The days spin – it’s always a whirlwind. I have gotten to a place in my life where I find the most comfort in the .50 paint that I scored from Amazon mixed with the perfect amount of cannabis and coffee. My go to daily survival kit. People say the days are long, but I sit here wishing I could get just a few more hours in. I never seem to have the time to get everything done in one day – and still confused on how that is – especially since I haven’t working in 15 months. Yes, 15 months. Not COVID related. I went from working my ass off on a daily basis, overdosing daily in other people’s bad attitudes and lack of drive, to now sitting here oversharing videos I’ve created to make myself feel as though I have some type of job. This, my blog. Created a few years ago to help me pass the time, and now that is what consumes my time. The blog created Momma Rapper and with Momma Rapper became an identity that made me feel more confident in who I am. That little sliver of my soul that has been having me hold on over the years. The one that repeatedly tells you that you are loved, despite the world telling you different. The one I have to will to the surface. She does not come without work. I wish she did. Momma Rapper is like the perfect storm for me. She comes in, swoops down, whisks me away with strength. When I am her, I am strong, I am all I am destined to be. It just sucks that side of me doesn’t stay as prevalent as the rest of the self doubters I have carrying around in my head. There seems to be balance coming though. Not sure if the balance is coming from all of the therapy – from an actual therapist – or from my self therapy – but either way – I have been working at both. To be quite honest, I am consumed by both.
My inability to re-acclimate to society has been a serious struggle. My temperament changed, some for the better, some for the worse. For a while, I had my hand on trigger. Now I have at least sat it down, and trying to have the discussion on how to disarm and disengage the feelings. This is all metaphorically speaking of course, and if you don’t understand the reference – then I am not sure this view of my dark side will really be for you. Life is about life and death, and in my reality – we discuss both. And in my reality I was listening to my daughter speak about life, and her lack of interest to continue living. She started the sentence with “no suicidal shit but I really don’t care to be living anymore”. It was incredibly hard to not respond with “on some suicidal shit, same” Instead I responded with the “sometimes life, it is hard, is is painful, but with that will also come love, and there will be a moment to when things are different, and you won’t feel that way”
I’m 40 years old, and while I live a settled lifestyle, I am still not settled. We are still blessed, but looking back – reflecting – I could have just done so much better – for her. I worked two jobs most her life – and I still to this day – haven’t been able to give her the sense of security with purchasing property – and the dream – that now may never be a possibility.
You might ask, why not got back to work. Well, let’s get to that too.
Well we never did get to that because well, life is life – and distractions happen and that is that.
Yes, we will circle back around to that – but right now I am having a moment and I need to channel my energy, so here we are. Channeling them into this possible Chapter 4 of The Need, or possibly a whole new book in itself – who knows.
Sometimes I wish I did.
Today has been a rough day.
A fight has ensued.
The cops were called.
And no, not for anything to do with me, but like all situations – the ripple effect has begun. The waves, as the always do, come crashing down on my shore.
I can be there, listening to the quietness of the peace I have brought into my life, and have sustained. And then, off in the distance, an explosion. I hear it before I see it. The noise, it startles me. I look up, and bam, I can see the flames burning what ever structure was there. The smoke billowing up in the air creating really a beautiful array of colors, that are also equally as terrifying.
I can see the water starting to come in further, closer to my feet. I realize I need to stand up. I do.
Even as I stand, I see the water rises up my ankles, the sand becoming softer.
I look up, numb.
Absolutely no emotion, pen in right hand, notebook in left.
Expected, but not expected.
The lack of emotions, nestled deep within my eyes. A place I have been before, all too many times.
A place I am all too tired of being in.
A place I believe a lot to be in as well.
The history repeating itself over and over and over, just in a different capacity every time.
I had to look at two young people, aruging over the weekend. Clearly signs of toxicity. Mainly alchohol it seems, at least for this occasion.
Being 40 and looking at the same situation on the outside of a 20 something year old and her significant other is definately a challange.
