Scarce Identity: The Purple Side

Scarce Identity: The Purple Side

d2ec576031cfa11b906fc4802eb54c13I wouldn’t say this is a Prince tribute, but between his continuation and reading Frank Ocean’s tribute post on Tumblr, it encouraged me reveal a few passing thoughts.  Since Prince unforeseen move, there is a plethora of articles, think-pieces, opinion post about his non-conforming identity as a black male.  Frank Ocean alluded to this throughout his entry,”He was a straight black male who played his first televised set with bikini bottoms and knee high heeled boots.” Prince even eased Franks own self awareness when he said, “He made me more comfortable with how I identify sexually.” Now, not to be all in the mix, but we know exactly how that went down when he pulled that New York style butch-queen stunt right before releasing his debut album. Thus, collecting his coin from the gays dashing away into the mysterious leaving his fans and the newly gay fans for dry. Hopefully, Prince didn’t teach him how to Forest Gump…I digress, though. Prince own morals permeated the lives of many in the idea of self expression. However in my coming of age when sexuality and masculinity becomes the point in question out of every pubescent’s mouth, my inner thoughts always asked how can they respect his expression and not mine?

The high heeled purple spirit in bell bottoms, hip hugging jump suits, and Halle Berry short cuts was not around when I had to prove my manhood. He was before my time musically. The only time I would see him would be flashbacks shown on MTV some random Saturday afternoon. In those moments when he is wearing one his iconic flamboyant attires, I am thirteen trying to put him in a category as many currently did to me. Is he gay? What is he? People are allowing him to do these things? Boys can wear heels, since when? What seems to be homophobic questions from a sassy kid himself, were nothing more than inquisitions trying alleviate the suppression I put on myself.  I had to be meticulous in the way that I speak, dress, and act. Picking the tone in my voice and the way my hands move about with my words was a process as delicate as plucking petals. I was poor at suppressing those categories, but in how I dress I had no control over and Prince’s tight assembles were in contrast to the standard black male uniform of oversize everything. I had no celebrity hero that was equally accepted into the straight community and LGBTQ+ community as flagrant as Prince. No safe haven for me to conceal behind or vicariously live through. Either way, people loved him for his mystery while in the same breath try to breakdown what they couldn’t understand in me and people alike, even my mother.

My dad thought he dressed a little too feminine for his taste, my mother loved his music, Daily News front cover is of him with his legs crossed in his legendary heeled boots calling him “Sexy” While I struggle to put on leg warmers in hopes that I won’t get menacing looks and sarcastic questions at the age of 23. Do you see where I’m going with this? What partitioned him from me, what made his being acceptable and praised and not the tone of my voice, or the fit of my clothes, my proper dialect,  the glide in my step, my interest in things feminine? Something as simple as going out with leg warmers on a brutally cold New York winter day was an audacious task. the alarming feeling of fear heating my chest, sitting in the back of my throat as I timidly decide if I should place my jeans over them or not. Would I get looks and sly comments? What would my coworkers think? Would my mom question my gender for the hundredth time as she did when I accidentally left foundation in the bathroom? Is it going to bring unwarranted attention? I went ahead and placed them over my knee after drilling to myself, “Don’t matter who says what to you, you bought it, you like it, it’s cold, wear it.” Then someone later asks, “What is that on your legs,” when clearly it is obvious. “Don’t girls wear that for dance?”  Although my sarcastic responses were so keenly sharp with shade, deep down I felt like I called it upon myself.

prince-08  In trying to decipher it all between him and I and others alike, I came up with the idea that Prince gave the straight community something to look past his gender fluidity: His music. As long as you give them something to look past you will be okay. Got to have that something else that will be big enough to water down their ignorance. You can’t just be a regular feminine black male. You need a superior talent. One can express freely as long as you can slay a weave, design their home, shady humor, make them best dressed at the Grammy’s, and write the best gossip column. Or in another case, sleep solely with women. That way the determining factor, who one lays down in bed with, will decide the likeliness of positive receptivity. A women can listen to Prince and wish to sleep with him, while a male can do the same and assume his lyrics are about females and feel comfortable singing them. There shouldn’t be a pass for Prince in heels and a guitar while men like E.J. Johnson; Magic Johnson son, is chastised. Along with  Miss Lawrence and Derek J being slandered because of  who they sleep with is the determining factor of acceptance.

