Tes Gets Jealous Easy

I am messy. The two rooms that are my responsibility have clothes everywhere, maybe a couple empty containers of God knows what and hair paraphernalia literally everywhere. I start off this way to say, I'm not perfect, as much as people may peg me as such, or as much as I'd like to be.

I'm also easily jealous, especially if I'm not sure of my standing with people. I learned  acknowledged this earlier in my college life where I was in the running to be this guy's potential girlfriend; he was a flirt and almost no girl was off limits. As such, I became really insecure; was I not enough for him? I wore make-up and sexed up my look, I dumbed myself down and acted a little more like those girls he was into, but yet it was like he was still searching for the next best thing, not realizing (or maybe realizing and not caring that) he had a girl who would care, love, and be there for him all in me.

It took me two years to fully get over that guy. I think it was because I wanted it so badly and it just ending up not holding, but what I never got over was that irrational jealousy when people I genuinely care about are involved. I wish I could get over it, as life would be so much sweeter for me that way.

Jealousy for me doesn't feel like "look at that b*tch, over there eating crackers like she owns the place;" jealousy grips my heart like a very vague but very biting fear. It's never just towards women on the street; if a woman's doing her thing (and doing it well) I'm the last person to hate on that. But if there's a guy involved I've been known to get a little vicious.

I mention it today tonight because there's this guy I'm interested in (not sure if you noticed...) and I fell asleep for a few hours to find some new broad all up and through his Twitter. Now, for most women I'm not sure if that would be a problem but for me? Oh, my aching little heart went all tight in my chest and I kind of wanted to ruin her life just a little...

But I took a step back (and a deep breath) and assessed not only the situation but myself. I found I was feeling this way because I, despite my cool demeanor about where he and I are going, am still unsure; he likes to credit me as being the level-headed, patient one, and this is true but not when I get all jealous. At that point,  nothing else matters but removing that source of jealousy from the picture all together. And...that's wrong; I shouldn't have to start removing people from another person's life to make me feel better - that's childish.

Me being jealous isn't because of some random girl, it's because of me. Because I'm not confident in myself and what I have to offer, any other person moving in on my person seems threatening to me. Because I don't know what this guy sees in me, it makes it seem like any girl off the street would be able to give him something he could feel (literally and figuratively) and that scares me more than I'm willing to admit; my heart is all caught up, but what if his isn't, or he doesn't feel the same? I'm back in that boat I was two years ago, pining after someone who would never, and could never feel the same for me when I promised myself I'd never go back there.

I read once that jealousy is like drinking poison and waiting for the object you're jealous of to die, and it's  been true so far, but I've never been able to see it that way until now. All the times I was jealous in my life I'd put so much energy towards disliking, and ultimately screwing around with and hurting this other person that I neglected what doing that to them would do to me. It made me feel, in the long run, like a vindictive, petty little monster who manipulated people and their nature to get what I wanted. The sad fact of it is, in doing all of that, I never ever got what I wanted.

So after assessing all this, I calmed myself down: this guy thinks I'm one of a kind and the feeling's mutual. This guy is kind and wouldn't do something to intentionally make me feel a negative way. As for the girl? I've no idea who she is or what her intentions are or if she even has any. My overactive mind was just putting doubts in a situation where there's so much room, in my eyes, for error, trying to make me fail.

Jealousy, I think, is a product of our insecurities trying to make us back down or lose focus from the things that really matter. I really matter; I've done so much fine tuning within myself that I've become comfortable with who I am as a person but I'd be kidding myself if I said I didn't have so much room to grow. And this guy matters, because he legitimately makes my heart sing and makes me feel comfortable enough to actually be myself when I talk to him. Everything else? Well, none of that matters much unless I make it matter. And for the first time, I refuse to let something like jealousy get in the way of me being happy; I refuse to make jealousy matter.

Tes is A Little high-Strung

Okay, who am I kidding? Very high-strung. I don't remember ever not being high-strung, and even now, with me trying to grow into a better person, that sad fact still hasn't changed.


As I was getting ready to go and do errands on my day off a distinct ringtone stopped me from going out the door. I have Twitter alerts sent to my phone when I'm mentioned or a certain person posts something that could interest me. Turns out it was both; the guy I enjoy...crush... like had posted a blog. I knew I should probably get going, as the places I needed to go closed earlier that day, but I was compelled back to my laptop to read the post he'd written. And I was floored.


