Monthly Archives: January 2017

The Nobodies

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hello-i-amI’ve been laying here in bed for the past few hours staring at the walls. The house is completely silent, except for the sound of snoring coming from under my bed where the old beagle sleeps. I’ve counted the little dips in the popcorn ceiling, I’ve scrolled endlessly through Facebook. I’ve clicked on my Instagram and wondered about other peoples lives. I cant watch TV. Tonight, like many nights I just need the silence. However, lately the silence is more like the screaming, deafening shouting coming from my head.

I have tried to explain this feeling to a couple of my friends, I’ve talked about it into thin air, hoping by some miracle I would get an answer back in the wind. I have wished at 11:11, 1:11. I have thrown pennies into wishing wells, I have blown out candles, I have prayed. I have been patient and hopeful and now all of that feels fruitless. I am incredibly lonely.

I am missing that experience, that joy that people have when they find love. I celebrate with genuine happiness when another of my friends gets plucked from the field. I help plan weddings, help pick out gifts, wish and hope and send good vibes as if it were for me. Yet this one thing in life alludes me. Love. It may as well be the loch ness monster in my life. I don’t think I’ve ever known it, at least it was never presented to me in that way.

I spoke to my very best friend today about this. She single like me, a mother like me and we tried to dissect where it all went wrong. We went as far back as 7th grade and carefully combed through memories like private investigators. We would bounce back ideas and realized that we were just clueless. Why? Why not us? Why not me? Why never me? We looked at Facebook friends ( and yes I know most FB isn’t real) but we had friends who always seemed to have a good person in their lives or were always being lavished with nice gifts or just in general being supported. We couldn’t find a common denominator because there isn’t one. We saw tall, thin and beautiful, we saw different shapes and sizes, different levels of education, we saw plump, we saw many children, we saw some who didn’t have any. We saw men leave wives for “downgrades” or “upgrades” the whole messy gambit and that never answers the question. Why am I so utterly alone at 37 years old. Why do I continuously find myself alone? What is it about me that makes me so unforgettable?

You turn on the TV and see the RomComs, the magazines have beautiful people in them and we are bombarded with images that say, if you do xyz or look like xyz you will find love. Move over to real life and you see that, that is not true. Men love who they love, be it tiny, big, smart, dumb. There heart is attracted to whomever it is. I have tried coloring my hair, wearing lipstick, never leaving the house unkempt, I have lost weight, I have gained weight, I have left the house natural. I have been the opposite of me and I have been the truest form of me and yet no bites.

The earlier exercise brings me back to high school. I wasn’t exactly the first pick for girlfriend. I had many guys say they were interested, but when it came time for chivalry or grand romantic gestures, it was the other girls that got it. I was the one nominated for homecoming court but had no date. Who only went to the dances with friends boyfriends because I was safe and they didn’t want to go, so it was “Ask Denise” I loved a couple of boys back then and they just didn’t feel the same about me. When I went to college, it was the same, people flirted but nothing went further than that. When I moved to Atlanta, I even joined a church and they would double dates with no strings attached and I spent many nights alone waiting for my roommates to come home and tell me about the great times they had. After a few years of being emotionally starved I met my sons father and it moved so fast that I suddenly found myself pregnant. He didn’t love me either, in fact he would remind me of that everyday for almost 9 years. I stayed for so many reasons, but mainly because it was better to deal with that then to be utterly alone. Until it wasn’t and the tables flipped and I decided that id rather be alone than subject myself to that abuse. And so here I am 4 years later. As single as I was 17 years ago when I moved to Atlanta. A string of unrequited loves behind me and me sitting here baring my soul to the internet to keep from going insane. And I ask myself, if looks don’t matter, then its a personality thing that people are attracted to, and if that’s the case I must be broken. I must be an unlovable, a nobody.

I mean sure before you freak out, I know I’m smart and kind and loving. I do like myself. My self esteem is pretty hearty. But its just not the type that draws people in. That makes people want to stay. I carefully study out people on a daily basis. I’m fascinated with people. I watch, I listen, I see gestures, I hear tones, I listen genuinely. Or maybe because I’m trying to figure out what I am missing.

I have friends throw the same lame excuses out: Your not trying hard enough, get out more, He’s coming just wait, You’re too good for what’s out there, Your not wanting it bad enough, try online dating, try going out without your son, go places with your son you may meet a single dad, did you try the other dating website? You’re not picky…I don’t get it. I just don’t get why your single. Maybe you want it too badly, when you stop looking it will happen. You don’t care enough, maybe you need to try xyz. I’ve heard it all and yes in some scenarios I could see where that would work, but do you understand I’ve been waiting my entire life? And guys I think there is just something wrong with me.

I feel like that one random item in the store that nobody buys, so they move it around hoping it will garner interest, then it goes on sale, then it goes on deeper sale, then its in the BOGO section, until it just gets lost in the shuffle and ends up in a dusty cabinet. And soon everyone forgets about it. Even the people who carefully rooted for it and tried to mark it down so it would be a perceived value. Even those friends eventually stop calling. It becomes the nothing. The nobody. My biggest fear. Well, I take that back. My biggest fear is that my son who is very much like me in personality will suffer the same fate. I pray more for him than I do for myself and I see him having a hard time making friends and I die inside. I pray that he finds someone who loves him so deeply and they go on to have a family and he is surrounded by so much love he can’t imagine it being any other way. And I hope he grows up to be nothing like me in this sense. I pray he’s not 37 typing on a computer, hoping to connect with someone out there on some level, any level to keep him from going insane. In 37 years I do not know what it is to be loved, to be cared for. I couldn’t tell you a wonderful gesture aside from a stranger opening the door for me. The bar is so low it’s practically burying itself in the ground lol

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This isn’t a cry for help. I still lead a full and active life. I still enjoy the sun rises and the wind blowing in my face. My favorite part of the day is looking up to the clear sky, not a cloud in sight and thinking it was made just for me. I love watching love. I love hearing laughter, it brings me joy to help others and I feel most myself when I am in servitude. I still dress up, but only because it makes me feel nice. I still believe i still hope. But id be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little and wasn’t maddening at times.