This isn’t about Prince. This is me trying to understand my self identity through him and question why society accepted him and cannot accept  me and others alike. No, I’m not crying out to wear heels. However, like Prince, he was an unapologetic spirit. I need to be that. Part of me is still healing from the past wounds as it still plays a part in how fully self express today. Part of me needs approval. I am working on that, I know I don’t need it. I don’t need Kid Cudi and Will Smith to make it okay for me to wear a crop top or Jaden Smith to pick a shirt from the girls section. I don’t need a rapper to be dressed in all pink for me to wear pink. I don’t need a straight male or women to vogue in order for me feel comfortable voguing in public. I don’t need Tank making a video about his salad being tossed for me to toss mine with organic toppings. I don’t need an presumably straight male to approve my fluid expression, my feminine side of a young black man. It’s the unwavering confidence in my self expression I am perfecting. Thanks Prince!

 

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The Sunday Service in Whole Foods

382229_562747207078546_1208101830_nThe wonderful array of books, books, and more books, neatly placed on the shelves of Barnes & Noble  all in different size, colors and titles. Colorful literature with the only worry to decipher which lucky author will fulfill me today. I arrived thirty minutes early to my 7pm meet up in Whole Foods on Union Square eager to burn the isle of Barnes&Nobles with my curiosity. I spent the time pandering through the Ancient Knowledge & Hidden Mysteries, and Self-Help sections–my favorite sections ever! Picking up books that spoke deeply about Ancient Egypt and other Ancient Civilizations is a yearning of mine. I adore bridge the gap between my past and present. Plus, I am convinced humans were much more responsible and connected then todays dogma of connectivity and responsibility. Checking my phone after beating the strong wave of indecision that paralyzed me for the last fifteen-minutes, it read 7:04pm. Even when I try to be on time, I am late. It’s embedded in DNA like HTML Codes for me to be tardy.  I sent a text to my, in lack of better terms, friend that I am near while asking for his location for I surprisingly didn’t receive a text confirming my incessant tardiness.

I make way down Union Square park. The sun hid completely  on the other side of the world letting them know its soon to start a new day leaving the city the never sleeps to keep up the nightly duties. The bustling cars passed, people expediting streets,  and a couple romancing with the female shooting a quick look at me while laughing at her boyfriends tender kisses. Ahead of me reads the large green sign Whole Foods, fairly considerable in size in comparison to the competing stores but, not beating the famous numbers that stand high across a building. The numbers that rumored the end of the time, when in reality it just reads the time in military on the left and how many hours are before the hour struck 12 on the right.  I enter the health food realm with excitement until I despairingly saw the elongated lines.

I didn’t to come to spend anymore money though, I came to deliver these CD’s to a friend after a failed experience on trying to join their business plan–but that’s another story! I walk the stairs that was once unknown to me for many years. It lead to an open cafeteria filled with my dynamic people eating, talking, doing tarot cards and…with honor… people conducting a service of the Lord.

My friend raised his hand as I see him sitting next to people foreign to me. My blood began to boil in this short distance to him. I hoped to God that these strangers were not part of his team in which imagined him asking me belittling questions in front them: “Did you watch the CD’s? “, “No!, Well, why haven’t you?”, “You’re making excuses, you don’t have the success mentality like we spoke about. Remember you don’t want live in the employer quadrant!” Remember, remember, remember…Just know, I had comebacks for any and which way the windblown if his colleagues tried me.

