You know what's really embarrassing?

Going back and reading my past writing.

I don't think I'm going to do that anytime soon. For now, I'm going to continue updating this blog. I have a lot of writing I haven't published on here yet. Life is good. I start summer classes Monday. I have new roommates for the fall. I've met some cool people at KSU. I've started going to activist events in Atlanta. I'm working out more, I'm eating healthier, and I'm making time for me.

Most importantly, I have hope. I have hope that I will get better. I have hope that I'll graduate college. I have hope that I'll maintain healthy relationships and friendships. I have hope that I can get through a day without engaging in healthy habits.

For everyone who has stuck with me and supported me, thank you. For everyone who let me down, for everyone who judged me, for everyone who decided I was "too sad," to interact with, I hope that everything in your life works out. I hope you never have a time in your life where you become fragile. I hope you never have a time where you experience disappointment, and a time where you just need kindness. Because to need that, and not receive it from some people, hurts a lot. I hope you never have to experience that hurt.

During this little hiatus from school I slept. I slept for hours, and didn't leave my room. I laid in bed, and sometimes I didn't eat. I sat waiting for this break to go by, and I was angry. I was really mad at myself, and my situation, and I was mad that my friends got to do things that I couldn't do. I felt forgotten. But then I started doing better. I started going to therapy, and leaving the house. I wasn't tired anymore. I started smiling again. I even began texting people back. Eventually I got a job. I went to that job every day, and I worked my ass off. I ended up quitting to focus on school, but that job helped me a lot. It gave me something to do. Eventually the break went by, and now I'm already starting school again.

I've learned so many things that I can't even begin to write about, because it just blows my mind. But I've changed. People can see it, and I can feel it. This experience has matured me in so many ways. I'm so confident in who I am as a person, and as a woman, and especially as a Black woman. I feel so strong, and it's a great feeling.

So yeah. I'm back. I missed writing, but it was a little bit painful for me. I'm excited to see where this next phase of my life takes me.

I haven't written in a while but I'm still alive! Just taking time to do my own thing, and get healthier. Thanks for sticking with me. 

Checking My Privilege

I think befriending people who’s parents come from different income sets can be eye-opening in some ways. However, it’s not really something I thought about until I came home from school. In college, all of my friends seemed the same. We all lived on campus or in apartments, we all struggled to find food by the end of the week. We all hated our jobs but we all hated not having money. We didn’t care about wearing designer items, we just wanted to be unique and well-dressed. Food stamps didn’t have a stigma. Sometimes you paid for your friends food, sometimes they paid for yours. You would give your friend money to buy alcohol for a party. All of these things were normal, because we were broke college kids. We weren’t “rich,” like “White” Greek life. We knew what it was like to not have Daddy give you his credit card.

But then I started dating someone in a different situation than mine, and I realized I’m a lot like White Greek life. Actually, I’m pretty much exactly like White Greek life except for the fact that I’m not White.

I think that Black people who come from an Upper Middle Class background, are often in an interesting situation. This generation of Black young adults in general, are in an interesting situation. We come from a generation where it’s not as odd to have two Black parents, who went to college. With education, we are granted more opportunities. With more opportunities, comes more money. Sorry, this sounds a little bit like the “pick yourself up by the bootstraps” model, but bear with me.

What I’m trying to get at, is I’m not like all of my friends. When they can’t call home to their parents to ask for large sums of money, it’s because their parents are not able to give them large sums of money. When I can’t call home to my parents for large sums of money, it’s because my parents refuse to give me large sums of money. When they can’t ask their parents for a brand new car, it’s because their parents are not able to give them a brand new car. When I can’t ask my parents for a car in general, it’s because my parents refuse to give me a car in general. When they call home asking to go out for an expensive meal, it’s because their parents cannot afford for them to go out for an expensive meal. When I call home.. you get the idea.

My parents don’t refuse to give me these things because they cannot afford it. They refuse to give me these things because I grow up in a Black household. In Black culture, things are not usually given freely, they are earned. Your parents raise you to know that not everything will be handed to you. Spoiling your child, is usually not a bragging point. This probably isn’t the case when it comes to “White” Greek life. 

