I wonder what could come of us
if there were more time
if we held more patience
If we loosened our tongues with love
instead of darts that led to regrets
What could come of us
if we pushed through
you owning your flaws and
the parts you played as the cause
if I managed my temper and tone
used my words more wisely instead
of playing the blame game
oh what could we be
without all of our past heartaches and pain
without bondage and chains to others
without ties and lies
could we be
without one another
no more you and I
no us, no we
would we apart, survive . . .
You hit me in waves causing my
emotions to crash
Going under, far beyond the surface level . . .
– Viola Constance
It’s been awhile since I’ve seen my smile
And I’m not too sure if I’ll ever find it
I’ve searched all over
Occupied my time with busyness
all the while I’ve walked around
with various smiles plastered on my face
which all have received wide acceptance from the outside world but
underneath it I’ve been so uncomfortable
willing to compromise ANYTHING to escape
this feeling and find MY smile
I’m at a crossroad
I’m not sure I even want to find it anymore
alone, to gather others in hopes of finding my smile
Have you seen it? . . . (to be continued…maybe)
– Viola Constance
I know that title seems harsh, but it’s fact. It had nothing to do with him being depressed or not being able to deal with whatever may come with that. Heck, I’ve been depressed before and I know that depression affects each person differently as well as each person finding different ways to cope with what their feeling and trying to make sense of it. It’s tough. Anywhos, earlier this month Proud Dad/Long Distant (PD/LD) called me after months of strained communication. During this brief conversation he asked had I ever been depressed to which I’d answered yes (I’d shared this with him before, but did not say that to him). He asked how did I overcome it. I told him I honestly can’t pin point one thing. I told him after some time I was tired of feeling tired, down and feeling sorry for myself. I couldn’t stand being in that state mentally or physically especially when I compared all of the things I’d gone through both good and bad, wanting to end my own life and all I’ve accomplished after the moment I decided to truly live. I’d be fighting hard to live and I had to mentally hype myself up to continue on. I told him I remembered what my mother and so many other black elders had told me and other before, “the worst thing that could happen is they say no” and “a no doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world does it?”. I was literally lying in bed feeling drained from just simple daily tasks (showering, eating and going to work) when I said you know what I’m going to just go for everything I’ve been wanting to do. I’d also decided I’d go sky diving and after not splattering all of the ground I pushed forward. I’d asked PD/LD if any of that even made any sense to him and apologized if I hadn’t been of any help.
I never thought I’d be a person with insecurities. I am in no way a cocky person. I was raised and groomed to have confidence. My insecurities have always been more so with health issues than image. I was insecure about my insecurities. I’d never had a declining moment with self esteem during my adolescent years, but it took a hit during my college years. Growing up I didn’t have any major skin issues aside from what we all assumed to be a heat rash. Every summer (or so it seemed) I’d get little red bumps on one of my forearms. It happened other times when my body seemed to get overheated. The rashes lasted no longer than three or four days so there was no need to go to the doctor.
In the midst of all of the grammy chatter I felt it was only right that I finally completed this post and shared my feelings and love of music, especially after the amazing performance by A Tribe Called Quest, Anderson .Paak, Consequence and Busta Rhymes . This isn’t about music and politics, just the healing powers of music. Enjoy.
I can’t remember a moment in my life when music wasn’t present. Happy, sad, angry, depressed, births and deaths. It has always been playing in the background. When my family celebrated there was music. When we were going through various trials and tribulations, there was music. When no one felt the need to talk and silence may have been unbearable, there was music. Continue reading
ster·e·o·type (stĕr′ē-ə-tīp′, stîr′-) n.
1. A conventional, formulaic, and oversimplified conception, opinion, or image.
2. One that is regarded as embodying or conforming to a set image or type.
The struggle to separate oneself from color is one [impossible] thing as it is something that is beyond your control. But separating oneself from stereotypes, although tough, is something that can be done. It just saddens me that I have to do it and the effort that goes into it. Why must I be prejudged on account of formed opinions or the actions of a select few?
It’s kind of sad to admit that I’ve always told myself “don’t be THAT black girl.” Who is that black girl exactly? You know, she’s how they portray us in media and music. Everything that my mother told me not to be without reason. The loud, mouthy, angry black woman. The one who is always in everyone’s business, gives major attitude and then some. All in all she is a headache. She is labeled ghetto. She isn’t heard nor is she taken seriously.