’s Under My Bed. Get Along With The Voices Inside Of My Head

Once E was served with divorce papers, he called me freaking out. It took over two months for my lawyer and I to get everything straightened out on paper and all the proper documents filled out, before he was actually notified on April 29, 2014. All the time between my flying back from Kenya and him being served, I think he thought I was joking, or just playing a game, hoping he would change or something. I honestly don’t know why he was so surprised that I actually filed for divorce. When I say I’m going to do something, I do it…

But, those papers started a whole myriad of amazing lies on his part.  Time after time I was left speechless at the items he put in his “sworn statements.” Things he “promised” were the truth, and it just confirmed to me how much of a liar I’d been married too.

First and foremost, he claimed, under oath, that he had caught me IN BED with our farm boy that Sunday morning back in January, but no violence occurred, and so he wanted to divorce me because of that. Seriously? At this point E, I don’t even care as long as I get out of this marriage to you. But then it went on to say that I had beat up his mother when I was trying to leave Kenya (claiming she had suffered a concussion) and that the incident with his father and the van never occurred. Oh common, I have picture evidence! Next, he said that I owed him some $21,000.00 for some reason, yet to still be determined. Haha for real? Dude, you haven’t held a long-term steady job our entire relationship! I’ve paid for practically everything in our lives, meaning houses/land, schooling, cars, and multiples cross-continental trips every time you had a whim that you wanted to move back and forth between Kenya & Canada. If anything you owe me a ridiculous sum of money. But I wasn’t asking for money. All I wanted was a life free from E. As soon as possible.

Life never works out like that though. Because after I left E, his mental health deteriorated quickly. He slowly stopped answering phone calls, and even texts became too much for him. He started missing meetings with his lawyer which delayed everything even more than necessary. I was finally on the phone with him one day after not hearing from him for a while to discuss a court date. I asked him how he was doing, knowing his past problems with anxiety. He shared with me then, that he was too scared to leave his house to even get groceries. I tried my best to convince him to get help, to find a Dr., or someone he felt comfortable confiding in to talk to, but nothing ever came of it.

Then, a couple of weeks later, he went missing. Not answering calls, or texts. He even missed showing up to a prearranged visit with the kids. So I got worried. Just because I no longer wanted to be the man’s wife, didn’t mean I wanted anything bad to happen to him (or anyone). So the search was on. He had been staying with a guy from work, who said he hadn’t seen him in a couple of days (also mentioned to me that E owed him rent money if I felt like paying for him, haha no thanks). I called his work, who said E didn’t show up to the plane to head up to camp for his latest shift. I called some of his family in Kenya, as well as his one brother living in the States… No one had heard from him.

So I ended up calling the police to file a missing person report. I explained that he might be dangerous, and that he didn’t have all his faculties at the moment. They, again, weren’t helpful. They explained that even if they did find him, they couldn’t do anything. E was a grown ass man. If he didn’t want anyone to know where he was, than the police couldn’t inform me of his whereabouts even if they did locate him. Fine. I was just trying to be helpful. It’s the middle of January and I’m thinking he’s out on the streets somewhere, afraid of life and no ones around to help. And so I felt bad. During this time, I felt bad for leaving him. I felt like I had been the stability in his life, and maybe if I had stayed with E, then his illness would’ve never progressed to this point. I felt like my leaving him had “pushed him over the edge” so to speak.

But then a phone call came. It was E, and he was on his way across the country. He told me he had sold everything he owed except what fit in one suitcase, and had bought a bus ticket to Ottawa. What??? WHY??? Oh, C. Don’t ask a mentally ill person to explain their actions… because then you get answers like the following…

He felt like people were out to get him, and so he didn’t feel safe where he was. Umm Ok? Why Ottawa though? Two reasons, he has one old friend from Kenya who lived there, and the Kenyan Embassy was located there. What the heck was the Embassy going to do? You need a Doctor! I couldn’t hear much else over the phone so our call was ended abruptly since the bus was going through a tunnel of sorts, but I knew he was at least alive. I called his family to let them know where he was and to let the friend in Ottawa know to expect E. I had to then call the police and cancel my missing person report, even though I knew they had been putting zero effort into finding him regardless.

Another two months or so went by with no word from E. Until finally one day I receive an email from his email address, but I knew right away it wasn’t him who had written it. “He” asked how the kids were doing and also needed some paperwork from me. I emailed back asking where he had been for the last month, and who was writing his emails and then they whole story came out. Kinda… Well as good as it gets with this man.