At the table, an elderly lady sit comfortably in a black wool jacket with a matching hat. The wrinkles on her face etched and sketched every inch of her face. Another lady in a gray loose fitting sweater with fine short hair and supple brown skin sat on the end of the table. A black bag filled with books and a really bad, brown, unkept, shiny synthetic wig on top of it separated the two ladies. That wig, that beast, that horse hair was horrendous!  As I eyed this scene with much bewilderment,  I caught on my friend on the receiving end of the table. He sat with his legs crossed  and titled attentively listening to what I soon was about to learn.

I placed my bad on the table ready to pull of the agreement and leave immediately. No conversing, no trying to be friends, nothing but my ass on the 5 Train and my nose in my new book. “Are these your friends?” I asked with my face is slight disgust pointing at the weirdness in front of me. The lady in the gray sweater interrupts my question telling Ronald, the friend, to meditate on something. So I asked Ronald what were they talking about. I thought since the lady said meditate that this must be a conversation I would dive into with joy. Maybe these unknowns aren’t as weird as I thought to be. Maybe there wouldn’t a be rush to head home. Ronald who had on an orange dashiki I’m sure was made in Thailand and not Africa, shot a look up at me, “These are just people, we’re talking about being GAY.” Must he put so much emphasis on the word gay. I shook my head at the stupidity. I refused to get into some debate about sexuality. And for him to yet again talk to strangers, why couldn’t he sit alone like a normal New Yorker and be in his phone patiently  waiting for the CD’s? Have not his parents told him the adolescence rule about speaking to strangers. However, if they lured him in with candy…I want one.

Still confused as to how meditation met with being gay in a discussion, the old white lady rises from her seat in disbelief. “Something is wrong with you,” she said to Ronald.  Ronald combats her phobia  by telling me how she believes being gay is wrong for, yet of course, religious reasons. She turns to me slipping through the cracks of the tables, she was very soft spoken, so caring the tone of her voice that her ignorance felt loving and right. It wasn’t.  The lady in gray finally looks up at me. I was caught by surprise by her crossed eyedness. Things just now got too awkward. “You gay too?” asked the delicate toned elderly. “Nah, I’m straight. I don’t go through their struggles,” I said sarcastically. See, this the deal. I don’t like foolish questions that is none of anybody’s business. In these scenarios, I purposely lie in front of your face. It messes with ones prejudice or fools them completely, in the same moment, their ignorance speaks for them, as they often don’t hold back on words. “Good for you, You should speak to your friend about it,” Grandma suggested.  The lady in gray asked the same invasive  question so quickly with diligence it came off more as a proclamation then inquiry. I completely ignored her and looked to Ronald who still sat his chair sullen. His face appeared docile, innocent, and pale in expression.  The lady in gray goes in this whole sermon after Betty White trailed her nun looking ass out of our vision.

She rants horribly on how Ronald needs to meditate on his life decisions. Then detailed explained God’s workings in first person as if her consciousness was high enough to even speak for an entity the human race as a whole is slowly trying to understand. And so she went on:  “You see that lady next me I didn’t know and when she told me to take off my wig, I knew that was God speaking to me because she is a lady of faith, this is how God works. He expresses himself through you and I. He left his word. Don’t worry I accept you.” This angered me, how are you going to say you accept someone and tell one to meditate on how to live their life? When I addressed that to her, she fires her acceptance to me. Bitch, I don’t need you to accept me! I don’t even know you! How dare she flaunt her fake forgiveness in my face. The audacity of it all, be it that miserable, disgraceful relationship between her and that dirty, filthy, shit colored wig! I wanted to tell her so badly to meditate and accept that furry animal she hides under.

Instead I zipped my bag and left with Ronald following after me. The incident moments before I left in the past though Ron still felt indifferent. I made a pit stop at the Bank when he asked about my next moves, “I’m going home.”  He remained quiet before spilling out his feelings, “I’m really hurt…” I didn’t pay any mind, I was too focus on the ATM and how much money I was going to withdraw. I think twenty is doable. To be quite honest, I didn’t really care how he felt.  He has this tendency to speak to me in a chastising way especially during our business ordeal. A nasty distaste is left in my mouth refusing to care at all.

