sis, you good?

I swear this blog has been 12 years in the making…since my teen Tumblr days. I’ve always been the friendly, black, depressed hottie (much less emphasis on hottie back in the day LOL). I’ve always wanted to do this and post my thoughts and words and just shit but always ended up searching for my voice. The only voices I knew and knew well enough were the ones in my head that constantly told me I wasn’t shit and would never be able to retire my mother…That was my good ol’ depression… who’s in FRONT of the free before 11 line religiously and expeditiously. Oh, and anxiety…that bitch rolled up on me out of nowhere in my 22nd year of life LOUD AND PROUD.

…the… g h e t t o.

I’ve always been a perfectionist at everything I’ve REALLY given fuck about, which honestly, as I reflect back, hasn’t been that much LOL. Funny, but not really funny at all. Vying for my mother’s attention and affection made me this way. As a first-gen Nigerian-American, I quickly understood the sacrifices my mother made to get here, and because of that, I shut my fat ass up *cues Monique in Precious*

My mother is so badass and so hardworking, and my dad on the other hand…was just badass. We can tell who was really running shit based off how I take shit from no one. Due to her bad bitchery and taking care a heap of kids, eventually by herself, little ol’ me, the 4th child and GIRL, ha, attention was SCANT. Chile. I felt like I was constantly waving my hands in front of her face to get her attention, but she was really Stevie Wonder to the bullshit, and the bullshit being my emotional care and needs. But who gives a fuck about emotional care and needs when you got a mortgage and 5 mouths to feed and clothe? No. Body. That’s who. And that was always the dilemma.

In present day, this dilemma was reminiscent of ashy nigga Twitter’s lord and savior infamously stating, “You gone cry in this Phantom or that Nissan? “She looked up and said Phantom.” The she, is ME and the Phantom was never having to go hungry and always being fly, as fly as any teen girl could be. (note: I, too, would choose the Phantom, but under stipulations.) It’s a sad give or take situation here…but here we are LOL.

With that being said, there had always been a  feeling of I needed more, but also knowing my mother was doing every single last thing she could and everything she gave my siblings and I was more than she had ever received…how could I be mad? Right? But I was. We’re not going down this traumatic rabbit hole though because I’m good now. *cries inside the club*

The perfectionism peaked when I noticed she really gave a fuck about good grades. Shit, since the depression couldn’t get her attention, all I gotta do is get good grades!? Sign me the fuck up, and so it was. So that was me. In school, I killed it. Schooling and singing were really the only two things I remember always being really great at but the singing didn’t catch her eye, so I just got grades…and got grades…and got grades…then I noticed I could do the bare minimum and still do well, something that came back to bite me in the ass as adulthood approached. Another rabbit hole here. Whew.

My identity was lost in trying to please my mother. I wanted to make her happy. I wanted her to see me. I thought I had all that down and then I graduated college…….HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHH. You know, on my college graduation day I was just anxious? I wasn’t even happy, just anxious because I didn’t know what to do next. I knew that up until this point, I had everything figured out. I picked a major in the health sciences because of course, my mother, that was her shit (Nigerian parents, ya know). I was aimless, lost, and confused. Luckily I landed a job in my field just a few months after graduating which is iiiiight but who’s tryna LIVE with anything in their life being iight? Maybe you, but definitely not me. I was tired of iight. 

——

So much of my life had been fixated on pleasing others and making others proud. I was a people pleaser, but please understand, no one could have me fucked up. It may have been due to sheer anger and unpacked emotions, but still. You. Could. Not. Have. Me. Fucked. Up. 

The fixation of pleasing others whether it’d been family, friends, lovers, or even just fucking strangers, once ran my life. First it was the grades, then it was thirst traps in the height of twitter ‘10-‘13, and then the clothes and shoes which ran my pockets low and ran my CC debt up. I wanted folks to know my name, but I’m not sure how much respect I cared for them to put on it, which in hindsight, is wild as fuck. I needed instant gratification. I needed everyone else to be my biggest cheerleader because I didn’t know how to be that for myself. I was young then…young, misguided, and immature.

Fast forward to September 2019. I’m not that girl anymore. I honestly don’t even know who she was, but she got me here. She got me to the point of truly understanding myself, better understanding my power, and to really tie it all together, how powerless I truly am in the realm of God. I’m not in control of anything and I love it. When I got silent enough to hear God speak to me, I realized that I’m just a piece of a much greater puzzle but my piece is so so important to the entire structure.

It’s about hearing God’s voice during peace, but also in the midst of chaos.

Take a look below:

I went back to earlier last week and screenshotted a photo of my iPhone browsing history on Wednesday September 4, 2019. Life was a lot. Loneliness engulfed me. I regretted my breakup, I felt a lack of direction, and just lost. I couldn’t hear God. Maybe it was the earwax, who knows, but I could only hear the voices in my head… wHo WaNtS tO tAlK aBoUt SuIcIdE, right? Right. I don’t either. Maybe later, but not yet.

(note: Queen ants the hardest niggas out here)

—-

I have love all around me constantly, but it was absent within myself. I thought it was my time and then God really said, “my guy, you’re buggin’, you really gotta chill” (in different words, but honestly, close enough). So I chilled, and recouped, and got myself together. By Friday, I had such an incredible day and vowed to myself to never get there again, and I promise you I won’t. Isn’t it crazy how sometimes we allow the devil to speak lies to us that make us believe they’re fact? It’s troubling, but there always has to be an understanding that God is not in the driver’s seat of any of that, and once that’s understood universally, is when peace comes.

I’m one transparent bitch cuz I’ve been through a lot of shit, shit caused by others, and worst of all, shit that I’ve inflicted on myself. So I’m here to explore, learn, teach, discover, and love. I just like to write and share stories with a bit of humor and joy, but most importantly, love.

My glass is not half full, but it’s also not half empty. I’m just glad there’s Dussè in the damn cup. Drink up, bitches!

Welcome to, the ebony diaries. 

-oo

6 thoughts on “sis, you good?”

  1. I’m kinda late. Been meaning to read your digital diary for a few months now.
    I’m glad that ‘better late than never’ applies here.
    I really enjoy your voice.

    Will catch up on more posts soon. =]
    – Nø

    Liked by 1 person

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