It's Complicated

     Men and my reaction to them has always fascinated me.  Back before I cared (and acted differently than I normally did) I liked a couple of boys, and they liked me.  One kid I was sitting next to in kindergarten (on the floor, ready to watch a film) smiled at me one day, and he was a good looking boy, so I decided I liked him too.  Around that time, I went over to my aunts house quite a bit when my parents were working, and she lived next door to a family who had a boy my age, and we were friends.  I am not sure how it developed, but the relationship culminated in him and I "getting married".  Geez, what pressure for a 5 year-old.  I don't remember what happened when, but after my family moved out of the area, he became more and more distant each time that I came for a visit, and eventually they moved away too.

     I started acting weird (and not being myself) when my self-esteem began to fall.  This happened after fourth grade, when my family moved to a new area, and I found it difficult to "fit in" with the kids at the new school.  My parents were no help, quick to point out (as usual) that it was "all in my head".  I was the problem.  

     In the fifth grade, I liked a boy in my class.  He didn't like me though, and rejected me, for the most part.  One day he was visiting my neighbor, and they must've found out about boobies, and they invited me into their "club" and wanted me to show them mine.  I ran away, thinking they were creeps.  

     In 6th grade, I had 2 major crushes, one on an older boy, whom I adored for the next couple of years, and another on a boy from another school, whom I chased all over the magic kingdom to get him to notice how fabulous I was.  Alas, he never did.  I settled for less and my first kiss was with a boy I really didn't like.  

     In 6th grade my parents hung out with several other families in our neighborhood.  At one of the weekend get-togethers (pool parties), I stumbled upon a Penthouse magazine in the upstairs bathroom and proceeded to sneak upstairs whenever I had the chance to read it from cover to cover, to learn about the mysteries of life.  I found that the women in the pictures all proceeded to find a man and seduce him, post haste, have her way, then the two would go back to regular life as if nothing dirty had just happened.  At 12, this was dangerous information.

     I found the power of womanhood.  I proceeded, for the next several years, to push the envelope (and my boyfriends) to ever-increasingly dangerous heights.  I thought I was in control.  I desperately wanted love to go along with it, but would never admit that to myself.  I felt out-of-control in many different areas of my life, but sex was something I had power over.

     This continued until I decided I was in love with someone.  He didn't want me to love him, which made him all the more of a challenge to me.  Sex had now become equivalent to a challenge for me.  I would pick the biggest challenge, and seek to "conquer the mountain".  I usually won-there were few that walked away.  This left me feeling empty, and in need of more conquest.  It was a pattern for years, until one day I decided "enough is enough".

     When I made the decision to go back to school and get my degree, I also made the decision to stop my self-destructive ways.  I needed a new path. 

     For the next 8 years, through much of my 30s, I was celibate.  I still had my boyfriends, but they were now "just my friends".   It wasn't until I asked God to bring me a man that I decided I'd waited long enough.  I met Johnnie while seeing his friend.  By then, I was good at being a guy's friend.  We could hang out, he could do what he wanted with whomever he chose, and I wasn't affected in the least.  When our friend decided to move out of state for a job, I was bummed.  Johnnie pursued me, but I had no interest in him.  For a couple of months we went out as friends, until one night he confessed he liked me.  What?!

     Now that our relationship has been over (4 years now), I am alone again.  This time it's different.  I have no desire to pursue anyone at this point.  People say to me, what about sex?  I just smile and tell them I didn't miss a thing...

I Can Do Bad All By Myself

About 10 years ago, I was a different person.  I finished up a stint in the Student Senate, got my degree, worked as a freelance photographer, worked as a store manager, and delivered pizzas on the weekends when I wasn't taking pictures.  I lived in an affluent area and there was never a shortage of work.  I never went more than 2 weeks without work.

There were so many awesome restaurants, theaters, and music venues that I never lacked for something to do or people to be with.  I had my friends.  I had boyfriends.  I had my family, we were pretty close.

One day, in July, I woke up from a dream.  I realized I was missing something.  For all that I had, I didn't see a way to get where I really, deep down, wanted to go.  I wanted a family of my own.  The biological clock was ticking, and working so much, I didn't see a way to make room for a family life.  I realized then that I wanted something more than just money, I wanted the whole "picket fence thing".  I didn't know how to get there.  The previous 8 years were spent with the nose to the grindstone, and when I woke up that morning, I uttered "I hate my life" to God.

Well, he heard me.  He had a plan for my life all along.  He knew my heart's desires, so my life took an unexpected turn.

Less than 2 weeks later, I went to work as usual.  Towards the end of my shift, the police came into the store.  I was mortified when they told me that my mother's house had been raided, and they suggested that I was dealing drugs.  They questioned me and arrested me.