This is why, at school it was easy to forget about my parents. It was easy to forget about my privilege. Especially in the town that I grew up in. I would never be considered “rich.” I grew up with people who asked when the last time I visited the Dominican Republic was, and people who were confused by my parents not even considering paying for me to go to Auburn after I got accepted. I wasn’t like those people. If you’ve ever been to Kennesaw, you will quickly realize that the people there are out of touch with reality. In Kennesaw, a 3.5 GPA is bad, and not being able to go to the Dominican Republic is the equivalent of living in a homeless shelter. 

Both of my parents grew up relatively poor. My dad wasn’t poor by Nigerian standards, but he would be by American. He moved here when he was 18. My mom grew up in a country town with 10 siblings, who were all extremely skinny due to undernourishment. She went to an HBCU, and joined ROTC to pay for college. From then on, my mother’s life became a series of lucky events. She got the right job, at the right time. She moved to the right place, at the right time. She worked at a Fortune 500 company for 16 years that gave her the resume boost she needed, and now she works at another Fortune 500 company (Coke.) 

My parents are the exception, not the rule. They both have their Master’s degrees, and got them at a young age. The amount of money they make disqualifies me from any form of financial aid. My dad owns two luxury cars (one is collector), and I live in a house where we frequently text each other because we can go a whole day without hearing/seeing each other. My closet is walk-in, and I do have designer handbags in it. We never have to worry about our next meal, or worry about financial security.

But I also live in a household where my parent’s money, is not my money. I’ve been reminded that from an early age. Money and shopping are reserved for holidays. Designer clothes, all come from an Aunt with bad shopping habits. My friends who’s parents have lower incomes are more likely to get money from their parents, and get a car, than I ever am. In fact, it’s exactly what happened. My dad has the spending habits of someone who never left Nigeria. Both of his cars are paid off, and the non collector one is nearing it’s 20th birthday. You don’t throw anything away, and you don’t waste money on anything. Anytime my mom goes shopping she is met with strict interrogation when she comes home. I have a strong work ethic that all of my classmates can notice. I don’t expect things to be handed to me academically, or socially, and I’m able to work hard to get the things I want. 

But now that I’m older, I also need to recognize my privilege. Having both parents that went to college, is a privilege. Having food on the table every night, is a privilege. Not having to work my whole life, is a privilege. Not having to take out student loans, is a privilege. Being able to take a break from school, is a privilege. All of these things are a privilege and me being a Black woman in America does not negate the fact that I live a very good life. It’s okay, it’s not my fault. But I do need to use, and constantly check, this class privilege that I have. Which I feel as though I don’t need to check often, because being in Statesboro afforded me the luxury of pretending I didn’t have it.

After my significant other/friend/what the hell are we calling ourselves these days, entered my home, she spoke to me in hushed tones. She looked around in amazement, and called my home “extra.” She looked in my closet, and she looked in my room, and I couldn’t help but feel like a fraud. A social justice warrior that lived in a neighborhood full of rich Republicans. An activist who never had to struggle a day in her life.

But remember how I said that my parents were the exception, not the rule? That this wasn’t normal? That still rings true. The fact that my mom had access to all of these opportunities was sheer luck. With White privilege, it doesn’t work like that. If you have your Masters, you are guaranteed to go far. Hell, you are guaranteed to go far without it. You are afforded all of the things my family has, and THEN some. In my family’s case, hard work+education did equal success, but in most Black families it does not, and will not. Both of my parents are significantly underpaid compared to their White counterparts and they KNOW it. Had they not been Black, my life would’ve been even better than this. So yes, I do have privilege, but I am also able to acknowledge that all of the things that are happening to my family, technically should not be happening due to the way our society is built.

Now that I’m home, I’m more aware. I wake up every morning and I look around my big room, and I remember that it is a big-ass room. I look at my makeup collection and I remember, that it is a big-ass makeup collection. I eat my mother’s food with a little more gratefulness. I stop to take in my surroundings when I leave my home. I remind myself that I am well-off, Kennesaw is weird, and that there’s a lot more work to be done. 

I trusted you.

For people who do not suffer from mental illness, it is something they just simply won't understand 100%. Just like I don't know what anyone who suffers with any other illness goes through. However, I would like to feel as though I could empathize with people who's bodies are working against them in ways that inhibit their daily life.

However, this goes out to all of my able-minded allies. The ones that talk about removing the stigma that surrounds mental illness, yet engage in behavior that is problematic and does nothing but furthers the stigma that surrounds mental illness.

Your mental health is not less important than, nor different than, your physical health.