You see, I have a hard time believing my own hype. I don't believe I'm someone inherently special and irreplaceable. I think I'm just a normal girl with a slightly off-kilter outlook on life, love and relationships. My philosophy may be different, but in my eyes, I am not different. But to me he is, and he says I am, so what does that mean?


To know someone you're developing feelings for is in the same boat is an overwhelming feeling, especially if it's the first time you've ever encountered such a thing. Most of my life all my crushes have been totally one-sided, with me pouring out my little romantic poems and expounding my feelings in very subtle ways which to me, at the time, were large but were never returned. I'm prone to being a monochromatic person externally, but inside rays of different colored light streak my heart and soul like harp strings, each one different and unique, playing a different note that adds up to the song of my being. And after reading what he said, all those emotions shot out of me.


On the one hand I was heady than a motherf*cker and happy that for once a guy actually understood what I was saying and could articulate it back to me. Then all these fears and doubts started creeping in. What if I get bored? Or what if he does? What if at the end of all these we just end up being nothing to each other? But the one that kept repeating, kept confusing me and making me doubt myself is "Why me?"


Personally, I think this dude is probably the dopest thing since...Pete Rock and C.L Smooth's "T.R.O.Y" and for him to think of me so highly makes me all...high-strung. It warms my little heart something fierce and makes me sing (internally and externally) to think that he digs me. Like legit, I've been singing "Sweet Thing" for days now. Digress. In knowing that a person I think is so cool thinks I'm so cool kind of puts my growth to the test.


I'm still wondering why. Why would he like me? I don't do or say much anything special. I try not to be overly tempting or flirty (which is really hard) or move too fast to the point he has yet to hear my voice. So how could he, why would he, like some nobody from Podunk, Texas? Someone who he's yet to hear in stereo? Someone he's yet to hold hands with (although, if I'm being honest, that would make my year)?


And then I convinced myself to stop wondering, to stop worrying; it doesn't really matter much why or how but just that he does. I mean, he wrote for me. Nobody's ever done that for me. And he's trying to get to know me as a person, where nobody's ever ventured and that's all I've ever wanted anyone to try to do with me.


So who cares why? Who cares if, months from now, he may forget me or I may forget him (though I really doubt I would)? Who can really say what's going to happen tomorrow, or next week? Right now? The good that I feel is enough. More than enough. And us being so similar, I hope he knows all that for himself as well. I hope he knows that if I'm being distant, it's just my way of not trying to crowd. If I'm being shy, it's just that he makes me nervous, not anything necessarily he's done. I hope he knows that he's a reason for me smiling and singing so. And I hope for now, that's enough for him too.

The Plight of the Superwoman

Everyone has that friend. The one who's doing it all with very little sweat, tears or fanfare. The one with all their stuff together, ducks in a row, and they just make it all look so easy you wonder why you couldn't do it. We all know that superwoman, and some of us are that superwoman.


I've been the "superwoman" friend as long as I could remember having friends. I was the one with the assignment done the week it was assigned (or pulled an A from thin air an hour before class). I was the one with all the relationship answers, despite lacking my own relationship to test it out in. I was the one with the quiet, modest plan in life to be a super glamorous, highly respected high school English teacher, simply because, of all the things I could do, molding young people's minds was the one that stuck out the most.


I am a superwoman. Not by choice, rather by circumstance so I am often tired and under-appreciated, or rather feel that way because I don't take time to rest and appreciate myself. The plight of the superwoman is in her quiet nature; because she is so sure and steady, people take her minute motions and gestures for granted, and as such, she starts to take herself for granted. 


I am a superwoman. When everyone leans on me I am a rock, I never falter. If they ask me the same question a thousand times my answer never changes. On my own, in the quiet between the dark and the dawn I have to still my own waters, be my own rock not because there's no one who will listen, but often those people who listen will somehow always turn the conversations back on themselves, or spout cliche'd -isms they've read on plaques and bumper stickers that never fully fit me. I have to find my own mold, in the quiet when I should be sleeping, I often find myself sorting through feelings, thinking or daydreaming of a day when I'll no longer be tired, when life will fall into place.


 I'm a superwoman, but I'm still a woman. I find I crave the things that used to scare me so. I don't know how to get out there to go get those things I really want, but have recognized my issues and am taking very small and short steps before making a running leap into the unknown. I'm insecure about my body and sometimes wonder if I'm unattractive to men my age as so few of them approach me. Wonder if now, like in middle and high school, my wit and advanced state of mind has me in the minority yet again. 


