Notes from my Black
The other 70%
This entry title means a lot to me. It’s private.
I want to talk about being unimportant. We all want to feel like we make a difference. We want to know that our contribution to others is meaningful. When I was young I felt important. My parents (mom) did what she needed to let me know I was being cared for, I guess. She carted me around and often went to games, matches, meets… and some practices. She did not do this so much for my siblings. After all, it’s hard to cheer for a smart person who is studying or a beautiful person who is attending modeling classes. This was their assigned roles and my assigned role, was easier to attend to. I was also a handful, so maybe being there was needed just in case I decided to elope. I did have an incident where I left a summer school program and spent the day on the roof of a building. I didn’t like being told what direction I needed to go in life, I guess. Some things don’t change.
These parts of me that resist people telling me what to do, where to go, what to think, what to believe… they are deeply embedded in my core. Tell me to believe in god? No thanks. Tell me to believing your politics? Probably not. Tell me to believe in you? Here I’m guilty. Everyone gets a free pass here, I’m not at all certain why. Ask me to believe in myself? I know me better than anyone. I trust me to be someone utterly unimportant to almost everyone.
What brought these hard feelings this morning are the actions of my son, again. He tried to hurt me again. He’s not all that skilled at knowing how to hurt, but his hands are incredibly strong and his go to is grabbing and twisting my fingers. He’s done a little damage to my fingers… stressed tendons and injuring some joints. It’s hasn’t been long lasting injuries but I’m very cautious now. This morning he got angry because at 4 am he decided he was hungry. I was sleeping. It’s a shitty way to wake up.
I wrote the previous this morning at 4am… it was a long morning, and I’m currently spent. I made it my job to go through the packages and throw out my memories. I did. I’m kinda torn up inside and I can’t really tell why. Throwing out things that don’t matter that belong to someone who also doesn’t matter… that should have been easier.