emotionally unavailable

The saddest part about being emotionally unavailable is, you crave intamacy. For whatever reason (most likely childhood trauma) you can’t seem to connect entirely yet you want to connect wholeheartedly.

In my case, I throw myself into new relationships like a rocket for take off. Everything is new and everything is fresh but after a while I have to invest myself or, be a life source for readily emotional beings. Being an extroverted-introvert (so messy) I choose to be everyone’s rock. I’m good at it, you can dump your shit on me because I’m sooooo cold brrrrr.

Truth is, i think the one who can’t say they need a hug or love or a shoulder to cry on is the one who needs it most. Common sense, or not so common sense, but either way people like me suffer from burnout. When we burn out its sort of, lights out, goodnight Wisconsin!

Recently I  went through a complete and total meltdown from being good ol’ Rocky Balboa. Over the time span of almost two years with no end in sight. The most overwhelming part of emotionally unavailable people melting down is, most of their friends are leaching cry babies. When you melt down you have to know your triggers and literally everyone I knew was a trigger in some way. Best friend (gotta go), family (sayonara), Co workers (awkward silence at the xmas party) and lastly my bf. Finding out that he clung to me like a baby orangutang was and still is the hardest part.

What’s even harder than that is, the tricky thing about people like me is, we open up to ONE person on the planet. For me, after my grandmother died, it was him. So in a sense I wasn’t really emotionally unavailable with our relationship, yet I attracted someone just like me. He clung to me because I made him confident, i picked him because he wasn’t an emotional person. And now that I’ve realized he’s emotionally unavailable….it hurts like hell

I wish karma would bring me back the thousands of dollars I spent over the past years and not this shit.

Know Thine Enemy

This age old, timeless phrase always seemed somewhat combative to me. Something that an overtly religious jesus freak would say to someone who simply doesn’t care for their personality.

One of my issues with being in my late twenties and extremely empathetic is, I’m a revolutionary person. What I mean by that is, as a millennial we see the world through a broader lense. Most of us never had the chance to be completely innocent. We grew up fast.

This phrase always tucked and embedded it’s way into some useless part of my psyche. Of course there is no such thing as a useless part of the human brain, but for me, remembering facts like NEWS being an acronym for North, East, West and South because that’s the order of how news spread at one point in American history…is useless. Yet interesting. However, know thine enemy has always been one of those old English phrases that seemed to be perplexing to me. Like why should I know my enemy, and is thine mine?

But as an adult, you realize that your enemy isn’t always an external force. It isn’t always that snoody 16 year old kid that is driving a Lexus and laughing at the fact that you had to save up for months to buy a 20 year old nissan.

For me, and many reclusive Americans, thine enemy is depression, anxiety and mental illness. For instance, on my way to a job fair I thought of 101 reasons I shouldn’t go. Please understand that, I am in dire need of a job. A real job. Yet my anxiety makes it hard for me to do simple things like sleep, or pick out a pair of professional slacks from the bottom of my Hording Buried Alive-esk closet. Why are my slacks at the bottom of my closet you ask?!…exactly.

My anxiety and depression has been the reason that I have procrastinated, and put so many things on the back burner. Being raised by a clinically diagnosed bipolar single mom played a huge part in my mental health. I have bipolar tendencies when it comes to my decision making. All I knew at one point was to jump into situations on manic mode. My manic episode lasted for about seven years. Late teens to mid twenties I jumped in head first.

Most people would argue that my age played a major role in my invincible attitude, and it did, but I played with fire ALOT. So much to the point that I would fall so deep into depression I would do manic things to numb the pain. As far as I was concerned this is how adults deal with life.

Fast forward to my late twenties I’m burnt out. Lol, so sad but as a millennial I was born exahsted. I now know Thine enemy, myself, my black skin, my vagina, my uterus, my brain, my bloodline, my history, my personality, my culture etc.

Any of those things can be used as a weapon, a weapon against me, society and generations after me. Once depression gets a hold of the the vessel theres no telling which one will be used and abused in an effort to numb the pain.

Us millennials are the microwave generation. We’re the loners, insta famous, 15 sec entertainment generation. The emotionally unable, head phones, thumb abusing generation. Prone to depression because of exclusion, we don’t know Thine enemy…

Relationships In Your Late 20s

The hardest thing about being a twenty-six year old woman besides having to frequent the GYN and Dermatologist is, not being married. Hear me out, I’m 85% a feminist and because of my vagina I’m all about women’s rights. At the same time, in this twisted western society being an independent woman is sort of counter productive. Could be because I’m a black woman, in a post “strong black woman” era.

There was a time that black women were indeed “strong black women”. Lately we’ve been raised by those women to be a bit more emotionally available. The men from past generations have expressed that black women with bad attitudes and male like tendencies are the reason that black families are almost extinct, and why basketball players would rather ‘le swirl’.