” I need a hug,” he commanded. At this point, was he just trying to stall? Because, I’m not for the nuisances and the woe is me narrative. No one told him to speak to strangers and actually sit there defenseless.  He actually agreed to meditate  on it! He made them feel right, he made himself feel weak. I glanced at him sharply, “Aw, you feel bad?” He nodded meekly before me. Just when he thought I was going to confide him in my arms like a protective brother, I pat him ever so lightly on the back. “Aw You’re a big boy. You’ll be ‘iight. When people try to undervalue me in passive aggressive ways I ignore it, or read the shit out of them, depending on the battle.” I cracked a half way smile hoping he caught the undertone shade I threw.  “You know before you came,” He started, “They old lady said, something worst then AIDS is coming my way and I am going to suffer.” My  eyes widened in disbelief. “Yeah, and to the black lady she said ‘You should take off that wig. I know it’s fake. You’re never going to get a man with that hair on.’ ” I blurted out laughing so hysterically I collided with a few pedestrians. I couldn’t believe the level of hate was going on at one table! He stood there lifeless in his poise as I tried to pick myself up and regain my composure. “I’m sorry,” I said wiping the saliva off my chin, “The health read is horrible  and this is why I don’t indulge in bitter people like her but, she flamed that other chick so badly. Now that was a classic!” He didn’t move an inch. “You know,” Ronald continued, “It’s hurts more because I am a Christian too!”  I took a deep sigh, knowing this was my cue to go home, “Well, these are your peoples. This is what they do. Hey, what can you do about it.” Placing on hand on his shoulder giving him a few shakes to wake him up from his state, I bid farewell.

I got my ass right on that 5 train, with my nose in my new book called, Science of the Mind.

 

 

 

Boys Do “This,” Girls Do “That”

Growing up I was very Unique. In most pictures it was very easy to point me out, not because I was extremely cute with a smile of the sun and dimples of the deep, but merely from being the kid that did weird poses and expression. I made picture taking…FUN! And this sense of  doing what comes to mind is still with me today. It, however, wasn’t easy.

I was really good by the way

I was really good by the way

I don’t know why, I don’t even care to know why, I was attracted to “girly” things. No! not wearing my moms clothes or having long hair, although, I did used to put the neck of a T-shirt around my head to swing it, but all kids did that!  . . right? Well, who cares. In elementary school,  I would be the boy you mostly see with the girls playing hand games like Numbers, Patty Cake, Miss Marry Mat, and Tweet Baby! I loved the hand eye coordination matched with rhythmic words telling an elaborate story. I would literally be the only boy to do these activities, and of course I did get the back lash of words and phrases belittling my being. Kids are mean. They say what they want with no second thought or remorse. Uncouthly, they speak their truth.
Naively, I thought I could bring the same careless at home. Nope, that wasn’t the case. I had a bad history of being teased for being feminine. My parents tried to conform me in ways to oppose the harsh criticism. Sometimes it resulted in me teasing them back or fighting, which didn’t happen often.

Nobody sent me this fake change from kids to boys...fuck that I'm stay a kid!

Nobody sent me this fake change from kids to boys…fuck that I’m stay a kid!

I hated being teased, but I hated to do things that did not appeal to me even more. Hanging around girls came with a strong sense of ease. They had more fun together, they were always consistently laughing and giggling. Boy’s on the other hand, I felt like I had to live up to an expectation of masculinity that took way to much work. I felt like they and me were acting. Especially, around intermediate school, boys “grew up”. In the summer of 4th grade going into 5th grade, Allegedly, there was a memo sent around saying boys will now prematurely deepen their voices, pull their pants below their waist, and only like basketball and football. I damn sure never got this memo.