We all know that our brains are extremely important. They help us get through our day, they help us make decisions, they literally help our bodies operate. So why would the Brain (one of THE most important organs,) be less important, or different than our physical health? Why? Why would someone ask me why my mental health was more important than their feelings? When they would never ask me that about my physical health?

Because society still has this idea that if you work hard enough, mental illnesses will go away. Society still has this bootstraps mentality. Society still has this mentality that mental health is just a buzzword, it doesn't mean anything.

No one would ever ask me to sacrifice or injure a limb for their feelings. No one would ever ask me to spike my blood sugar, or induce an asthma attack for their feelings. So why would someone ask me to engage in a behavior or conversation that is detrimental to my mental health for their feelings? How is me, saying I don't want to workout because I have asthma, any different than me saying I don't want to argue because I have anxiety?

How is you, asking me to sacrifice myself physically less bad and selfish than you asking me to sacrifice myself mentally?

It is not. You see, I've had depression for 7-8 years. I know how it works. I know what triggers it, I know how to cope, I know what I should and shouldn't do. You know who also knows? The multiple therapists and psychologists I have seen. The ones that have told me to make my mental health my first priority.

Do Not. Ever. Ask me to sacrifice my mental health for you. Because I won't. Not now, not ever, for no one. I will not. Because I would never ask you to damage yourself physically.

Saying I'm triggered by something, isn't an avoidance tactic.

If you had a major traumatic injury to your knee, you would probably not be able to do some things that other people were able to do right? You would probably know that other people could run for long periods of time, and you would be unable to. You would probably know that you used to be able to do those things, but now you cant. So imagine, if you had a friend, who knew about your knee injury, and they just kept asking you to run a 5K with them.

Even after you explained, that running a 5K would cause short-term, or long-term damage to your already fragile knee. Imagine if the friend, implied that they were hurt, or that you were being selfish, because of your inability to run a 5K. A 5K that you said you would run eventually, just not at that moment. Wouldn't that be pretty messed up? Wouldn't you be confused? Wouldn't you want your friend to understand that no matter how hard you tried to run that dang 5K, it wasn't going to be finished today. And IF it was finished today, your knee would be in terrible shape.

This is how it feels when you ask someone with a mental illness to engage in conversations or behavior that they have already deemed triggering, and detrimental to their mental state at the moment. This is how invalidated, ignored, and angry we feel when people decide that we are making our triggers up, and we must do whatever activity they want us to do.

This is how hurtful and insensitive you are being.

Do not ever reduce my mental health to a joke, for your comfort.

It may seem like I am comfortable sharing large portions of my life with people, but sometimes I am not. Sometimes it is triggering, sometimes it is traumatic, sometimes it is uncomfortable. Sometimes I want to do it, sometimes I dont. So if I trust you enough, to let you know about my mental state at the time, and you make it into a joke, that is very hurtful to me. It is the equivalent of someone in a wheelchair, telling you why they are in a wheelchair, and you making a joke about their inability to walk.

Does that make you happy? Does that make things less awkward for you? To lack empathy?

You do not understand.

As much as you've followed me on this journey, as much as you've experienced, you will never understand how I feel. Ever. Even two people with the same illness will never completely understand how the other feels because it manifests itself in different ways.

A couple of weeks ago, while going through a crying spell, I explained to my mom that I was in so much pain, that I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I would not wish it on my worst enemy. Eventually, your brain literally begins to feel weak. You can feel it giving out on you. Just like any other body part.

I have had to give up the things that I hold dear, my clubs, my friends, my school, I have had to give that up. I have had to give up the things that make me happy. I have had to give up the things that define me, and have defined me for the past 2.5 years. All of it has been taken from me in the matter of a month.

If you expect me to be the slightest bit over that, you must be very confused. 

Depression can either make you hyper-sensitive, or numb. You can't access the emotions you need to react appropriately to a situation. It's confusing. It's tiring. You feel hopeless. You want to die. Sometimes, not because you're super sad. Sometimes, you want to die because depression is just plain annoying. It's annoying anticipating having to feel this way for the rest of your life.

So. If I am expressing myself because I am upset over something, it is not your duty, it is not your right, to tell me what I CAN and CAN'T be mad over, and what I SHOULD, and SHOULD not care about. It is not your place to tell me that I care too much about xyz. It is not your place at all to tell a 20 year old women how she should, and should not react to things. However, it is definitely not your place when this woman did not have access to her emotions for 6 years and one of her coping mechanisms IS expressing herself, and is one of the things that was stressed upon in therapy with a licensed medical professional.

