I had a nice cry today. I'm going through a period where my feelings are easily hurt. I'm forgetting to remember that the things people say and do have nothing to do with me, that it's only a reflection of their own issues. And the sad part? It wasn't a hard cry--just a long and sobby one, which tells me that I'm due for one of those really ugly, fallout crying sessions; I see it coming, and actually I'm looking forward to having it so that I can go ahead and get over myself.
I try so hard to be open to people and their myriad of issues. In trying so hard, I often don't accept the fact that just because I try really hard to accept their issues, it doesn't mean that they will return the same favor. And what does that make me? It makes me a "poor me" type. Oh poor little Nikki, her feelings are hurt because people won't accept her the way she is. More than likely you'll find that few people will accept you exactly as you are. I've decided that only God can do it 100%. After God, I find that my immediate family members are an extension of that, with my mom, dad, Peanut, and Sir being the best at it (Sir because he doesn't know any better yet). Ya' see, I think parents have this hard task of accepting the fact that no matter how hard they work on raising their children, they will still be their weird little individual selves. And my brother's pretty good at accepting all of my craziness, except that I know there are moments when he's wondering what planet I came from. But siblings are also forced into accepting you because they know that no matter what, they can't change the fact that you were born to the same people. As they say, you can choose your friends, but you can't choose what weirdo of a brother you get (yes, that's a mean-spirited, yet loving, shot at Peanut!).
After my breakdown, I walked over and gave my mother a long hug--I barely wanted to let go of her soft skin. I told how much I appreciate her accepting me, even when she may not understand me--my mother always has my back. And I must note that my dad is amazing. I feel safe saying that he's totally, utterly, and foolishly in love with me. I'm living life in ways that he dreams--he does live through me. And guess what, I too live through someone...Sir. He has tendencies and personality traits that I'm way too afraid to try out. That dude lives life out loud and doesn't give a shit, and I'm trying my hardest not to break his lively spirit out of my own fears and society's bullshit.
The rebel in me wants to say: "Fuck what people think."
But the wise woman in me says: "But God...but God."
And for those who don't get that But God thing, I don't have the time to explain it. Just picture a southern black slave picking cotton in the motherfuckin' heat after being raped by massah the night before, and then she sighs, "But God...but God." Got it?
I seem to have lost so many things. Material and financial goods. The more I lose the more I am forced to trust God. That trust deepens everyday and leads me to do more things that I'm proud of. And there's no amount of money or lavish and pretty things that will make God proud of me. There's no amount of education or degrees or training that will make God proud of me. Each day I am being forced more and more to accept that what's physical can't surpass what's spiritual. I am humbled. And I am almost sure (almost because I can't say for sure what God and I will come up with next) that I will continue to lose more material things. And when my Job Syndrome ends, I hope to be all the wiser and spiritually richer for the journey. Until then, I'm enjoying the freedom that poverty is providing (yes, society would, and does, label me as poor). You'd be amazed how free you feel when money isn't an issue because there just ain't any.
But God...but God.
Miss Nikki Ann
