Same Time Equal Measure - On Vulnerability
In my more nihilist moments , my favorite saying is there has to be a diety with an AMAZING sense of humor to give me THIS body and this Sensitivity.
I think a lot of my vulnerability “issues” are centered around my body and my experience and perception of people reacting to this body.
( This is oddly shorter than most stuff I make you read I’m just feeling all shy cause it’s personal)
I am very well loved and was very well raised by a small tribe of kick ass beautiful West Indian women.
Age defying for the most part they are relatively wrinkle free , smart , industrious, etc
Deeply feeling wonderful women
and in terms of care and consideration shown them
It has mattered not a thing.
I have a father who loves me who is tear down the street in a machete , apologize frequently, tell me about his affairs cause he never wanted me surprised, screw his immigration status fight a private school loves me.
But has never been considerate to his wife, show me how to be loved and love someone, fiscally responsible , fight his abusive family for me in love with me.
I have a mother who loves me , who is call the cops,new senator, clean toilets for 28 years, stress her self into scares of ms a cancer , stroke, tells me I am beautiful everyday , starve herself, hold up rent for softball, pay off the ivy league by signing her soul to sally mae loves me.
SHe has never been take care of her self , show me how to eat , properly , leave a bad marriage, learn how not to panic , speak up about being short changed or hurt personally, never stop warring, truthful with me.
We lived a tight life, a loving one , but complicated , somewhat secretive full of vulnerabilities and places of danger.
And I learned personally that , I’d be tortured as ugly or fat or undesirable, be unfed, be overfed for laughs, be mocked , be HURT because I was vulnerable.
I learned at the same time , I could survive, I could become strong, become an amazing cook, develop a strong body , and use myself to make amazingness happen .
Same time . Equal measure.
As such I have a contentious relationship with the idea of vulnerability and care taking both giving and receiving.
I have been the dark monster on the edge of everyone else’s femininity , the girl to beat , to be better than to mock , not because folks are jealous but because well that’s what the world uses fat black girls for .
a swipe of make up, an undo and some contacts later, I have been the unapproachable goddess, all legs and tits and ass and sexual availability , awkward and off and clumsy because no one talks to me , because no one knows I don’t know how to play.
Aren’t I vulnerable both times?
watching my heath set out on edge as the perfect black woman is lauded and celebrated, knowing Bone deep how little of that is based on loving her as much as it is in
using
discarding
abusing
consuming
everyone else
for practice
for those things you can’t bring to a ” good woman”
the things whispered into my ears when no ones looking by the same ones who would shove me over to get to her or the white girl or who ever has been deemed ” better”
and I have been the tortured “good girl” frightened sequestered tortured for being siddity, alone, whack , shuddering at the “praise’ of not being one of those women , who admit to things you crave but are afraid to admit
because you know what happens to them
Same time equal measure, so my knowledge of vulnerability is that no one comes to save you, and you’d I’m yourself to live and you hate yourself for doing it , and it isn’t really successful your just frustrated.
And it’s hard for me because what I really missed was not love, which is often offensively assumed but rolemodels, mentors , people with patience for awkward amazon warrior witches
What does someone like me look like well loved?
Well nourished well held?
At peace?
How do you deal with a life that has held the WORSE poverty at bay by sheer FORCE OF WILL and a tinge of violence desperation , that never taught you hustle , or peace
but has never taught you flight?
One of my last conversations with my Wifey was hinged on me having an almost surreal depression spike because I realized there was no model it was up to me ,
AND WHO THE FUCK do i think I am thinking girl like me get’s to blaze a trail?
Who get’s to shun the ” right” way and go back
That there will be no winning finish line of happiness but what I want and a life well earned and supported
and I have been well loved, and cared
but i have never been vulnerable enough to dream of that
So I work out loud in public under an assumed name , deathly afraid of being found out , but furiously in need of my DUE GOD DAMN IT!!
and I was told every reason why, timid and afraid
but I am the child of the forcers, the machete women, the poor , the screamers
Both and Niether
Same Time ,Equal Measure