According to E, after he got to Ottawa, he somehow found his old rugby buddy and stayed with him for a bit. But the “voices” became too much for him. And the paranoia was so bad, that his friend found him one morning sleeping UNDER the bed to hide from whatever was out to get him. So at that point, his friend took him to the hospital. Where he’s been officially diagnosed with a severe case of paranoid schizophrenia, depression and extreme anxiety. He was locked up in the psych ward, fed a concoction of medication, and hadn’t had access to his phone or email until that day, since he had earned access outside the ward. His therapist had helped him write the initial email to me.

In some ways I felt relieved that he was finally getting help. I felt like it validated my feelings of frustration. Trying for years to make a marriage work. A relationship work. But constantly feeling like I wasn’t getting through. Feeling like he was never listening to me. In a way, he never was. He was listening to all the voices in his head. The voices telling him everyone was against him. That I was against him. It explained a lot, and although it didn’t forgive his behavior, it made me feel like less of a failure. Like I had done all that I could, but he was legitimately ill. I could’ve tried ’til I was blue in the face, but nothing would’ve helped our marriage. Not until he received the proper care he needed, and I and others had continually suggested. And now he was getting it.

E was held in the psychiatric ward in Ottawa for about 4-5 months. The doctors called me a few times asking for a little background information, and informed me of his treatment plan. I had to explain many times that we were no longer a couple and that no, I wouldn’t be helping him once he was released. E ended up staying with his friend in Ottawa for about 3 months once he was released from the ward to maintain his follow up visits. The Doctors wanted to make sure he was continuing up on his medication and counselling, letting me know that there is no cure for his condition, and that he would be on medication for life. Also letting me know that a relapse is likely, and that if there was a history of violence, there was a strong possibility of more violence.

E’s friend was fine with having him stay there, but after a while, I could tell that he was getting a little frustrated with E’s extended stay, and I had to break it down to E in the simplest of terms. He couldn’t live with his friend forever. His friend was married with two kids, and although I’m sure they’d enjoyed this time to catch up, he and his wife probably wanted to get back to their own life. E was able to call his old job and get his previous position back for himself, even though his hours/duties had to be modified as per doctors orders. I was probably just as glad as his friend was for him to start back at work, because I’d been missing out on child support payments for the last 8-9 months.

Now that E is on medication, he is a little more reliable as far as payments for the kids go, but the medication has changed him. He is constantly tired and has gained a solid 75 lbs is not more. His thinking has slowed dramatically and it’s like talking to a kid, which is ironic, because that’s how I felt dealing with him before. When he does get to see our kids (about once a month) he takes them to the same place and just sits there while he watches them play. Actually, now that I think about it… that’s pretty much how he was before minus the weight gain. So not much has changed.

Cest La Vie


-Eminem/Monster-

I Remember All The Feelings And The Day They Stopped

Last summer (2016), after I bought my own house (Yeah me!), I fell back into old habits (Boo me). Like they say, old habits die hard. I hadn’t slept with anyone since I had left E almost 2.5 years ago, since I had more important things to focus on, like school and my kids and just adjusting to being a single mom.  So I was just really wanting that feeling of someone else in bed with me. I was looking for a companion… kinda. Nah that’s a lie. Lol I just wanted to be fucked really good. You know that really good sex where you forget everything else that’s happening in the world and its just your body feeling so far beyond sensational you can’t move… That’s what I wanted. I wanted mind blowing sex that would make me forget the state of my crappy life. A lot to ask for from a guy I most likely met 5 face to face minutes before, but I was willing to take on that challenge. So of course I started looking in all the wrong places, which lead me to all the wrong guys. Duh.

With most of the guys I’ve slept with since last summer, I’ve held my hard and fast rule of one and done. We had our one night stand and you were maybe half decent, but it wasn’t the scandalous, mind blowing night I was looking for, so I’m moving on. Most of them.

But one guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was looking for friends and connections too, and it had been a while since he’d slept with someone as well. For reasons very different from mine. K (or C.J./F.P./G… seriously who the fuck needs that many names? Figure out who you are and run with it) had just gotten out of a 4.5 year stint in prison. Yea, I know how to pick ’em hey. But for real, I don’t judge anyone on anything. I have my own messed up past, who am I to judge.