During the Civil rights movement, black women switched gears because, yes I am black, but first I am woman. Wait…first I am a black and then I am woman? Anyway, we diverged into the feminist movement and literally led other races and culture because we were made of this strong stuff. It may sound cray cray but it runs in our blood, our presence exudes strength (or maybe our hair is intimidating). We took it so far, we turned around it was the year 2000, Beyoncé was singing Independent Ladies and we were statically the lowest group of people to marry world-wide. Us an Asian men, but anyway.

How could the group with the highest college graduate rate also be the group with the lowest marriage rate? Are you telling me that, the smarter I get the less likely it will be for me to find an equally successful, intellectual mate? Will I have to be pen pals with felons, or frequent gay clubs to live a real life Will and Grace episode?

Sadly I’m beginning to think that’s the case. I’ve been in a relationship with the most qualified mate I’ve ever met for two years. He has a batchelors degree, an okay paying job (because everyone is broke in New York), his own place, no children, no ex-wife, I doubt he’s gay (sometimes I question it) but here’s the catch…he’s afraid of marriage and children. He’s even afraid of us living together. At 31 yrs old, you would think he is ready to have at least a tmobile family plan, but he’s not.

As you know I am a reformed twerker, who’s a senior at a city college. So that should most definitely let you know I am indeed a screw up, however I’m a dreamer. I do dream of a life where my husband and I decorate our intimate home with sculptures from Mozambique. Then, after our two years of traveling to the cheesiest motels on the east coast we plan to have a baby girl, that too will twerk in front of Bitch Better Have My Money by Rihanna.

The problem is, he doesn’t dream in color like I do. He doesn’t dream of an us because of his own personal fears. That’s okay. But I’m a walking statistic, as black woman the odds have not been in my favor, technically I would die next to that cute little white girl with the high cheekbones and a bow and arrow.

I can’t live that cute little park Avenue life like Carrie Bradshaw because I’m an Amazon, but mostly because let’s be honest, my whole generation is confused about marriage.

Thanks to you baby boomers, I don’t know whether to be on cocaine or driving a mom van…

Deleting your social media accounts in an attempt to revive your social life

Recently I had the luxury of deleting my Facebook. Not because I hate the people who created Facebook, but because I slowly started to hate my own Facebook friends. I found myself unfollowing someone new every other day. I unfollowed the new moms, the moms that talked about their ridiculously cute babies (or not so cute babies) all the time. I unfollowed the party promoters, the super jesus freaks, the annoying newly outted lesbian, the mix tape guy, the extremist guy, the chef, the single dad, the married couple and finally; my mom.

Please, don’t get it twisted. I do realize that I have become a complete dooshy Grandma that hates everyone except her cats (in my case a Lhasa and a Shitzu) but I can’t be the only one. After numerous “Facebook beefs” and countless “shade” thrown via posts, I just decided to call it quits. Quite frankly I was partially embarrassed at my recent Angela Davis/Assata Shakur persona. In the wake of #blacklivesmatter I started to take my anger out on social media, via Instagram and Facebook. Although I am still wholeheartedly ‘Black’ (scouts honor) I’m just exhausted with the fact that social media has no filter, and is 24/7.

At one point I was the braggadocious turn up queen, with the bomb weave and the best Mac makeup a financial aid refund could buy. I did that to make others envious while making myself feel a little better (shrugs). To me comments on how much weight I had lost was like an old episode of Jenny Jones titled “After High School; Look at her now”. It was to the point that my Instagram name was “Brooklyn_Narcissist”. I knew exactly what I was, but I didnt know how sick it was making me. Eventually I became that person watching others sucees while im in a bad space, now that Im getting a taste of my poisonus venum, its not so nice.

No one is wrong for feeling overwhelmed by the Italian party girls that are seemingly ‘white girl wasted’ in ALL of their pics from saturday night. Or being slightly annoyed by the guy who read a few Kemetic science books over the summer so he’s now by default a descendant of an Egyptian God….however, if you feel yourself changing on a psychological and emotional level, it may be time to take a break from the constant barrages of someone elses life highlights.

At this point, I’m emotionally unavailable. For 99 reasons, Facebook is definitely one of them. If I was to see one of my many followers I would duck behind anything, even children. I don’t even give my cell phone number out, more like “ummm. Hit me up on FB”. Dont get me wrong, I love to talk….about anything but personal things. When people cry Im like “please be over 21 so I can hand you a beer”. Lets not even mention using social media to play private eye on my boyfriend!

Why I deleted my social media? Because I felt bombarded by the highlight of people’s lives. Rationally you know most people post the good times, but when you got wet by a speeding bus on a day you lost your job after selling your car and you see someone post while in Jamaica, when you can’t even afford a Jamaican patty…uuhhh yeah

How? I google’d how to delete social media sites (facebook) ‘permanently’. Not just deactivate (if you’re about that life). It can take up to 90 days, I think it’s a deterrent but they say something about the process of deleting things.

Prepare yourself for withdrawals. Youre going to think about Keyshia and her FB saga drama and if she ever found out if her man was sleeping with a man….but DONT GIVE IN!