I liked playing double dutch. My parents tried numerous times to ban me from playing it. It was something that “girls do” amongst me talking with my hands, because Italians do that too, and talking on the phone too long, etc. I remember playing double dutch with my friends and my mother came to the park to pick me up. She scolded me, “Didn’t I tell you, you shouldn’t be jumping Double Dutch, it’s for girls, are you a girl?

Then came the lecture of in order to stop the name calling I had stop doing girly things bullshit.  This started to take a toll on me. I was afraid to bring a rope home, I was afraid to speak on experiences. I slowly was developing a double life very early in my childhood. One day I after a good rope session I made up this dumb lie to change her perspective on me jumping rope.  I said, “Mom did you know they passed a law so boys can jump rope.” She replied sarcastically, “oh really?”

downloadI thought I had won her over and now I was freed from the shackles of stupidity. I was wrong again. I with all honestly couldn’t not understand what rule book many people were going by. Did I really lived in my own world throughout my life? The rejection forced me look at the world around me and question deeply WHO MAKES THESE STUFF UP? and why can’t I just do and be me? what is so wrong for a boy to play hand games and jump rope. I’m not going around in girls clothes at 7 yrs. of age, or even saying I want to be a girl.  So I felt If I can’t do what I want to do, then I’m not going to do anything at all. And that’s exactly what I did till I was 15.

SO, I ask you readers, have you ever been forced out of your likings for the sake of someone else or image?

I Got To Dance With The Stars

Fergalicious!

Fergalicious!

 It was a joyous night day! It began  that crisp Wednesday morning after a that cold Tuesday night of preparation. The weekend prior was a swell one as I dance on the floor in BB Kings performing for many individuals. Competing with other performers as they elude their creativity under the spots lights and flat wooded floor. The floor glistened reflecting the light that bounced around the arena revealing the sweat that measured the heavy yearning to win. That Wednesday morning when I opened my eyes and breathe in the gratitude of a new day and same sun I quickly gathered my outfit as I knew the big day was today.
I was told to meet up with my group at 1 pm in Noho, Manhattan, but because the color of my skin also came with it the program to be always late to everything. I arrived late. Fashionably late I must say. I pulled out my best button front shirt and suede burgundy sweater  to meet my peers at 2:00pm I thought, “Well, at least we don’t have to be at the place until 2:30 for sound check, so technically I’m still on time.” I didn’t get any heat from anybody, thank goodness. When time signaled us to leave we all got into the elevator. I looked around  and saw my program director dress down locked into his phone, appearing as the dance manager he will be for the night. We jumped on the 6 train to wall street to Cipriani Ballroom. We came from underground right beside Trinity Church, which by the way has an historical graveyard site filled with deceased congressmen from the 18th century; which also an area filled with deceased slaves as New York City once held the second largest amount of slave population. Lower Manhattan being the trading grounds–back to the story–So, anyways.

I walked through the turning doors into a wall that titled “Legendary Night.” It was a small wall with light at the bottom that contoured the darkness around the words. Took a deep breathe and smiled unaware of the entire room its self. The hall was huge! It was filled with elegant tables of thirty or more. The ballroom was filled with purple lavender and blue lights that melted into each other into this Omni color of royalty . Each table with small plates and properly placed glasses. Each chair contained a bag from Ernio Laszlo. The feeling of warmth and grandeur filled me like a fountain of youth. I walked into the dressing room upstairs with the rest of my teammates happy.  We were greeted with subway sandwiches and a classic Coke glass bottles, the kind you need to use a bottle opener for. So I did exactly what the universe told me to do…I took advantage. I had at least four sandwich’s and two coke bottles that knocked me into a nap for a good hour before the show.