Turns out, they were after my brother.  They arrested him too.  We had warned him, several times, pleaded with him, but he didn't listen.  I was horrified to find out that they found paraphernalia in my room.  After spending a week in jail, they dropped all of the charges except one, the paraphernalia charge.  I took the supervision, did my community service and everything turned out okay.  They didn't want me, they wanted a dealer, and when they found out that I wasn't who they were looking for, they let me go.

I take responsibility for my own actions.  I was never, ever a dealer.

The event changed my life.  Suddenly, I lost one of my jobs, my home, one of my cats was missing, and I didn't know where I was going.  I was lost and incredibly sad.  I was forced to pick myself up, get my things and move on.  I moved in with a friend for the next month and saved every penny and got my own place.  Humiliation was a constant companion.  My friends were supportive, but I knew a door had closed.

Another job came along, and I worked 2 jobs again.  For the next 6 months, I kept my nose to the grindstone.  On New Year's Eve that year, I asked God to bring me a man.  (I say now that I should have been more specific--"Good man, kind man, who has himself together, not an addict", next time, lol).  Then Nermal, my cat died and I met my daughter's father.  I was going to marry Johnnie and I called the family one day to tell them the good news--out in the wilderness, I had found love and was going to get married.  My mother cried for 2 days I heard.  It was an unexpected reaction, at first I couldn't figure out why she would be sad.  Then I realized it was because Johnnie had brown skin.

I was comfortable with my decision, (until the day I broke my elbow falling off my bike because Johnnie had taken my car up to Chicago and was f%$*ing another woman in the back seat of it, while I had no way to get to work) until things changed again.  He told me that he was in a relationship with someone in the city, he ended it, and was prepared to "make good" to me. I wasn't sure.  Really, I should never have given him another chance.  I felt alone in the wilderness, and didn't want to be.  

Funny during all that time, God was giving me what I wanted, but I couldn't see that, nor did I thank him.

After I broke my elbow, I couldn't work with one hand.  One of my bosses let me keep delivering pizzas on the weekends to feed myself, but I relied more and more on Johnnie.  I lost the apartment when I couldn't keep up with the rent, the car payment, the credit card, and all the other bills.  I hit a deer in the wilderness, lost $7,000 on the deal, and eventually lost the new car because they repo'd it while the insurance company and the finance company argued over whether my gap insurance covered the payments.  So we moved further into the wilderness.  When I regained the use of my right arm, I pursued a way out.

I secured work, took Johnnie to work, and took care of us.  Things didn't get better with Johnnie. He was deeply addicted to cocaine.  I didn't know then what I know now.  He would trick me sometimes, take my car and disappear for the weekend with all the money.  It left me devastated.  I kicked him out.  A couple of weeks later, I found out I was going to be a mom.

WOW!  Not good timing!  Everyone (just about) talked me out of marrying him.  Everyone felt I wouldn't be able to raise a kid on my own, it was just too hard.  When I told Johnnie, he begged me to give him one last chance, for the sake of our child.  He got an apartment, went to work, but the addiction never slowed.  I just landed up taking care of the 3 of us.  One day he said, "If you don't like it, get the f%$& out".   

When I was 6 months pregnant, I took out a little "insurance policy".  I signed up on the waiting list for the place I'm at now-a subsidized apartment complex, where it didn't matter how low your income was.  After he said that, I moved out.  I never looked back.  

Since then, I drove him to rehab, helped him get back to work (again), helped him in any way that I could, for the sake of our kid.  Still didn't work.  He was going to hit bottom, no matter what I did.  I prayed that God would take him from us, because life had become "avoiding Johnnie" and his craziness.  One day, he stole my last $20 bucks, and I just started a new job and needed the money for gas.  In order to get the money back, he made a deal with a guy and the guy didn't pay him what he owed him.  This set Johnnie off, and he broke into the guys apartment (while he was in there), tied him up, and when the guy didn't have his money, he stabbed him.

The news came a few days later.  He's been in prison since then.  He writes me every 2 weeks, first apologies, the pleads, finally, now, he's clean and sober, ready to make a new start.

But this story isn't about Johnnie.  It's about me, God and Tabitha.  You see, God knew all along what was coming.  Through it all, for richer or poorer, he was there beside me.  He was there through all the sleepless nights I layed awake crying.  He was there.

Recently, as things turned bad again, I was very angry.  I was angry about the way things are, that we are struggling so much, that we are so poor, and it felt like no one cared.  Things are bad all over.  I felt alone again, with a child in tow.  I felt lost and afraid.  For the last week I've been trying to pick myself up off the floor and find hope somewhere.  Then inspiration came last night through a comedic film called "I Can Do Bad All By Myself" by Tyler Perry.

