Rambles.

So it's been a while, huh? I know, I know. I say that a lot. But the way my anxiety and depression are set up, I've been dealing with a lot of inner demons that I had no idea were actually preparing me for this very moment.

For a few years I've been suffering from depression and anxiety, I had no idea how bad I was until I was really bad. I'm talking about walking around completely unconscious of the physical things I was doing. I 100% do not recommend.  Consider it sleepwalking while awake, except I knew what I was doing as it was happening, but I was completely out of control of my body. By the time I snapped out of it, I was driving down the expressway and almost rear-ended an SUV in front of me and immediately burst into tears. I was looking for a place to die, but completely afraid of hurting someone else in the process. I had never been out of control like that before, and it terrified me.

Getting through college was a breeze compared to the shit I've been through since graduation in 2013. The twists and turns I've faced as well as the ups and downs, have put me in an almost constant sense of dread. I was someone who believed that if I worked hard everything would work out the way it was supposed to (ie. in my favor). I also had no idea there were so many people in this country who truly believed that someone's accomplishments didn't matter based on their skin color. 

I give 100% of the credit for my growth to the things I've witnessed and learned during my time on Twitter. Sometimes, being open to other people and their differing perspectives is really beneficial to the soul. You have to tread carefully these days, though. Misinformation is everywhere. But back to what I was originally talking about...

I first started this blog in 2009 I believe. I was fresh off my last real break up--I've had nothing but casual sex and situationships since. I wanted to start a relationship handbook, for myself more than others, because I needed a good homegirl talking to. Then I became overwhelmed with the number of "relationship blogs" that seemed to be sprouting everywhere from "life coaches" and "relationship experts," who, ultimately would pretty much all fall to their own demise after being outed as scammers and false prophets. Needless to say, I didn't want anybody coming at ME like I was pretending to be some kind of expert on some shit that I didn't completely understand myself--I mean, I was dumped the same night after having maxillofacial surgery by the last guy who promised to love me forever and be a great father to my kids--nothing was going well romantically in my life.

I had had a nice summer fling--we met at a photo shoot; he wore out his welcome really fast. I was focused on writing for this very blog, my college education, and achieving my goals. I had finally (somewhat) healed from being dumped at one of the most vulnerable times of my life--I mean, the man literally refused to come home because I had an attitude after my mom abandoned me with two toddlers, a five-year-old, and four gaping holes in my mouth. The screaming, the tears, the blood? A mess. 

Anyway, I was determined to give this writing thing a proper shot. I thought I'd be full of shit most days: fuck around, play with some ideas, just get the brain juices flowing and it would work into something magical eventually, right? Then I graduated from community college in 2011 and started freaking out about being taken seriously as a professional journalist. I didn't want people (read: potential future employers) to see some of the silly things I talked about and deem me unhirable because I didn't fit their market or whatever imposter syndrome crap I was drilling into my own head. I mean, no one had ever even said anything remotely BAD about the site. Most times, I got compliments from friends who read it (shockingly enough, cuz I really didn't expect people to take it seriously), and then I did the worst thing I could have ever done--I shut it down. 

It wasn't until my best friend Mark Salazar was murdered by Fayetteville police that I reinstated the blog. He really wanted me to keep writing. I thought he was just gassing me. I really miss our emails. He'd write me poems, and I'd just write about whatever I was feeling at the time and send it. He was the sweetest person. I miss him so much.

I started buying books on writing and developing characters early on. I'm constantly trying to improve my skills. Sometimes I put so much pressure on myself to be great I forget to just let myself be. I journaled every so often, but writing after my breakdown in 2016 has been tough, to say the least. I have hundreds of writing prompts and ideas on this site alone, but they're either not finished or I gave up before I got a good flow going and quit in a frustrated fit. 

Then the dreams started. For a long time after my breakdown, I would have some of the most emotionally disturbing dreams. I've since been diagnosed as suffering from PTSD, but I wasn't entirely sure what was going on. I've always believed my dreams were a connection to something else. I'm not entirely sure what because I can't really explain it, but I will say that while my breakdown was unexpected, I dreamed of uprooting my townhouse and moving everything in a rush at least a year before I even moved in. I hadn't even seen the place yet. The same thing happened when I was pregnant with my son in 2005. I dreamed of being raped, robbed and attacked in my would-be Bronx apartment, and the building burning down before I had ever set foot in the homeless shelter when I decided to live in New York City. Trying to figure out what it all meant was intense.

I'd relive moments where my parents were attacking me, physically, verbally, always while drunk or angry. It got to the point where I never wanted to go to sleep. Trying to maintain some semblance of "family" while surrounded by addicts in denial of the damage they're doing is exhausting. My mother went on to turn her back on me completely after I nursed her back to health while she suffered from pneumonia. I waited on her hand and foot at her bedside while I was unemployed, only to be told I was weak and wasn't worth a damn because I was going to therapy and taking meds for my mental health. She went on to kick my kids and I out of the house that summer because after that argument her air conditioner "broke" so I took my kids to my godparents' house so we could hang out in cool air (since she removed all the portable fans in the house and put them in her room because she was the "only person working, so she was the only one who deserved to be comfortable" after I got laid off that May. Needless to say, I'm absolutely positive the damage from my breakdown was extended because of having to cope with her daily. Like I said, the doctors didn't even pick up on the PTSD until after I got away from her. 

Since college, finding work has been hell. I have literal panic attacks when I think about working in retail again--I even stripped in 2017 to avoid having to do it. It was more beneficial to me: I'd get cute, work all night, dance, get paid for it, all while perfecting my pole tricks. The only downside was I was extremely tired all day, and I refused to use cocaine to perk myself up or stay awake. But I was losing weight like crazy, body was getting back right since I left NYC, and I was hella happy about it, but guess who didn't like it? That's right! Mommy Dearest. She called me a whore, screamed at me that I was abandoning and dumping my then 15, 11 & 9-year-olds on her (that's right. Read the ages again) and that I was "too educated" to be stripping for work like it was my fault none of the employers I'd been applying to had offered to interview or hire me even though I was sending out resumes and cover letters all the time. Needless to say, your girl is tired. 

I keep thinking this Rona thing was a marathon I've been training for all along. With the trio of unemployment, depression and anxiety keeping me house-bound for so many years now I feel like I'm made for this. I'm working on my very own King Lear.