Anyways we hooked up for the first time back in August the same way I meet all my guys and then somehow it never stopped. He called like a week later and I was honestly surprised to hear from him. He convinced me that for some reason we needed each other at that time. Then the calls continued and I started enjoying the late night chats that would last for hours. Then the meet ups became more and more frequent. We have both been through a shit ton of crap in our respective lives and it’s like we could understand each other without judgement. I thought.

We went out one time together in October. I had gotten tickets from work to an Opera and K agreed to go with me. Ohhhh that night. lol. I put way more effort into it then it was worth. At this time I had considered an actual relationship with K, but he was adamant about it only being a friends with benefits type thing. Which he told me flat out at the beginning. I was totally cool with that, but I was getting attached. It’d been so long since a guy had treated me with any type of kindness and I completely let unwarranted emotion overrun me. In more recent months, when I think about it, I realize the fruitlessness of K and I ever being anything long-term, but back then, I was still in the mindset of anything was better then nothing. Great reminder of how messed up I am when it comes to men.

So at the Opera, I was actually really excited to spend the night with him and to see how it went. K, on the other hand was super nervous. Let’s just say he’s not the Opera type. He’d just spent 4.5 years in Federal prison, and before that it’s not like he lived in the classy suburbs and frequented upper class shit like this. I didn’t either, but I think I was a little more prepared then him. He was so concerned about being the only black person there and felt so uncomfortable that he never even noticed how I had bought a new dress or straightened my hair, or any of the things about me that night.

So, I tried to make him feel at ease, stopping for food for him, even though it was going to make us late, which is a HUGE pet peeve of mine. Giving him a hand job during the performance. Making sure he had a couple drinks to relax, even though it was against his parole (not my problem). Then after the Opera, we went for pizza, and messed around outside the pizza joint before he had to head home. And that was my night. To be honest it was fun, even when he was swearing during the Opera and everyone was looking. 😉

Anyways, it was a weird enjoyable but stressful night that resulted in us deciding that we work better as just platonic friends.

So we were just friends. And somewhere during this time, I made an awful mistake and introduced K to my kids. I will always regret this, not because he treated them poorly, but because my kids love him, and I know how much it will hurt them when he’s done his parole and heads back home. He’s really good with them, and they have so much fun with him, that it hurts me to think about the pain they will go through when he leaves. They have no role model in their dad, and I’m not saying K is a great role model in the things he’s done in his past, but he spends time with them and makes them feel special when he’s around, which is more then their father has ever done. Little E wants to call K constantly, and I have to always make excuses about “K is working or busy” And Z is learning about family and always includes K in her list of family. Plus now recently she’s been making a list of who she wants to invite to her 4th birthday party. Yep you guessed it, K made it on the top of the list. Front and center.  I’ve tried talking to K about cutting off this friendship entirely (Something I’ve tried a couple times) to avoid the kids any deeper pain, but he keeps convincing me it’s better to have it for now then nothing at all or something like that. I dunno…

Either way, sometime in Feb/March 2017, our whole platonic friendship plan was thrown out the window again. He came over to watch a movie… and a drink or two was involved, and then clothes were off. Which led to whole emotional (on my part) conversations, and me feeling ridiculous. Because the reason he wanted to be just friends in the first place was because he didn’t feel like he was in a good place for a relationship now. But felt good enough to get back together with an old girlfriend for a few weeks while we were platonic. It just brought back all the old feelings of “I’m not good enough” again.

Like seriously what the fuck is so wrong with me that I’m undateable? Whatever.

The whole reason I started this particular post though, was because last night, K called. He said he can’t read my blog anymore. K is the only one in my life I have told about my blog and who knows me personally that reads it. Because we’ve been through enough together, and on my part I just tell him like it is, and he knows most of the junk in my life anyways… He tells me some of the stuff in his life but I also know he keeps a shit ton of it away from me just to protect me from the crap.

Now, apparently, my life is to crappy for him to read. He once told me he would be there for me no matter what, even when he goes back home next year when his parole is over. But now, he can’t even be supportive over the fucking internet let alone from back home. It’s like what am I supposed to say to that? Sorry my shitty life is to difficult for you to READ? Try living it?