Ohh, I can relate to that title.  The movie was okay, but it opened my eyes (thank you God) to something.  The main character in the movie was a woman, lost much like I was.  When her sister's kids showed up at her door one day, she wanted to run the other way.  She was unhappy deep down, but didn't want to admit it.  The kids (and a handsome handyman) showed her that she was capable of so much more than she previously strived for.

See, it made me realize something.  It didn't matter that she wasn't prepared for motherhood.  Motherhood was prepared for her, and once she made the commitment, she would be fine.  Actually, she married the handyman and adopted the kids!  It reminded me of that 80s movie where the career woman suddenly finds herself a mom, checks out of corporate life to raise the baby, then starts her own baby food company.

Growth comes through adversity and self-realization.  Suddenly, I realized that it didn't matter if we are poor (now).  I had the greatest gift that God could bestow upon me--a family of my own, someone to love and cherish, who loves me back!  As a mother, I now make sense, and even if the world is beating me down, God gave me the greatest gift of all--love, in more ways than one.

Patience

Waiting has always been difficult for me.  Sometimes, especially now, I find that I have to "turn off" my anxiety when it comes to having patience about certain things.

A long time ago, I had a couple of friends who liked to take nice long, hot showers.  The only trouble was that I had to wait for them to take their nice long, hot shower and given that I only had an average of three hours to "be out", waiting for them to get ready was an exercise in patience.  I learned to call ahead and see what time they were going to be ready before I plotted my escape from my house.

As time wore on, waiting involved money.  If I had the money, there was no waiting.  If I didn't, I waited.

Since I've become a mother, I've waited on things more often than I care to.  Sometimes I feel that I waste my time waiting.  Time is so precious, and when you don't have enough hours in the day to do all that you need to do, waiting is an exhausting frustrating job.

There have been many times that I've had to wait in line at the welfare office.  These are exceedingly long waits that I prepare for now, with my water bottle, reading materials, and snack.    There are also waits that I've endured that I refuse to endure now.  Out here, when you're poor, you wait for the first of the month.  You plot out your budget for food and necessities.  At Christmas, the county I live in has a program where your child may get a toy. 

The first year I waited in line with my baby in tow, and a friend to help keep her because the Salvation Army doesn't allow children in the room where you go to pick up your toy.  That year, an African-American woman and I were the first ones to get to the door, and when I asked her if she wanted to start the line or I would, she told me that she was, and I was to get behind her friends that were coming.  When I gave her the "what?", she made some snide comment about me being "a white bitch" and proceeded to bully every "white" person who walked up, piling African-American people up behind her, crowding the door, so that even a little old lady who had nothing to do with any of that couldn't move through the mob.

I became angry and moved myself between the two women and when the person came to unlock the front door, I pushed back on the crowd pushing forward to allow the little old lady inside.

The next year, I encountered another young woman who, standing behind me (and others) announced that she wasn't going to wait in line and proceeded to cause a commotion at the door.  After what happened the next year, with all the food in the box being expired, I will not even bother with them.  The last two years I have saved every spare penny all year for Christmas.  It has served us well, and spared me the humiliation and stress.

See, people think that when you're poor you have the time to wait for everything.  You have the gas in your car to keep coming back (to follow their assinine rules), you have a completely free schedule to incorporate any 4:00 p.m. appointment they may throw at you.  You will put up with any kind of treatment because you need the hand out.  It is the same, sadly, for the food pantries here.  If you don't have a car to drive to the next town to wait in line for an hour to get 5-7 items, tough luck.

Being poor in a town with little or no opportunities for jobs, no family, no money to get out, no support system if things go wrong, and a 20 year old car that is falling apart is debilitating to the soul.  I've been struggling here for 8 years, with a daughter in tow.

Waiting.  I waited 7 years to get into the only job opportunity I could find to use my degree just in time for them to lay a bunch of people off 2 months after I got there.  Oh yeah, I had a job--12 hours a week at less than 10 an hour left us to support ourselves on less than 500 a month.  Then the big boss has the nerve to tell me that there are going to be opportunities for me, what with my degree and experience and all.

Then, after 2-1/2 years, I'm leaving work, and some people think that if OSHA isn't around, it's okay to leave industrial pallets lying flat on the floor in the walkway so someone like me comes along and falls flat on their face.  It's okay to not allow the surgery needed to fix me, to leave me be a gimp, unable to get another job because, like, I need my right arm.  It's okay to cut off my workman's comp so that I can't pay my bills anymore, because they can afford to wait.  They have money in the bank,.they drive a new car.  It's okay to make me wait, and beg.