A friend of mine and I sat down at one of the tables during the start of the Award ceremony. No other was with us, that we knew. We sat with that looked like wealthy people with blinding white teeth that added to the spotlights around the room! Both of us in awe looked at the menu with words we couldn’t even pronounce. Oh, and don’t get me started on the flaky, juicy, airy yet tender goodness of favorable tasting genius that with one bite hugged your tongue into a blissful orgasmic state of heightened euphoric sense of tantalizing sensation [ a moment to breathe] of their croissants. It was as I just described to be…HEAVEN! On top of feeling like I worth a million bucks and more because I knew which fork and spoon was for what and which glass was used for. I belonged with the rest of them. One of the guys even complimented my shirt. So, yeah, I felt grand. I had every right to be. I was about to perform and dance on stage with two stars!

Yeah.

So long story short, After me and my team rocked the staged we had to star for the after party where “Danced the night away” as J-Lo would say to Fergie’s new single “L.A Love.”  It had to be one of many best experiences of my life.  Especially the moment when her and Kelly Osburne was like… “C’mon lets take a selfie” and so we did.  I look sweaty and a tad bit to cheesy compared to the rest of them. I was still jamming on the same stage with them so I have every excuse.

Someone may say, well its just Fergie, but I still absorbed every royal moment with appreciation.  Simply because if she had a concert the tickets would be so much money to be as close I was to the both of them…for FREE!

Her video is below, I thought I post it just to make this post look fuller I suppose. Well Next up on this blog …The Art of Allowing: Are You Allowing Yourself To Be Loved?

Ever Critically Analyzed Your Relationship? Well, Here’s mine of Four Years. Part 2: The Insecurity.

Read Part 1: The Value

   You have it, she experienced it, he said it, they provoked it. We all have these doubts and not-so-good thoughts that takes away from our image. By definition is means lack of confidence. Confidence comes from within, so fixing and deal with insecurities starts with the self first. One does not fully control on anothers confidence. Generally, no one should have any control over your confidence, or at least lowering them. We also have no reason to lower our own confidence, but we do anyways. Now, what I’m not saying is that its bad to have these feelings. What I am going to explain is how it played a role in my relationship. Like many things, we don’t realize how much power we have over our thoughts and emotions. Many have no clue of how much of a choice we have over almost every aspect of out lives. I will explain how at times we feel insecure within ourselves and implement them into our relationships expecting our significant other to be responsible to fix them. We have to start taking responsibility for our own thoughts, actions, and feelings first before we can solve them.

Through my experience I hope other grasp the context of what I am saying, of course my thoughts of the moment of  each experience will be bolded and italic. I do hope to all that reads try to relate this to your own experiences. I hopefully help in some way shape of form.

                                                                                                                          …

Thought’s like, ” In my past relationship I went through this, this, and that. He/She made me feel like this, that and above, and its up to you as a boyfriend or girlfriend  to make me feel the opposite and make my get over the past and be my savior. In order to do fix you must do that and that, and I expect you to do this and that and more.” This is common script right? Do you think this method have or will work?

For example, I know a person who in a relationship and shares facebook passwords. This is a common script to avoid issues and show from one to another that “We trust, each other” and there “Nothing to hide,”  because I am just open to you.  First off , you already coming into the relationship with a prenup. But to continue, my friend would everyday check the boyfriends inbox looking and reading and finding. Almost like everyday is a test passed. There’s no need for all of that. Do you see how the sharing of passwords does not permanently fix the issue but rather just adds fuel to her insecurity.  Let her read a basic message and interpret it with her insecurity to then bomb her boyfriends with thousands of questions…who wants to go through that. As for my friend who wants to feel that feeling of negativeness sitting in your heart while your in this panic. Where’s the ease, wheres the freedom, wheres the comfortability.

I was the same in a similar way. In my experience, me and my ex spoke an app that showed the location of our messages. I would but texting and with every reply I’m going through the location racing with negative thoughts like,  “I don’t think he is his house, why didn’t he tell he is going outside? What’s over there? oh, okay he is home.” I hated feeling like that, I don’t be in relationships to brace myself from getting hurt and cheated on. What will then be the point in ever being in a relationship. I am like this, I am not going to worry myself to death living in this fear if I am being cheated on, I would find out eventually. When I find out I would handle it at the appropriate time in the meantime, let’s enjoy ourselves.  Imagine if two people felt that way, then who will be cheating and who will be getting hurt; If both of the focus is enjoy ourselves and appreciate then whats the worry? what will then still cause the worry? Insecurity.


