Fear.

It’s an interesting thing. Fear, for me, is the result of uncertainty. The feeling of not knowing if I’m making the right decision; if I’m going to be okay. What’s interesting is I’ve only recently begun feeling such a way. It happened as the result of a “failure.” I never had felt this type of fear before. I was so sure of myself, of my decision. Everything was always going to turn out fine.

Until they didn’t. Now, I’m always apprehensive. Always hesitant.

Before I quit a job I had had for over a year, I was nervous. What if my new job was worse? What if I couldn’t be as flexible? What if I wasn’t able to survive? So far things have been good.

I’m about to move out of a place I’ve lived for a year. What if my new place isn’t as great as it seems to be? What if I end up hating it? What if I’m not able to afford it after a few months?

I’m convincing myself that I’ll be fine. Convincing myself that this is a good decision, that I’ll be happier, more productive. I’ve made it this far.

I’ve been saying “no” a lot as of late. It feels great. I should say “no” more often.

I wonder if people who pour themselves into their work are what becomes of the brokenhearted, the never-loved, and the lonely..

Parts of me feel bad about being so burnt out with social justice work and taking such a long hiatus. I’m nearing a place of pure ignorance. Aside from the shooting, I honestly have no idea what is happening in Ferguson right now. And I have no interest in finding out. Not because I don’t care, but because I just don’t have the energy to get so invested in such a hyper-personalized way—as has been the case in the past. That is incredibly draining and I don’t have the support system to recover from that time and time again.

These past few months of my hiatus have been the most peaceful times I’ve had in years. I’ve been able to learn to take care of myself a little better and treat myself more kindly. I’ve learned to support myself because others can’t be relied on to do so. These things are crucial to survival. I was on the social justice grind, nonstop, for nearly five years. I deserve a break; time to compose myself, get myself back on my feet. But we’re so often told that this work never stops, that to stop is to quit and not be “bout that life.” I don’t buy it. We have to take care of ourselves, even if that means “ignoring” the world around us for a summer.

All I know is that when I return, I won’t be as I was before. My activism is beginning to take a new shape, and it looks a lot more like self-care and community building. There has to be a way to balance the grind with the survival in a way that doesn’t leave you either drained or disconnected. Right?

Looks like I won’t be going back to school this coming semester. Howard, as usual, is on the Ultimate Bull. And I have gotten to the point where I no longer care. I don’t support academia. I don’t support Howard University.

This summer has shown me how I’ve been missing the opportunity to pursue living because I’ve been so busy trying to do as is expected of me. I’ve wasted so much time focusing hours on classes that don’t matter in pursuit of a piece of paper. Meanwhile, the years are passing me by and I have nothing to show for myself. College s not a space for me right nw. It may not ever be. I may not ever return. I’m okay with that.  

I’m going to go ahead and register for some classes, just to say I made the effort. Part of me wants to be in school so that I can be done. But if things don’t work out, then they don’t work out. I refuse to stress over it. 

Random connected thoughts:

  • I’m a first-generation student
  • I may lose m $15-an-hour internship if I’m not in school
  • I ain’t got no worries

That moment when you realize you spent $42 on a manicure that didn’t even last a week. Or at all. Why did I even…

( -__-)

In light of the increase in (publicized) murders of Black people at the hands of police, I have but one thought:

I refuse to live in fear.

I will not allow them to scare me into hiding. I will not “de-hood” my appearance, colonize my speech, or tip-toe politely around their mess. I will not allow them to scare me out of raising a community of Black and Brown youth. I will not allow them to scare me out of loving my people. I will not allow them to erase me. I refuse to be afraid to exist.

And if they dare lay a hand on me, may the Universe be with me as I lay two back. If they aim to take me out, I aim to do the same to them. If I’m going to go out, I may as well go out with a fight.

I’m tired of talking.

Tired of trying to talk.

I always end up putting out more effort than the other person. Or persons.

And then you have people who say they miss me, yet I haven’t heard from them in eons. Their “I miss you” message comes through another person. Or two. “Did you know So&So misses you? You should give them call.” But why? They. have. my. digits.

And the people who claim to want to hang out but stand me up. Repeatedly, because I try to believe in second chances. “My bad, I overslept.” I bet if I were as important as a job interview you wouldn’t have overslept. “I forgot and now I have to feed my dog.” Am I the only person who cares enough about sharing space with people to put it in my calendar so I remember to feed my dog before I leave? (I don’t have a dog.)

And the people who expect me to drop what I’m doing and be there for them, but when I need something they’re too busy to even respond to a text. “Let’s do lunch today?” No. Today I am hiding in my room butt naked eating, sleeping, and watching The Cosby Show all day.

Now if I were to jump off a bridge tomorrow, so many people would call me their friend. And wonder why I would do such a thing. Because I always “seemed so happy” when they saw me. They saw me twice in the past year. Both times in professional spaces. They never asked how I was doing though. Never asked anything but how I can help them. But let me not get carried away here. I have no desire to remove myself from this earth. Even if other people suck, I am worth living for.

All I’m saying is I’m tired of talking and am beginning to wish people would either put out an actual effort or just leave me alone.

Also, I find it so fascinating when people can connect their daily experiences to a particular culture…and not just traumatic childhood experiences. I’m feeling more and more like I had a relatively whitewashed childhood…