I have always been there to support K, even when I didn’t want to. Even when he went through messed up junk I didn’t want to take part in. Because I thought that’s what friends did. I supported him even when he told me about why he went to prison, or even things he didn’t go to prison for. I was there for him during his search to get a job, and his struggles to adjust to life outside prison. I was there for him when he broke up with his girlfriend (although I told him honestly that it was hard for me to be objective in that circumstance because I was glad they broke up). I was there for him when he knew he was going to fail a piss test and thought he was going to get sent back to max for breaking parole. I watched him sleep on my couch for almost an hour to make sure he was still breathing after he had drank bleach to try and alter the urine sample to hide meth from showing up on a urine test (on the stupid advice of some other chick). All the while thoughts going through my head about what if he dies on my lap. Even simple stuff like going out to buy cables and driving over to boost his car. I’ve tried my best to be a good friend.

But no, he can’t read a post every once in a while. Among many other things I’ve realized. Like cancelling on important work banquets he promised (actually promised) to come to. Or agreeing to go to the shooting range only to bail out once he found out other friends would be there. Or May 19… It’s like being seen in public with me is to difficult for him.

Fine, I don’t want to ask to much of one man. But I thought if anyone could somewhat understand a life with as much pain as mine, it would be K.

Wrong again.

We may be kindred spirits so to say, but we are not on the same level.


-Our Lady Peace/Innocent-

 

 

 

No Matter What I Do, I’m No Good Without You 

Ahhhh, W. Many of you have asked me about W, and what happened to such a nice guy… why I let him get away. The fact is I never let him go, he was taken from me.

We met one night while I was out dancing with the girls after work. It was an impromptu thing and I was still dressed in my work clothes (black pants and white button up shirt, think server style 😒 mmm attractive hey?) and just wanted a night of fun. So a bunch of us headed to a club, as per usual. And there he was. We caught each other’s eye across the dance floor a couple times, he was with his guys and me with my group of friends. But within about 15-20 minutes he had made his way next to me and we danced for 2-3 hours straight. And that was it. We just danced. My all time favorite thing to do. He was good at it, I’m good at it (humble brag lol) and we just meshed together so well. We took a couple breaks to chill with our individual groups of friends that we came with, but we continued to find each other on the dance floor throughout the night. Until I had to leave. I was the designated driver like always, since I don’t really drink and had to get some friends home, so in a Cinderella type fashion I told him thanks for the night and that I had fun, and left without another word.

Well I guess that wasn’t enough for him. He started asking around within my group of friends remaining for my name and number, and I received a voicemail at work the very next morning. Swoon.

I was a little wary at first since he was almost a decade older then me, and I literally knew nothing about him other than his dancing skills, but I agreed to meet him for coffee later that week when we both had time and we hit it off amazingly. He was smart, kind, attractive, sensitive yet strong, always made me laugh, and made me feel like a queen 24/7. We went out the next night again to the movies and played some pool then to his place.

We spent every weekend on the same dance floor where we first met, and over the months our routine was pretty much guaranteed. Movies, dancing til close, back to his place, sleep, off to work, then repeat. I slowly started spending more nights at his place until I pretty much only went back to my place to pay rent and grab a change of clothes.

W was a very dedicated man who knew what he believed in. We debated often with passion, but we never argued. He knew my weaknesses and never exploited them. He knew what made me laugh and took joy in seeing me smile. He cared for me after I was raped, and even though I knew he wanted to exact his own revenge, he respected my wishes in how I wanted the situation handled.

I think he’s the only man who’s ever truly loved me.

And then he was murdered.

W was walking home from the club downtown one night while I was working late when there was a drive by shooting. W was an innocent bystander who was shot and died on the scene.

W had no family here since he had immigrated on his own years ago, so I was left dealing with funeral arrangements. I was now 20 years old and my boyfriend had just been killed at only 29 years old. I had been raped less then 4 months ago and now this.

I was overwhelmed to say the least. That’s when, after a few months after W passed away, I started sleeping around out of… well basically hatred of the world, however little that makes sense.

I felt like I had already had my happily ever after and no one would ever compare to W. So I started one night stand after another. After another. And another. And that’s when I met E. After however many men (I stopped counting, because I stopped caring) I met E, and pretty much threw in the towel.

Also explains why I’m not at all a fan of violence, although I don’t think that needs to be explained. Innocent people are hurt or killed all the time, and they leave behind loved ones. And maybe they aren’t innocent, maybe for some reason they were involved in some sort of shit. I still don’t think violence, of any kind, be it guns or fists or anything, is the answer to any of life’s problems. I think if you can’t figure out how to solve your issues with your mind/words, then your shouldn’t be fighting. You obviously don’t have the strength it will take to win.


-Rihanna/Love on the Brain-