Little lies save the day

Every day I have the little girl, when I am getting her dressed and ready for school, she makes a point to ask me who is picking her up from school.
I, without hesitation, think two things. 1. I should completely lie so that she doesn’t lose it before I drop her off. 2. I can’t stand the fact that I have to follow what the judge signed on our custody order.

I usually try to change the subject so that I don’t have to lie, but she is at that age now where she is starting to pay attention, recollect and calculate. She’s getting older and things are starting to stick.

I am nauseous. Every single time Wednesday comes around, I have anxiety because like clock work, the little girl asks me who is picking her up and like clock work I have to figure out a way to keep her from freaking out.

When I can’t avoid an answer and I tell her the truth, she breaks down. Crying, yelling, holding me, she yells that she doesn’t want to go to her dad’s house. She doesn’t want him to pick her up. She wants to stay with mommy. She wants me to get her and bring her home.

She begs and pleads with me and I somehow muster up enough strength to keep my composure and get her to calm down and talk about something else.

I received an email from my lawyer basically telling me, I wouldn’t win a custody battle because the judge won’t see a need to change the custody terms and that I’d have to pay $850 to start a new hearing regarding school changes…

I am… numb.

I just wish that for just this one thing, i could have a movie outcome with me winning epic-ally in court and sticking my tongue out at Deadbeat and walking off with my daughter in my arms.

But, instead of all that… I have this.

I. Must. Pray… And allow the little lies that I tell to my little muffin to keep her internal peace.

-Out of My Mind

I’m trying to heal

I realize that my situation is not that different from everyone else’s except the fact that I was on a show. (Fun Fact: I was on TV once right before my custody situation got worse.)

I often find myself explaining to people that my issues with Deadbeat began shortly after I came back from being on TV. At that point everyone’s confused demeanor starts to change and they make the ‘Oh, he just jealous’ face.

No. It’s more than that. That man isn’t JUST jealous. He’s a sociopath. I think I’ve mentioned this before.

The meaning of sociopath is “a person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience.”

Yesterday, I was sitting at work and a thought crossed my mind about my baby shower items and my baby book I started when the little girl was tiny. I have this thought often but I shove it to the back of my mind and hope that it doesn’t resurface because it fucking hurts.

That nigga told me that he threw that stuff out after he took the little girl from me. HE THREW IT OUT.

Did I talk about this before? Maybe..

I took a walk for lunch and started to really think about it. I thought to myself, it is time to address this issue because the more I try to pretend it’s not important, the more it will fester.

When Deadbeat was a child his dad took items from his mom and kept them. Claiming pretty much the same thing he said to me. Saying that he threw that shit out or sold it but in reality he just kept shit. So it’s inevitable that Deadbeat tells me this. I’m sure that stuff is sitting right in the little space above the little girl’s bed where it always has.

How is he a sociopath?

Well, for one thing, he is not moved by emotions. When I begged and pleaded with him to give me my things, when I begged and pleaded with him to let me see my baby, when I cried and poured my heart out to him at counseling thinking that he would be honest and do the same and see that I was sincere,… I thought after all theses things, you’d see some remorse, some regret, some compassion… No. Helllllllllll no.

He has no emotional attachment to other people, no conscience towards situations or things. Not even his own child. He has no friends because he pushes people away. I mean, the man talked very openly about how unfit his mother was to be watching our child and yet, when I call the little girl, I hear that trifling bitch in the background.

I learned recently that I am supposed to let God do his work without a fight. If you ask God for help you cannot get in his way when he starts to get to work. So these days when I am ‘tried’ by Deadbeat, I let God handle the situations. I am out of the way because on a human level, I have done everything I was and am supposed to do.

The only things that still get in the way of my own healing are the things that I have suppressed deep inside that I deemed as unimportant. And that is where I need to work.

So yes, I am mad about the mutha fuckin baby shower stuff and the baby book!

But it’s out now. I can let it go. I can move on to the next thing and talk and breath.

I am healing and I pray for him truly and honestly and very specifically.

I’m trying to make it so that I don’t need to post about these experiences.

I want to talk about how happy I am with my fiancé. I want to talk about the music I make or the furniture I bought. I want to talk about taking trips and food.

It’s depressing to look on here and see all of this hurt and pain.

But… If I didn’t have this, I’d probably be in jail.

So thank you reader. Thank you Word Press. Thank you God for giving me an outlet. Thank you for giving me a voice.

-Out of My Mind and into the world.

I’m still here

Hey there.

I’m still here.

I just don’t have much to say these days.

I write a lot of poetry and I sleep a lot.

But I’m trying not to allow him to get me so mad and out of pocket, that I hold on to my anger.

He’s an idiot and always will be.

But thank you for reading even when I’m not writing.

Thank you.

Oh my oh my.

Who am I?

I thought I ain’t know but, Lord have mercy, how I was reminded of how I was blinded.

I was blind and closed minded for a time and then all of a sudden, it was time to jump and I had forgotten that I had brought a parachute.

I was standing there choking forgetting that I already knew, I was protected and knew the Heimlich.

Who am I? I kept asking myself, thinking that I had lost myself thinking that I needed some help, when all I really need was a little love of self.

A glass of wine, or two or three, and there I was drinking myself blindly into a stupor.

“Yea it’ll fit, yea I can hide it. See?’

I spoke to myself so shamelessly trying to convince my mind that this was the right kind if medicine I needed to heal this pain I was feeling.

Lost. I kept telling people I was lost as I drove to my place and got out of my car, unlocking the door and took my shoes off. I was home and was telling people I was lost.

