I’m stuck. I’m almost 32 years old, and I am still stuck when I try to tell the story of how my sexuality was shaped. I envy people who can freely talk about such things. It’s just not something that comes easily to me. Some days I wish I could have an open and engaging conversation about sexuality just like I can about Star Trek. God, that would make life so much easier.
For so long in my life, I thought that sex was something to be feared or ashamed of. From the first moment that I was asked not to “tell, cause then we will just get into trouble…” to this very moment, I have been one twisted, mental fuck-up when it comes to anything sexual. And that really, really sucks.
I am currently the parent of a 2 year old. My kid is the most vibrant, hilarious, and polite toddler you will ever meet. It really amazes me how surprised people are at the things she will say and do. They can’t get over how she can use the phrases “Please,” “Thank you!” “You’re welcome!” “Bless you!” and “I’m sorry.” in the proper context.Her ability to know and use those phrases excites me way more than her knowing colors, shapes, letters, or numbers. She has between now and kindergarten to know school facts, and I want to spend this precious time of her early years teaching her about character and emotion.
“Tale as old as time…” If those words ring a “belle” deep in your mind, then you just may be a diehard fan of Beauty and the Beast.” (See what I did there? *wink* *wink*)
Most women my age were introduced to this classic tale through a Disney animated movie that was released in 1991. I grew up in a home that had no television and we did not go to the movies, so I didn’t get to enjoy it when I was very young. As a child, I did watch a little gem of a movie called Rigoletto, which had very similar themes to the Beauty and the Beast plot line, but I did not see the Disney version until I was an adult. I grew very fond of it once I watched it, and when they re-released it in 3D in 2012, my then-boyfriend and now-husband dutifully went along with me to see it on one of our Wednesday night dates.
I’ve tried so many times before to write about racism, but I always get to the really hard parts in my story, and my words get stuck. I was raised in a very religious home, so one might question how racism could have crept into my young life. I was born and raised in Mississippi, which of course is known for a highly spotted racial past. Racism was not a blatant part of my every day life growing up, but when extended family would get together for reunions or funerals, I heard many a racist “joke” or tirade. Even though the people in my every day life did not openly speak of such things, I do recall them all laughing along with the “jokes” or nodding sympathetically to someone’s tirade.
Back in November 2015, I was going through a LOT. My body was still adjusting after having a baby in January, and I was also dealing with a huge life change of my parents coming back into my life after a 9 year separation. At this time, my parents were still going to the same church that I grew up in, but it was under different leadership since the former cult leader had been removed from office.
My mom was asking me a lot to come attend church with them whenever we were in town, and I kept turning her down. I couldn’t bring myself to go into a church service in a place that had caused me so much confusion and turmoil in my formative years! I even explained to her that I don’t visit churches any longer, even though numerous friends ask me to join them all the time. I wanted her to know that it wasn’t just HER church I didn’t want to attend.
Whenever I am having an internal conflict or whenever I feel as though the world is barging into my personal space, I tend to have some really bizarre dreams. Early one morning, I woke in a cold sweat from a nightmare. It was like most nightmares, a random and rapid flickering of stressful events that I had to overcome. As soon as I woke up, I couldn’t stay in bed. I got up and about and was pacing in our living area, when I realized that I needed to get this dream written down before it went from my mind completely.
Kay is a new writer for bleed with me. You can learn more about her HERE
Today I am going to talk about my guardian angels. I have four of them. Four is the number of people who I have truly loved, yet I was forced to watch them fade from this life. I’ve spent a lot of years denying my connection with those who have passed on, but I am no longer afraid of this precious gift.
The one who has been with me the longest is my paternal grandfather. We buried him just one month before my 15’th birthday. He was a man who never threw an unkind word in my direction. He was warm, and round, and steady. He always had candy with him, and he had no qualms whatsoever about crushing me mercilessly at Monopoly. Now that I am older and understand the weight that must have been on his shoulders concerning certain issues in our family, my love grows for him even more. I know he was not a perfect man, and if he were standing here right now, he would tell you the very same thing. I know he watches over all of his family, but I feel him so strongly. There has to be some significance to that, I’m sure of it! When I am really down, and I feel the warmth of a hug, yet no one is in the room with me, I know that it is him. When I am having a hysterical panic attack, it’s his voice that is still and booming all at the same time telling me that it’s going to be ok.