I'm a woman. I think a lot before I do anything. I work really hard and sleep a lot less. I'm always writing and creating things in my mind. I still like to color with Crayons and listen to offensive rap music in the same hour I'll listen to jazz and alternative. I cook barefoot while listening to soul music. I cry, sometimes for no reason but often compose myself in a few minutes. I sing love songs when I'm sad, and rock out when I clean. I'm complex and quiet, a tough combination, but my heart is full of love and care, just waiting for someone who'll care to listen to it's soft beating.


I'm a woman. I happen to do super things. And so, I'm a superwoman. I'm proud. I'm exhausted, but I'm so proud of me it rings vibrantly with energy enough to keep me going. That's more than a lot of women, super or otherwise, can say. And for now, it's more than enough.  

Honesty is Pandora's Box

I have a fast mind. It's a maze, and it's complex, but I figure things out relatively quickly. So from a very young age, I loved to lie as lying was just figuring out what people expected you to say, and saying it convincingly, most times before they even said anything. It wasn't getting away with things that made it such an unshakable bad habit, rather it was the thought that my words could change realities, my words could change perceptions, and it didn't have to be what was right or what was true. I was power tripping as a kid, and thus became known as a liar. 


Over time, my lies became manipulation. I would toy with my peer's lives and minds, the puppeteer feeling going to my head. I convinced a girl to break up with her boyfriend as they "weren't compatible". I convinced a guy that his best friend was "scheming behind his back". I even got a girl to completely drop my potential love interest, in hopes of getting with this guy I'd purposefully befriended for that very reason. By peppering the truth with a couple stretches, a few white lies, the world could be what I made it. And then I got played and lied to. Learned that lesson painfully. 


I learned that those traits were nothing to be proud of; liars are a dime a dozen and not all of them are any good. Girls who told the truth, girls who were honest despite any trepidation and fear, courageous girls, were valuable, or at least should be. I learned that being lied to hurt everything in a person. If they knew about it, it would change not only their perception of you, but of anyone following you. If they didn't know, it would jade the relationships and interactions of their future in ways you couldn't begin to grasp. And that made me stop being a liar, almost cold turkey.


The issue with that is, honesty is Pandora's box. People are constantly asking me to be honest with them. I'm a closed person who likes to think things through before I say them, mull over the ramifications and the benefits and then make a wise decision. The truth, just like biker shorts, ain't for everybody. 


My mother always said never ask for more than you can handle, and never ask questions you don't want the answers to. And she's been right on that just don't tell her I said it as people often ask for my brand of honesty and are shocked by what they hear. I'm muted in life...okay not muted but composed. I don't get riled up easily, and it takes a lot to shock me. I'm really observant and draw connections like there were dots between them leading the way. That right there is a recipe for disaster as some people's dots aren't really meant to be connected by outside forces but by themselves.


Me and W are yo-yoing continuously because of my formerly lackadaisical view of honesty as it pertains to my feelings. To make her feel more at ease, more secure with my friendship, I'd developed this veneer of not having deep feelings. Surface wise, it always seems like jealousy, bitterness or competition between us on my end, but under my still waters lies insecurity, uncertainty and a fear of not having anyone in my corner. Now that I'm evolving, that veneer is being painfully peeled back, exposing raw nerves to cold air.


 She's not really used to me telling her when she's hurt my feelings; she knew formerly as I would be really curt and sniping in my responses to her. Now I can recognize what's going on with me, and I'm not afraid of asking to take time out to figure it out. Now, I tell her sincerely what I feel with very little filter. She's kind of in a tough place in her life, trying to figure hers out just like I'm trying to figure mine, but she wants me to depend on her as I've always done not realizing that the actions she's taking now make it real difficult. I need something stable. I need something consistent. She can't give that right now. Telling her I don't feel safe , secure, or as trusting of her as I used to hurts her. It hurts me too. But it was something that needed to be said. 


And therein lies the rub with this honesty thing. It hurts both ways and nobody seems to recognize that. The person being honest feels, in most cases, sorely aware they are hurting someone they care about and exposing themselves to possible retribution, ridicule or rejection. The person receiving the honesty can misconstrue it as a critique, an insult and sometimes a purposeful aim to hurt them. 


Pandora didn't realize the ills she let into the world, and by the time she closed the lid, it was too late. You can't un-say things, or lie to cover up your honesty on some "JK" type thing. But...the great thing about that box is that it frees us of all those things we held inside, freeing us to be more ourselves and less our short-comings, hang-ups and pent up emotions. It frees us to live more sincerely, more nobly, and in a world full of liars, half-truthers, and people walking around with the baggage of being lied to, that is a hopeful thing. With every honest step we take forward, we're walking into a more hopeful and genuine future. 