I am hurt.

I am hurt by the fact that I have to write this out. I am hurt by the fact that I have to explain things to you that I feel should be known by now. I am hurt by your apparent lack of empathy. I feel guilty. I feel guilty for being upset, and I feel as though I "owe" you something so I shouldn't be able to call you out. But this was not, and will never be okay. 

This goes to everyone.

Self-Analyisis

It's only been three weeks since I've decided to take a break from school, and so many self-discoveries have been made. My depression still seems like this big mass of confusion. It's like the world's longest math problem and I have no idea how to even begin to tackle it to solve it. So I don't even try. It's been so present in my life it's hard to dissect it, and it's hard to differentiate between facets of my actual personality, and facets of my depression.

My anxiety is a different story though. I think I've always been slightly anxious but it's relatively new because it didn't really flare up until this semester. So far I've been able to determine where most of my anxiety stems from. However, I don't really know what to do after that. Hopefully I'll figure that out as time goes on. My anxiety themes are irrational thoughts and fears I have that can be triggered by specific or minuscule events, or thoughts that I have when I am in a depressed state.

1. Irrational Fear of Laziness.
I feel extremely guilty whenever I spend time relaxing, which is why I spent time joining so many clubs in school. However, I wasn't able to give anything the time it deserved. I constantly don't want to be seen as lazy, because I think that lazy people deserve what happens to them. I also come from a family that is financially stable. I want to prove to everyone that I am not spoiled, and that I have a good work ethic, therefore I over compensate.

2. Poor body image.
I feel very unhappy with my body despite the weight I am at. This stemmed from middle school when I was going through puberty and had to deal with negative comments by my parents. Throughout middle school I was ridiculed for my appearance, and I am very insecure about my teeth. Whenever I have a stressful time, this is where my teeth nightmares stem from. I also feel bad about my skin-tone because I was teased for it throughout high school. It makes me feel undesirable, and as though people are attracted to me out of pity. I am able to acknowledge that I am photogenic, but I wish I could change multiple things about my appearance. My height makes me feel awkward and heavy as well.

3. Questions over morality, and if I'm a good person.
This comes from sexuality issues but also issues with my parent's money, similar to number one. I feel as though my mental health issues cost my family so much money that I am a bad person for being so selfish and always talking about how sad I am. I feel guilty going to therapy and taking my medicine because so many people can't do that. I feel like a bad person when I express negative emotions because that will make other people feel sad as well. I had no problem taking my medicine until recently until I was triggered by someone jokingly implying that I was lazy. Now I am filled with anxiety before taking my medicine because of my irrational fear of being lazy or spoiled.

4. The obsession with being the best/Perfectionism
If I'm not the best at something I will not attempt to do so. If I see someone else being better at something it makes me feel anxious and depressed. I must appear to have it all together. I cannot admit my flaws or mistakes to people.

5. Fears that no one likes me.
This is mainly me thinking people talk to me out of pity, or they are going to drop me when someone better comes around. This makes it difficult for me to trust people, and irrationally jealous sometimes. This jealousy is more internal, and causes me to think negative thoughts about myself and my appearance, and use that as reasoning for people disliking me. I also think that people are lying when they say nice comments to/about me.

6. Insecurity over my intelligence.
I have always tied intelligence to grades, and I always convince myself I have horrible grades. I tell myself that I am not really smart, and that people can tell. I also tell myself that certain people will not associate with me due to my lack of knowledge.

It Can't Wait

Hi yall! 

For those who don't know, I actually have a younger brother named Deji. He's 12 years old and we used to fight like cats and dogs, but now I can tolerate him in small doses. Since I'm 20, there's almost a decade between us. The 8 year age difference impacts us in multiple ways. We can't relate to most pop culture references, I'm focused on grad school while I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know what grad school is. Also, the 8 year difference means that my parents have A LOT less energy when it comes to having conversations with my brother. Which isn't their fault. I think that's normal with all parents.

However, now that I'm home I've noticed my brother making statements that have been troubling to me. When trying to explain systematic oppression to my dad, I heard Deji grumbling in the background saying that I was being mean to White people when I talked about White Privilege. I've heard Deji complain about White people not being able to use the n-word. He's asked why people in Ferguson are "rioting" and said that "black cops kill white people all of the time." 