Let me repeat in case you got lost in the word toss. I said I was driving to my house and was telling everyone I was lost.

As I went in the kitchen to make that chicken I put out to thaw. As I kept singing to my baby girl, the same ole songs that I’d been singing since before she could walk or crawl, but I kept telling everyone I was lost.

How could I be lost when I was able to find my way to everything and everywhere else? How could I be lost speaking of myself when all I was doing was getting myself to everywhere else I needed to go?

And as I speak these things into existence I refuse to look in the mirror and acknowledge the existence of myself in that instance. I was refusing to accept the pimples on my face and the hair on my head that’s been styled the same way everyday. I had refused to acknowledge the lightly sagging breasts on my chest and the thigh gap I’ve had since the moment I could stand. I knew it was all there and yet refused to care that what was in front of me was the lost girl that I claimed to be and the “who am I?” girl that I somehow couldn’t see even though she was standing right in front me.

I know who I am. I been knowing and I been seeing and I been speaking and I been teaching myself to hate myself. I hate myself and that is the first step to loving myself.

“Come to the front of my mind” I tell my insecurities to kneel.
Right before me and repent.
I allow myself to gain some strength and stand on the back of the pain I’ve been trying to refrain from ruining my brain.

The mirror is the alter and as I stare at myself I try not to alter the image before me. God doesn’t make mistakes he makes Gods so what are the odds of him making something so hateful as me? He says, “no weapon formed against thee shall prosper.” Making it improper that I place this hate across my face like a scarlet A. My God ain’t make no mistakes.

HE MADE ME.

Who am I? I am God like. Born from a woman with pride and man that is wise, and from the moment I opened my eyes God had a plan to have me terrorize the demons that fell from the sky.

Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?
You’ll never really know,
Until she looks in the mirror and sees herself clearer and decides to rise.

 

-Out Of My Mind

What if I did it?

What if I disappeared? Left it all and let it all go?

No more pain, no more anger, no more stress.

God knows I am trying to figure out where to go, what to do, how to live, who I am and it seems like no one understands that.

Everyone sees this smiling face and this singing heart but no one understands that the person behind the darker music I have yet to release is exactly that. Someone in the dark hiding, terrified of being in the light because she knows someone is going to see the ugly pain and scars on her body and in her mind.

People always equate depression and suicide to people that are abused or abandoned.

But for me it’s not knowing which way to go and not really finding a path to move towards. It’s not knowing the future and being terrified of what has happened in the past.

It’s not knowing if I am a good enough mother or singer or daughter or friend. It’s being terrified that I’ll be in this miserable head space for the rest of my life hiding my truest feelings.

I have no clue what triggered this type of pain or these emotions. So I read scriptures and I internalize positive affirmations. I take pictures of myself and force my eyes to linger longer on my face in the mirror.

I try my hardest to say hello and smile and sing even when I feel like my voice is non existent.

But then there’s always that little thought of, “What if it all just went away?”

The one thing that holds me back is my child. And with her alive and smiling and laughing, I will live on doing those things with her.

But God knows, I need something to pull me together. To lift me up off the floor and hold me.

I don’t drink as much anymore because at one point I felt like I was becoming dependent on it. It felt so good to drink and forget for just that time what I was going through.

I am looking for the girl who writes these posts and hoping that who she is in these stories can come out and stand in front of others just as open and honest with them as she is here.

Who is Naahnie and when will she show up in real life?

 

….

 

 

Guilt can cut deep

Last night around 11pm me and my fiancé were eating a late, late dinner. We sat across from each other and shared the same bowl. It was quiet and he was talking about something.

He stopped and looked at me and I said, “I wanna say something but I want to figure out how to say it so you’ll understand.”

My fiancé has no children. But he claims the little girl like his own. He is very proud to call himself a dad and he’s proud to do “dad” things.

I said to him, “I want to say this to you so you can grasp my emotions as closely as you can.”

“You know how you feel when you leave your grandmother? Like when you tell me you feel you’re failing her because you can’t take her with you?” He nodded his head in agreement.

I said to him, “that’s how I feel every single time I have to take the little girl to school knowing Deadbeat is going to come get her.”

He sunk a little in his seat. I explained to him that I have a constant emotion of disappointment, guilt and sadness that hits me hard every week because I know my baby wants to be home with her mommy. I know my baby needs my care and my nurturing.

She is young, but I can feel the pain she has in her little, innocent heart when it comes to her dad. And that really cuts me.

I pray everyday for strength and guidance. In fact that’s really all I pray for! 

I just hope my baby sees that I am doing my very best (legally) that I can to protect her and do right by her. 

And he better be lucky I ain’t stupid crazy…

-Out of My Mind

Hello Monday

So Sunday when I went to pick up baby girl my fiancé was in the car. I got out and stood in front of the door so that when deadbeat pulled up he wouldn’t see him and cause trouble.

Luckily, my plan worked and when I grabbed little girl and opened my car door, I could have sworn I heard Deadbeat yell “Aye uhuh uh uh!” But then he drove off before I had a chance to say “What nigga?”

My fiancé said he thinks Deadbeat said something but could care less.

I got in the car, hands shaking as they always do, and drove off. While hearing the soundtrack of Moana playing and hearing my fiancé talk to the little girl, I also heard my very strong and very obnoxious thoughts.

“What if he gets a restraining order against him and we don’t know it? What if he gets one against me? What if he tries something stupid again like not giving her up if he’s in the car?”

I hate giving time to these thoughts and fears but I have to keep in mind that Deadbeat is always planning. Always waiting for a single moment where he can do something stupid and mess me or my plans up. 

-Out of My Mind