I know it’s been forever, but every time I sit down to write something, it never comes out like I want it to and I end up either rambling on incessantly or stopping midway. I’ve been having the time of my life showing off creatively, but personal angles have been increasingly hard for me to write. It’s almost as though I don’t want to talk about myself. But that can’t be. Can it? Am I afraid to pick my brain apart? Am I avoiding opening up to you guys? To myself? Maybe so. Maybe I have been hesitant about writing things that pertain to me. To my life. To… this mess that I’m calling a life.
Let me give you guys the short version: I moved back here, a little more than a year ago. I opened my door to family, to caring for them, to helping them while helping myself not feel so alone. They took advantage. It turned into, “Let’s ask Shameka any and everything,” and “Let’s let her do any and everything,” “Let’s take any and everything from her.” I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. I should have self-protected. I should have said no. I should have known. But it’s my family. And I was just happy to be here with them, in the conversation, getting what little bit of affection was parceled out to me. Like. I. Always. Fucking Do.
Then, I met a man. A wonderful man. A kind, confident, listening man. A man I thought wanted my heart all to himself. Turns out, he didn’t listen when it counted. He was dismissive when I was scared. He made light of my concerns. I thought he felt what I felt, and wanted what I wanted. He didn’t. So I had to back away, amidst tears and tweets and angst. My heart strings were pulled so hard; I thought it might be the real thing. And then… it wasn’t. I bent when I shouldn’t have, gave too many chances. Like. I. Always. Fucking. Do.
Then, I didn’t have a job. I spent months worrying about money. Months trying to streamline my budget. Then, I saw a job. I thought it was perfect. I applied. I interviewed. I got the job. And it sucks. It sucks from start to finish, with lousy pay. And with the way I was being leaned on, lousy pay wasn’t enough to make me grin and bear it with a sucky job. So here we are. But I’m making the best of it. Like. I. Always. Fucking. Do.
So that’s where we are guys. My personal, professional, love life in shambles. Me, being tolerant, like I always am. Me showing the utmost patience for those in my life, me doing my best to crawl up out of these emotional holes that I stupidly let people put me in. But I’m here to tell you guys that it stops. That I’m done. It’s a matter of survival.
I’m too old and talented to continue working jobs that give me no satisfaction whatsoever. I’m too smart to let dudes continue to play me, continue to be part of what I want and strut around like that’s enough. I’m too worthy of full affection to keep letting my family parcel it out whenever they want something from me. I’m too much of everything. I’m too accomplished, too open, too smart, too brave to be living like this. Like a coward. I deserve better than to be surrounded by people who only know me when I can do something for them. I’ve done too much for other people to be the brunt of your angst and the reason why you can’t grow up. I have had everyone’s back, consistently and without hesitation, only to be sitting alone when it all shakes out. Only to be alone when it really counts. I deserve better. And I will get it. It’s a matter of survival.
I’m killing myself trying to be what people need in the moment that they need it and I end up alone. Trying to figure it out. Praying for a miracle. And I’m standing in this place, on the cusp of everything I FINALLY could be, scared as hell, with NO ONE beside me, because everyone I counted on backed away. And that’s fine. Because now I know where they stand. And what I have to do. Now I know how this is going to go. But I know I can make it. Because I have before. Which is more than I can say for the people I’ve held up. I don’t know how they’ll push through. But they’ll do it without me. They have to. They need to. And I need to close the door. It’s a matter of survival.
Pray for me, guys. I love you.