It's not Deji's fault though. We live in a society that is founded on these thoughts. As pro-black as his sister is, he can't escape the impact of white supremacy. It's not his fault. It's the system's fault. However, I don't think that he should been thought of as a lost cause.

I think it's very easy for parents to hear their kids make statements like this, and brush it off as something they'll learn about later in life. It shouldn't be like that. Internalized racism is something that takes years to unlearn, and can impact the lives of people of color greatly.

I'm a prime example. I'm significantly darker in complexion than my mom, and I have always had coarse afro-textured hair. Starting from the age of 5 I was made to believe that my hair was unprofessional and undesirable, and in order to be "pretty", I must keep it straight. I think most Black women can relate to this kind of thinking. This started an unhealthy relationship with my hair and self-confidence that still impacts me to this day. My skin-tone is something that I've been taught makes me ugly or undesirable to all men. I didn't stop getting teased for it until Senior year of high school. I remember looking in the mirror and wishing I could just be a teeny bit lighter, so a boy could finally like me. 

All of these things will obviously have a negative impact on a girl's self-esteem. Especially a little black girl that lives in a society that only values Euro-centric beauty standards. Sometimes I didn't want to hear my mom reminding me that I was special just the way I was. Sometimes I didn't want to hear that my classmates were jealous of me. 

But I also didn't know what I needed to hear. All of these compliments and reassurances felt hollow and dry but at the age of 16 I couldn't figure out why.

Fast forward to the age of 20, and I'm a self-proclaimed social justice warrior. I'm able to articulate what exactly I did want to hear from my mother. I wanted to hear that we lived in a White supremacist society. I wanted to hear that colorism has been used as a tool to fuel oppression for years. I wanted to hear that nothing was wrong with my hair, other than the fact that it didn't resemble White hair. I wanted to hear that the other Brown girls in my class were just regurgitating the same BS force-fed to them since they popped out of the womb. I wanted to hear that it would be difficult for me to find my self-confidence and appreciate my beauty, but eventually it would be possible after years of correcting harmful thoughts ingrained in me for years.

But of course I didn't hear that. My mother is a nice lady but she is not a social justice warrior. She's an HR manager. She doesn't have the tools to even begin to make those statements because it's not something presented to her often. And that's not her fault but it also isn't mine. I'm left with picking up the pieces and grasping to find some level of confidence just like she had to, and my grandmother had to do before.

I think every teenager goes through their rebellious period. Some turn to drugs or alcohol, or sex. However, my form of rebellion is activism. I think most of my friends who want to be involved with social justice feel the same. This stuff is so serious, but so interesting, we really don't understand how anyone could not be passionate about it. It's awesome going to panels and listening to people's views. You get so fired up and you're ready to have more intellectual discussions!  It's not that awesome going home and listening to your family make i uninformed statements that go completely against your views. It's hard to draw the line between disrespecting your parents, and actually educating them on something that you clearly know more about. It can lead to you feeling disheartened, and misunderstood. 

Who knows what will happen to Deji in the future? Maybe my parents will educate him about police brutality and racial profiling, or maybe they won't. Maybe hearing me talk about racism and seeing me going to protests will lead Deji to open his mind and realize that he can't always listen to his brain-washed peers. Or maybe Deji won't do anything at all. Maybe he'll continue to believe that Black people are responsible for racism against them, and maybe he'll believe in respectability politics. 

All I know is, if I have a say in anything, that can't happen. I refuse to sit and watch my brother fall victim to internalized racism. Because I know that at the end of the day, when it comes to police brutality, his respectability politics will not save him. 

I don't think people understand how it feel stripped of your identity. It's more than your name. It's what you're defined as, it's the role you fit into. I became defined by my involvement. I became defined by extracurricular activities, and a sense of business.They were a part of me. They were me.

I used to be the prodigy. I used to be an example of what happens when you do things right. I was an example of someone who used all that Higher Ed had to offer, to the fullest. 

Also, it took years of hard work. And my illness was able to take that from me within a couple of weeks. 

Now I can't do any of these things. I can't even answer an email. I am not even sure who or what I am now. Also, I had to medically withdraw from this semester. I'm just trying to re-define my role on this campus, and life in general. 

This isn't a pity me post. This also isn't a post about how strong I am. It's just me checking in. Thank you to everyone reaching out to me and supporting me, I love you all!