fuck: an introduction

If I had to describe myself I would say XX year old virgin. Who also suffers from anxiety and trichotillomania, both of which are self-diagnosed.

Why would I identify as a virgin first? Because I feel like it's an anomally. I'm obviously black, obviously female (no offense to anyone in the LGBTQ community), but being a virgin at my age isn't something I know to be common. And I feel like it affects how I interact with people and view the world.

My brain is always on the move. It usually starts off pretty slow, and then it's just gone. Imagine playing pinball. Have you ever had the ball slowly bounce back and forth atop the paddles? Do you remember how intense that moment is? And then you catch it in the crevice of one paddle, let it rooooooll down, and then BANG. PING PING PING PING PING LIGHTS BELLS, etc. That's my brain activity. My thought pattern.

And it used to be just that by itself. Now, on top of that, I find myself pulling my hair out, string by string. In my defense, I'm usually trying to pull the hair out of a like knot slash ingrown hair bump. And then my brain wonders, and my hand wanders, and then I have a tiny patch of hair missing. It's great. Not really. It sucks. Because I feel like I'm not in control of my own actions. I know I should be able to stop. I was doing really good, and then I went back to work, this whole moving crap came into play, and away my hair went, strand by strand. It makes me feel powerless. Weak. I feel like it's a cop out. I can't face my emotions, voice my opinion. So I internalize it while I'm externally pulling my hair out.

Writing does help. I get to say all the things without feeling like I'm hurting someone. Which is crazy. Crazy because I don't know why I can't talk to my parents, why I hold some things back from my closest friends. Some things you keep to yourself right? Maybe it's hereditary. But I wouldn't know because I know nothing about my dad's family really. I don't think it's my fault. I feel like it's his place. My mom's family is very much boisterous and open, although they have their secrets. And they like to smile in your face and gossip about you while you're legit in the same building. But that's the thing. That's their thing. Well, our thing (who am I kidding). It's one of those things everyone knows and everyone accepts. It's literally a running joke. My mom has always been open, for the most part, about her family. But my dad has never been that way. I didn't know my own grandma's name until I was in like junior high. His parents are both dead, so I guess I always assumed he just didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to go digging and disrespect his decision to keep that information to himself. Does that mean I can go digging for it on my own? Can I go digging for it on my own? Even if I find anything, will I be able to talk to him about it? Will he get pissed off or be defensive? I want to better understand who I am, but I'm connecting dots that just seem so spread out. It's like I can't go in numerical order. My life, or my family history I guess, is like a connect the dots, but if the makers did those intentional lines. But not just the short, cute ones. It's like they filled out the puzzle 75% of the way and then said here you go, figure this shit out. And I know I the guides are there to make it easy. It should be easy. It's literally connecting the dots. But I'm scared of what will happen when I try. Will my pencil lead break half way there? Will someone bump my arm and make my line run off the page? Will my line be too dark? Too light? This is another example of one of my what the fuck moments. Like, why do I see things in metaphors? What's that all about? Where does that come from? I didn't just wake up like this one day. I've always been this way. But why? And what the fuck for?

I just feel like I don't know myself anymore. And I would've never guessed in a million years that I would find myself here. "Looking for myself."

 I used to always say "what are people looking for? They are themselves. What they're looking for will always be inside of them. They won't find it running around the world." But I think I get it now. They aren't looking for themselves in the way I think. It's more "why am I this way" than "who am I." I think those people search for reasoning they can't find in comfort. They seek out uncomfortable situations in order to figure out their why. Their what. I thought I knew and had that. I was basically absolutely certain. Now I'm just like fuck. What the fuck have I been doing this whole time? My pastor called me again today. Again. To ask me to do some work for the church. I church who's services I have not attended since....hang on. I'm gonna check my phone. A part of me needs to know for certain. -- Well that was a waste. Nothing's certain, right? (Well it had to be some time after July. Oh wait!! I can check my email at least for day I went up to the church to work. That was the the last "service" I went to. Even though I technically worked and didn't even attend.) Got it! Thank God. I feel like I needed that win. It was July 28, 2019. Funny, we're supposed to be moving within that window. (Another story I'll try and get the courage to write later). Man, she was such a bitch to me.

I just don't get it. What it God trying to teach me? I know he's here with me in the thick of it, I know I should be patient, but holy crap, ohmygoodness. Help me, please. I'm grasping at straws. I need to hear from You. Something. Please. I don't feel alone, but I don't feel at home anymore. This is exactly what Dorothy felt like. She wasn't in Kansas anymore. But the bitch was there the whole time! She never left! I'm that bitch. I'm Dorothy. Oh my gahd. How do you stay grounded? How am I supposed to stay grounded? I stepped into quicksand on July 28, 2019. And now I've just been slowly sinking. And I've tried not to move, tried not to make any knee-jerking decisions, and I'm steadily sinking. How do I get out? Do I get out? Is the key to it to let yourself sink? Should I just let myself suffocate? What do I do? What do I want to do? What do I want? Fuck.