Towards the end of the relationship there were some many signs that it was time for it to come to a close. Ignored them and didn’t use the issues to used as an excuse to go. I always say theres a way. There is always a way. No problems are unsolvable unless the person within chooses to hold on those issues. In sense a person say, “I will never get over …” Well, then, the person made it a fact and the actions with follow.

He thought I was a very weak individual and if  asked I’m sure he would agree. Because of his lack of confidence in me he thought  I couldn’t handle many situations. For instance, he asked me if i got hit on by other people, I said no, I don’t get him very often. In his truth, I said “No” as not at all ever in my history. The last remembered time I recall was late winter early spring.  So, yeah, it’s a no to me. Long story short, he felt like I was hiding information from him, because he tell me about his hit on, I asked, “well why do you tell me because I don’t care who hits on you unless its a person of mutual who knows where together and chooses to still be disrespectful.” He response was, “So you’ll know how I handle it.” I personally don’t care how its handle if the results are that it doesn’t continue from there then I don’t need to worry! For me that wasn’t the case. I started to now questions his motive behind  his actions.

I thought, ” I thought you told me those things because it was something to say, that it was part of who are which is just say little details like that, maybe you felt flattered and wanted to express it to me. Now I feel like you tell me things just to get things out of me which is in my eyes horrible, like as if you are hunting things from me. Why?”

In the end I started showing him conversations if somebody decided to hit on me or talk to me.  I didn’t like it, I HATED IT! I felt like theres was no need, it was doing way to much, the focus should be on more better things,  I felt like it something extra I had to do on top of many other things. What killed me, was the times when I did I still got penalized for then handling it incorrectly, I was told I lead one on to say “No.” Im sitting highly displeased like, “Even when I show you this conversations I am wronged for not saying specific words, rather then letting me handle it in my own way the end result is still the same and thats all that matters. I am not going to aggressively say, I’m in a relationship if someone wants to compliment me. Not every compliment is someone trying to hit on me.” On top of that, I was sent of  “correct way” on how it suppose to be handled of an old conversation few days prior. My thoughts went, “How is that I am obligated to show you these things on queue and your not doing the same, now its starting to get hypocritical.”  I didn’t have to do these things, I did them because I thought it would make him feel at ease with me and strengthen the bond, but instead he still looked for faults into situation.

It got to the point where I was asking, “Hey, well a friend of mine, who you don’t know invited me over to his house. How would you feel about that?” asking permission basically to go. Which resulted in something along the lines of, “How can you not send me the conversation between you and your friend inviting you over but you show me a conversation about someone asking you out to eat, and Im like,  “Well, because I dont feel like my friend is hitting on me we are just going to hang talk eat, things regular people do.” Of course a load of “what if’s” came about and preferring me going with a group of people, and this person has a history of this and that.
….

I couldn’t deal with all of that anymore, no one out of all these people he felt insecure about ever disrespect me or the relationship and knew I was in a relationship. Everytime I argued against him and said he was wrong in his assumptions, I was “defending them” and i’m not taking into consideration of his words and feelings.  It was a load of crap compared to the amount of time I tried to rid these feelings by write essays of appreciation, buying him things on random, thinking of ideas to do, the list goes on. However that wasn’t what the eyes wanted to see.

People I want you to understand, how it’s important to really look within and see how at times we let our insecurities get the best of us and ruin relationships, and ruin yourself.  In a sense, no matter how many times a person says you are cute, you don’t believe them you will never be. For me, no matter how many times I proven my trust and worthiness, it doesn’t want to be seen its not going to be seen.


I’ll continue this.. later. When everything purges in one scene. “The breakup.”
Read Part 1:The Value