So this, here is for you. The nobodies out there. I get it. You in all your badassery are as stumped as I. But I’m hoping you know you’re not alone, not damaged. There is no algorithm to figuring out why some are loved more than others. Or maybe there is. Either way, tonight I wish you peace and quietness as you try to go to sleep and I hope, if there are any nobodies out there that you wish me the same. Goodnight ❤

P.S I plan on slapping on some red lipstick on in the morning and pretending I never wrote this 😉 so if you made it this far, thank you, from the bottom of my warped heart.

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Why I March

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march-1For those of you who have been hiding under a rock or simply turned off the news this past Saturday there was a movement in this country. A call to action, a unification of people from all walks of life to come together for Equality, for human rights for social justice and for change. It was amazing. It was empowering and eye opening. I turn on the news and hear people say that we were dumb, that marching didn’t solve anything, that we were a bunch of whiny people upset over the election.  That women who were born here in the US had nothing to complain about compared to third world countries. And so, to the people not understanding why “privileged women born in the USA would protest” I offer my story.

I was 25 years old when I gave birth to my son. It was a Monday in September and I six days past my due date went to the hospital to be induced. I had a pretty easy pregnancy, only complaint was I couldn’t fit my shoes and my legs were literally trunkles. No lie. I ended up laboring for 24 hours, pushing for two and a half and when my son and I were in distress, labor was not progressing and we were prepared for an emergency Cesarean Section. He was born on the most beautiful Tuesday in the history of the world, weighing in at 9 lbs 10 oz and 22 inches long. Yes, apparently I make demi-gods.

Up until his birth I  worked hard at my hotel and tried to save every penny. I had saved up my vacation to supplement the lost wages during my recovery and hoped for the best. I planned on pumping my breast milk to save on money. Of course as all mothers will tell you, sometimes our birth-plan doesn’t go the way we imagined.

Having an emergency c-section meant that it would take up to 12 weeks for my body to heal from having my abdomen sliced open and a human body pulled from it. I soon learned that my vacation that I had saved up was swallowed up to pay for my insurance premiums and that I did not have the little cushion that I thought I had saved for.  At around 5 1/2 weeks I had to convince my OBGYN to allow me to return to work and beg my managers to put me on the schedule because we just couldn’t afford it. At 5 1/2 weeks I resumed my hotel desk job-a  half a week before a vaginal birth is allowed and several weeks before a Cesarean is cleared. But I had to put food on the table and bills to pay and  doctors visits and co-pays to pay for, I had applied for WIC to help and also for government assistance and I made 10 cents more than I was allowed to make at the time to qualify for any additional temporary welfare assistance. So off to work I went with an open wound. And Guess what happened? My stomach opened up. Literally opened up. Blood, liquids, stuff that should have never come out did (and I had a desk job so it’s not like I was doing strenuous work) being that it opened up I also had an infection that could have killed me. My sons father had to learn in the doctor’s office how to pack the gaping 2 inch hole and change my dressings so it would not get worse, but even through that I would wake up get dressed , partially take my pain medications (If it wasn’t higher than an 8 on a 10 point scale I would go without because I found out that it made me loopy and thus unsafe to drive)  and I went to work, occasionally going home on my lunch break so I could change the dressing and re-pack the wounds.

It would have been nice to have paid maternity leave. It would have been a great help, it would have allowed me time to not only heal but bond with my newborn son. As a first time mother it would have allowed me time to learn the things I needed to learn, to just keep a child alive.  I sadly had to stop breast-feeding/pumping because of the infection and medication and it was all so overwhelming. Looking back I know now that I wasn’t educated or confident or coherent  enough to ask for help and  support for myself a breastfeeding mom, so I had to put him on formula Which you guessed it cost a lot of money and additional stress. However I was lucky to have a job, I am well aware of that.

I do remember something that will stay with me forever, I was asked to help train a gentleman (who to this day is a near and dear friend). He was an older man who had no hotel experience and I was the one who was lucky enough to get to show him the ropes. One day, I had to go talk to our accounting department and happened to see the pay sheets pulled up on the computer and noticed it listed everyone’s wages. To add insult to injury, literally, I realized was training a co-worker, a man,  and guess who was getting paid $1 more an hour with no experience? Yep the man. My guts were falling out, I was a great employee (I am now a Director with the same company, so no, I’m not just saying that) and I was training him with 5 years of experience and I was still getting paid a dollar less. So this friends is why I marched. And even though my baby factory is most likely to be closed forever, I did it for my sisters out there who may or may not have it worse than I did. I do it in solidarity for women’s rights, for equality, for human rights. For dignity. I marched for my Black brothers and sisters, for my LGTBQ friends, for the disabled for the voiceless. I wanted the world to know that until my dying breath, in me you will always have an ally. And I won’t stop here, you will see me in letter writing campaigns signing petitions, calling my local representatives and standing in line in November and every election my body will allow me to attend after that. Because you matter to me and together we are stronger than alone.

For a fun video of the Atlanta March please click here :

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EDITED TO ADD: *For the record I believe in paid parental leave for the birth of a child. I feel that a father’s place in the home is just as important and that it is not fair for men in the USA to be punished for wanting to be fathers. I believe both roles are important in the upbringing of a child.

Go out and be awesome, not matter where your walk in life leads you! ❤