I also wander often, is this how my moms feels when I talk to her? Do I talk to her with such haste? I try to remember, but memories with me and my mom really circle around one of the last interactions with her.
I like to call those memories, my trauma bond memories.
You know the memories that isolate around the bad – and not the good.
I often feel horrible for my mother.
How confusing it must be to be in her position.
Most in my family, the view me as the erratic, drama surrounding, loud one.
The crazy one.
They are absolute right.
Never once disputed or argued that point.
My therapist referenced Mozart and Einstein in one of our sessions.
But how fucked up is that theory. My vast array of creative ideas is the reward of my mental fuckery. But my mental fuckery is why I create. So which came first? The goose or the egg?
Was I born creative, or has my creativity been a way for me to escape for as long as my memories hold me?
I guess we will never know…
For my memories are held.
From even me.
How beautiful and blah is that at the same time?
How beautiful is it that the surviving mechanism of a brain is the body’s ability to escape mentally? The brain’s ability to gently glide into another world when the current world you are in is being not so kind.
The blah part comes in because while you maybe able to escape that moment for that moment, that scar, whatever happened, the scar, it is still there. Nestled deep into the mind.
I often refer to my mind space as 7 personalities and 1 alter. I often wander why I say it that way. I guess because the reality of the situation I believe we all have multiple personalities. We all have “moods”. My “moods” are just a little more moodier than others. I say I refer to this, because this is how I view my head space – and this is how it feels and looks for me. My personalities – they are kind of like people – but like still me. They don’t have names, just numbers.
For as long as I can remember – my head space has always been kind of like an office space.
There are us 7 in the room. My alter is always around – but not in the same room. My alter is what I consider my “darkness” or “shadow”.
We have “meetings” to discuss activities, scheduling, food, planning, house, etc. This isn’t that abnormal. I believe most have the ability to “multitask” in the mind.
I guess where mine gets to be a little “more” is that each one of my personalities has a mood. So it’s like a double dose of moods I guess. My #1 personality can go through a series of moods – just as my #3 personality can go through a series of moods.
It almost seems like a riddle of nonsense right – until you dig a little deeper into – and then you might realize you aren’t that different, or at least you would be able to walk away with a little more of an understanding of mental health and how fuckey it can be.
My main personality – you would think would be #1 – but in fact it is #2 and #3. I don’t always get to choose who is at the front of the room directing the room – and sometimes I can. If I am in a good mood – I can switch through from 2 to 3 and from 3 to 2 – but today I am in 4 mood with 6 standing next to me doing the dishes (of course this is figuratively speaking) and my alter is right behind us sipping on coffee.
In my head – we are tired. We are exhausted. We are the “clean up” crew when the rest of us is crying or tired. I haven’t cried yet today on the outside – but right now #3 and #5 are upstairs in their beds crying (again, figuratively speaking)
I am here, spilling the feelings of a fucked up mind, whilst #6 by my side, just reminding me that she is by my side. She doesn’t say much, her mind fucked up right now too, but we understand we must continue to move forward.
You might ask, where are the rest? Well #1 only ever comes out at certain moments – typically seen on live shows, music recordings, or in public settings. So right now – she is nestled tightly in her room, as she is most of the time, as her energy has to be reserved for those moments.
#2 is, how I would like to say – out getting coffee. The “rescuer of the group”
And just like that – #2 took over the room –
I am looking back over this – months later – so much has changed – so much to get into. Hopefully this time, I don’t keep you waiting for Chapter 5 for as long as this chapter – but chapters – they must unfold when they unfold – no sooner – no later.
After all – if I had finished this at that point – then we wouldn’t be at this point. I wouldn’t be able to sit here and look over my finished work and analyze my head space in the same capacity as I am at this very moment.
What I used to see as manic, whirlwind, spiraling – I am starting to realize – this was the “wind” to my “fire” and while the fire has me singed – I have brought back from the ashes – a beautiful blessed and woke mind.
Till the next chapter – much love.