Patience.  It's really, really hard to be patient and wait for next month when your phone's gonna be cut off, you have no money to clean your laundry, you have no gas in your car to get to the doctor (or anywhere).  That's the wating game they play.

Currently, I wait.  I wait for many things, because there is no choice.  I wait for redemption.

May Day

According to Wikipedia, "May Day occurs on May 1st and refers to several public holidays.  In many countries, May Day is synonymous with International Workers' Day or Labour Day, a day of political demonstrations and celebrations organized by communists, anarchists, socialists, unionists, and other activist groups.  May Day is also a traditional holiday in many cultures."

"May Day is related to the Celtic festival of Beltane and the Germanic festival of Walpurgis Night.  May Day falls exactly a half a year from November 1, another cross-quarter day which is also associated with various northern European pagan and neopagan festivals such as Samhain.  May Day marks the end of the unfarmable winter in the northern hemisphere and it has traditionally been an occasion for popular and often raucous celebrations.  

As Europe became Christianized the pagan holidays lost their religious character, and either changed into popular secular celebrations, as with May Day, or were merged with or replaced by new Christian holidays as with Christmas, Easter, Pentecost and All Saints Day.  In the twentieth century, many neopagans began reconstructing the old traditions and celebrating May Day as a pagan religious festival again."

"Many pagan celebrations were abandoned or Christianized during the process of conversion in Europe...The day was a traditional summer holiday in many pre-Christian European cultures.  While February 1 was the first day of Spring, May 1 was the first day of summer.  Hence, the summer solstice on June 25 (now June 21) was Midsummer.  In the Roman Catholic tradition, May is observed as Mary's month, and in these circles, May Day is a celebration of the Blessed Virgin Mary."

May 1st has many meanings to many people.  Wikipedia has a lot of information about where it came from, the different meanings in different cultures and religion, but it's very personal to me.  It was the day of a new beginning for me and my daughter.

Her date was supposed to be April 30th.  She was ready to come several days earlier, and I went to the hospital twice in expectation of her birth.  Unfortunately, I went into labor (and the third trip to the hospital) on a Thursday night.  By Friday morning, I had a "slow leak" but nothing significantly changed.  I was told to wait until a certain threshold and then come in.  I sat in that chair all day Friday, and by that evening, the threshold had been reached, so I called a cab.  Johnnie came with me in the cab, I paid for it at the hospital, he walked me in and said he'd "be right back", he's "going to have a cigarette".  He didn't come back.

They monitored my condition at the hospital, and at 2 a.m., I received my epidural.  I called my friend Joan and she came.  Sometime after 4, I fell asleep.  At around 6:00 a.m. on the 1st, the doctor and nurses came in and quickly prepped me for surgery, saying that we had to "go now".  I was terrified.  I cried and cried.  They took Joan out of the room and explained that my and the baby's lives were at risk, because the water broke and my kid was in distress and I was still not able to dilate past 3cm.  Stupid body!  I was furious at my stupid cervix and the ahole too!  They gave me a sedative,  rolled me into the operating room, strapped me down, and started to work.  

My daughter was born, and they took her off to that station they clean the baby and check them out, and then I heard her cry.  I have to say, it was the most relieving experience I've had in my life.  Joan came in briefly (for that moment) and they showed me my daughter, while they were busy closing me back up.  I wanted to hold her so badly, but I couldn't.  I felt so sad and excited at the same time.  I was expecting a boy, everyone told me I'm having a boy, but I was delighted she was a she.  They took her with Joan to the nursery and finished with me.  I went to the recovery room and was so happy not to be pregnant anymore that I even told the guy nurse!  Whew!  She was healthy and wonderful.  After I was able to get myself back up, I worked on getting my strength so I could take care of her.  They brought her to me and I was able to hold her in my arms.  It felt wonderful...:-).  It was the most wonderful gift I have ever received.  

Mr. Wonderful called me.  He came to the hospital broke and with nothing.  He wanted to see the baby.  He came with my camera, which thankfully he didn't pawn, took a couple of pictures of us and left.  

That night, I had a wonderful dream.  I was walking with someone to a picnic down by the river. It was sunny, and I was happy.  Suddenly, someone shouted "Tabitha Rae"!  I woke up and looked around.  I was alone in the hospital room and it was 5 a.m. and quiet.  I realized that maybe I should name my daughter that name.  (I couldn't decide on 1 out of 5.)  So I did. Recently, I found out her name means "Gift of Grace".  She really is.  She turned 7 yesterday :-).