Sweet Sixteen...

I once read that life was like a cycle; as you grow older, you start reverting to the way you were as a baby. Martin Lawrence did a comedy special that featured the idea awhile ago, but I forget how true it is until it's in my face, how true it is.

Early 2000 I bought Destiny's Child's "The Writings on The Wall" album and played it out, and a song I kept playing was "Sweet Sixteen." At ten, I was pretty much as I am now, except a lot less complicated, and I wondered was that what sixteen was really like. Was sixteen the year I'd suddenly feel like I knew everything (even though honestly at ten I already felt that way)? Was there such a notion as moving too fast? I decided at ten, I wasn't going to go through all that crap voiced in the song, it wasn't going to be that hard for me.

I was sixteen five years ago and I don't remember much of it; I felt at the time that I was just existing, I wasn't an actual person. I felt that way pretty much between the ages of 13 and 18, that I wasn't a person, but more like an uncompleted blueprint. But at sixteen I thought I was in love with this guy, Andrew we'll call him, because he was nice to me. That was really all it took back then. And now that I look back on it, it happened just like the song said it would.

I was searching for some love where I felt there was none, searching for someone to see me as more than my potential, as more than my blueprint, and him being nice to me was enough. I wanted to be with him and wanted to be loved and was rushing so much that most of, if not all of, my high school experience was wrapped up in him. I was rushing, but back then? Couldn't tell me a damn thing about me or Andrew. But boy, did I learn.

Five years later, I would tell my sixteen year old self 'Baby, he ain't the one, YOU are.' Back then I thought I needed to be in love to feel valid. I'm working my way out of that feeling to this day. I compared it back then like Noah's Arc; I'm that one hybrid animal with no partner, and Noah's sounded the trumpet. Panicked, anxious, ready for the big picture that was the end of all those Disney movies and romantic comedies I grew up on; we'd roll off into the sunset, kissing, never to be seen again, but everyone assumes we're happy.

Five years. It seems like yesterday, and so far ago at the same time. I've gotten a little jaded since then, but that same sweet hopefulness lies under my fear and anxiety. It makes me tear up, thinking about the time I wasted, the time I am wasting, worried about things I can't control. I remember how helpless I felt back then, just waiting for any bit of attention to be thrown my way so I could come up with excuses to be more to people than I actually was. Now, I shirk away from close relationships, fearing the heartbreak, the 'what if' of it all. Back then? Couldn't tell me nothing.

If I could take anything from back then and instill it in me now, it would be that fearlessness, that carelessness with which I lived and loved. Back then there were no eggshells on which I could live my life; I was all out. Admittedly, I threw myself at the wrong types of dudes in search of that "one," not realizing that most of the girls I saw in high school weren't going to end up with the dude they were dating or were miserable with them but were afraid of being alone - just like me.

I'd give my younger self a dose of my jadedness - not enough to hinder my outlook, but enough to make me realize not everyone was as genuine as I. I'd start coaching myself on how to be comfortable alone, how to find friends with like minds and hearts to depend on, to not search for love. I'd tell myself I was beautiful, because back then I had so much trouble believing it, so much so that to this day I can't look myself in the eyes and say it. I would tell myself that I was loved, if by nobody else than by myself and God.

Five years...has it been that long? Where has the time gone? What have I learned since then? When the song came up on my iPod, it still struck such a cord - I've learned so much, so many vital things, but I realize that if I was told back then, I wouldn't have listened anyway - I was hard-headed. Luckily, it didn't make for a soft behind or a hard heart as I've seen it turn out for others. Sixteen...if I had to do it over again, God knows, I'd never do it; the mistakes I'd made, I'd make them again, wishing for a different outlook.

I'm glad that sweet sixteen was a little bitter for me. I'm glad because it lead me to the now where it seems I'm a little ahead of the curve, finding myself and being kind to myself before I open up to others. I'm finally listening to my own intuition, to my own wants and not so much the pressures of the outside. I finally stopped looking for my damn keys. I'm finally blooming into the sweetness that eluded me back then; here's hoping five years from now I remember 21 just as I remember 16 - with fondness, and a whole lot of wisdom in my back pocket. But here's also hoping there are no regrets, there are no missed opportunities, and that whatever bitterness I face, I turn them to sweets now instead of in the future.