Thursday, April 24, 2014

Child abuse and Poor life choices.

Let me start of by saying I woke up feeling amazing this morning.

Even with a little over 3 hours of sleep.

This young woman stayed up till 2am listening to no rubber and drifting in and out of sleep.

On child abuse

When I was 12 I was diagnosed with an illness that no one knew. from hospital to hospital my mother took me, scared that she might loose me. Peppered with prayers and recommendations, I ended up at a decent hospital in Ebute-metta where I was treated with an unhealthy amount of Feldene and broad spectrum antibiotics. Fortunately this worked and i got better. unfortunately, my doctor whose name I can not recall ( although I feel like if I searched the recess of my mind, would pop up some where) was a pervert.

One evening before he left, he stopped by my bed and drew the curtain and started a little tete a tete.
He asked about my parents, my school work my siblings and ended up paying a lot of attention to the fact that I "honestly"* told him about my parent's marital situation at home and what not.

Next thing, my doctor asked 12 year old me to kiss him.  While still trying to process- how and why and most importantly the fuck my first kiss will be from a 40 something year old man. This Nigga swooped in and locked lips with me.

I know I go on and on about meeting the worlds beauty standards but believe me when I tell you I am the poster child for the ugly duckling story.

Anyways- I told him to stop and that I did not like it and when he asked if I would like to kiss him again tomorrow to which I politely declined - I mean you cant be rude to the gentleman who saved your life no matter how disgusting you think his kisses are.

Subsequently I insisted my mother get someone to always stay with me at the hospital and sleep over.
When I was discharged and my mother came to settle the bill, she asked me to say thank you and stay behind with the doctor, which prompted a decent amount of water works and thus died the matter accordingly.

I narrated an abridged version if this story last night for the first time and thought why haven't I blogged about it, I received no judgement, no what were you wearing questions ( hospital scrub that has all the back exposed and a nice drip trolley accessory attached to my wrist). However I did receive a what did you look like at 12- Honest answer, a Somali starving child, painfully thin and in no way deserving of kisses of any kind ( except from my mother).

I find that my inability to reconcile who I say I am and who I actually am - as evidenced by the things I do, shocks me, scares me and at the same damn time surprises me.
I quit Alcohol to enable me make better like choices, because I made a lot of poor choices drunk.
What I am learning and accepting is that I am still making poor choices sober.
Utterly frustrating because I should know better and I should do better but how does the allure of the wrong thing make me feel so good?

One republic said it best" every thing that kills me.... makes me feel alive".

Some good things come easy- I am finding this out and slowly I am stuck with releasing dogma's that clouded my mind about who I am. should be and what I should be doing.

Word of advice, when going to any embassy. do your nails. dress pretty. and wear lipstick.

Your nails because doing your bio-metrics with shit nail polish is highly embarrassing.

Dress pretty because you are addressed how you are dressed, you might have to "do Easter" for the security men but it is worth it.

Finally lipstick because, a bit of color makes the world a better place.

Three other things...

I finally found a buyer for my black dress. * insert sex appeal emoticon here*

and Kelis ( Nas's ex wife and milkshake crooner- who also doubles as a cordon le bleu chef) released a new album titled ... wait for it.... "FOOD".

Album is quite good, reviews say she still isn't over her divorce from nas as evidenced by the lyrics of some tracks on the album.

finally Re- kelis and from my general observation, Love changes you. sometimes for the better most times, for the worst. It breaks you into tiny pieces and forces you to put yourself back together again- by yourself. by any means necessary. It makes you selfish with your self, sharing only what you think is necessary for survival.
Including poor life choices.

Especially poor life choices.

* When I was younger I did not realize that it not okay to be from a "broken" home, I lacked nothing and my mother did her absolute best to be mother and father. I learnt as I got older to be a vague as possible when it came to my parental unit. Although if you come to my house and see the family portrait on the wall with my mother and siblings sans a father, you get the picture without asking. Some ask if he is late. I'm learning to reply with the truth. My father is not dead. He is where he is. My Mother, who happens to be here is here and I'd very much like to focus on that, if it is not too much trouble".

That response has yielded snark retorts from people and men who I have had run-in's with along the lines of " she has daddy Issues" or " she doesnt have a father so she has no idea how to treat men"

I have been fortunate to see how women that have both parents act and a good number of them still have a huge amount of men trouble.

Personally I do not let men stress me. That is what my job is for. In the immortal words of * insert name of every rapper who has used this line before* "I do not chase them, I replace them".

And I am finding out how much joy exists in replacing broken toys.

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