To all the prospective Viewers, I'll do my best to keep the bitching to a minimum. This is the beginning of what will one day be a useful/ not sold in dollarstores unfinished autobiography. also, punctiation will be administered at my disscression, so english nags, turn away
Where to begin? let's do a background check.
I grew up in a small community in the ghetto. No, I don't mean the black/hispanic ghetto. I mean the black/hispanic, but mostly jewish ghetto. And before you ask, yes those tat's are real. and ill explain those later...
So who gives a frisbee if i knew a bunch of jews? I do. not only are the Yarmulke (ya-ma-ka)'s dead sexy, and sideburns a turn on, but the people are even more enticing. SO lets make this short and sour. I was the only black kid on the block, beginning around age 3. I didnt grow up with fellow colords. I grew up in matzos, chanukah and no-electriciy weekends. WHat does any of that matter? when you live as an outsider that is accepted because you pose no forseeable threat, you learn to be color blind. you translate dialetcs and inhale the sweet scent of diversity. Like a sourpatchchild, its sweet then sour. How so? Not everyone is so accepting. Sometimes I believe that there are none crueler than adolescents. One day they wanna jump rope and fight dragons, the next, (metaphorically) lynch you. But that's what love is. Not saying that I believe it exists, but I believe in the idea, thought, action and usefulness. story of pikesville? love others unconditionally, even if you don't like them and you will turn out the better. and karma's a bitch.
Phase 2---the missing childhood.
So outside of the isolated, homeschooled world that took place in jew-town for a decade, was a time fillled with turmoil. The majority of what I remember from the first 10 years of my life was spent in hospitials. No, I wasnt a sickly cancer kid, I just had a grandparent that spent 7 years dying. NOt that I've ever experienced it, but unless youre more than just the strongest, most stubborn person in the world, loosing the use of your limbs can/may be personally detrimental. And in this case, drew out their very will to live, and almost the life of an immediate family member. One of the most potent memories i can recall was after said grandparent spilled a pot of boiling water on their paralegic-legs, and subsequently burns followed. You know that feeling when you go over a hill really fast and suddenly,and you feel your stomach
drop?
yeah, it was like that. The smell of the scolding flesh still resides in my nasal banks. That wasn't the worst part. IT was the 8year old changing an 80+ year old's dressings and catheters that sticks. And for this, i will never be able to give the deserving medical world the dedication and compassion it so derperately needs. Thankfully, I have an amazing sister who does that.
So in and out of nursing homes and doctors offices we went, never finding a cure, or remedy.
The relief came in death. and in almost death came ressurection of the matriarch. Unfortunately, the cycle of life isnt free, and that burden was carried by my parents for many years to come, and will most likely, and freely, be passed on to the next generation.
PHASE 3.
adolescene. LEts just say this, I was that awkward, then smelly, then emo-punk-goth-skater-scene kid for a while. Nuff said
5-ish years later? I'm a broken, wanna me emo-punk-goth-skater-scene adult trying to make their way in the world.
SO what I wanna know is, who wrote the book on love?
first, theres that puppy love that you will never forget, then the crush and mistake that you wish you could, then the one you want to see when you wake up in the middle of the afternoon. Whoever wrote it must of been tripping bad, and here's why....
I found my man. Actually, I found them twice. The first was the one that the parents approved, and I loved (believeing it was mutual),driven, and the next Ben Carson that got cold feet. The second was self-suffuicient, selfish,and ravenously imperfect, who loved me, but turned out to have a bridezilla of a predjudiced mother. And you know what they say....when the mom isnt happy, no one is. Although they were willing, I could never ask them to divide themselves from the very entity that bore him for 9 months, and raised him to be the excelllent, flawed man that he will some day be. we were almost us till death do us part.
sufficeive to say, I now live in fer. fear that one day i will allow someone to get too close, to care too much.....no, thats bullshit. I don't ever want to get hurt like that again. BEcause of the way i see people,and disremember how people see myself, loosing him to such a bitter end, detached a bit of my soul. love is supposed to see no pigments. love sees the palms of our hands that touch, and the soles of the feet that carry us, as all the same. the lines may cross in different patterns, but our foundation is not unique. all i could think was " youll never be good enough, you aren't cool enough to pull a MJ and change what you are, and the love will always be unwhole".
don't ever let anyone tell you that people change. There are no new tricks. the cycle always repeats.
SO that's basically where I am. Yes, theres more, but I i need a brain-food break.
[Not a phase]
not too long after i origionally wrote this post, a good friend of mine committes suicide. and in his goodbye note, he professes his love to me. and i never knew. Now, all i can think about is what could have been, and how i missed it. and that he's never coming back. The absolute worst tihing is this:
the night he dies, i texted him; he never answered/
I thought about texting him again, but i didn't want to intrude/
I found out he was a dead a week later on facebook. I never got to say goodbye.
now i am left with all those what if's; what if i had texted him again, what if i had asked him to meet up, what if i told him he could talk to me whenever he wanted; would he still be here?
what if i had known that he loved me; could i have stopped him?
what if....
i'll always miss you hjp
