#i've got funerals story that would deserve to be turned into an hour and a half long comedies

[mehoymalloy]

WAITING; The Whitewatch Peaks

Continuing with the black box shorts that are a small part of my  Horizon Big Bang 2022 piece, When the Darkness Comes, because I think these soldiers’ stories deserve to be heard (even if I made them up).

The Whitewatch Peaks Black Box Transcript:

FIRST OFFICER SHARPE: Down to one engine. Mountainous terrain. And you actually landed it! How did you do that? You saved our lives.

CAPTAIN MORTON: Yeah. But, it's what? Four hours before the Swarm gets here? I should've let us all die in an instant. Now the twelve of us are trapped, waiting for the end.

Listen to the audio log on my photomode Twitter account here.

The jubilant smile faded from First Officer Sharpe's face as she took in the dejected countenance of her captain. He had served with her father, and while the years had left their mark, the last few months took his spark. He was not the man she remembered.

The man she had seen only a handful of times growing up was the type of man who slid his dessert onto her plate when her mother wasn't looking. A man who tossed her into the air by her armpits only to catch her at the waist, holding her aloft as he zoomed around the yard while she shrieked with joy. He called her the S.S. Sharpedo, because 'what did your old man think would happen, giving you a name like Sarah Sloane Sharpe?'

For years, Captain Morton let Sarah believe that his full name was actually Horton Morton, and she was too dumb to question it. She only found out the truth when she was eleven years old, at her father's funeral. Sarah had holed herself up in the coat closet, too ashamed to cry in front of anyone. Captain Morton came in after her, joints popping as he crawled into the little nest of hanging coats she had fashioned for herself. Shoved into a tight space with Sarah refusing to look at a man she hadn't seen in two years, he leaned over to whisper conspiratorially: "Did I ever tell you my name isn't actually Horton Morton?"

Teary eyes went wide with surprise, and she punched him in the arm even as she couldn't stop giggling, laughs strained but genuine.

In the present day, Sarah gave her captain that same sad smile. "Well, if I've got to sit here 'til the end, there's no one I'd rather be beside than the famed Captain Horton Morton."

Morton's bushy brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before recognition brought the barest spark to his eye. A wiry grin curled along his mouth, barely visible beneath his mustache, and he chuckled quietly. "What's Captain Horton Morton without the trusty S.S. Sharpedo?" he asked.

Sarah snorted, shaking her head slightly, before Tyreese cut in, leaning over her shoulder. "What the fuck are you two talkin' about?"

"Mind your damn business," Morton admonished as he slowly got to his feet. "Now start taking stock of our supplies; we've got a final stand to prepare for!" While Captain Morton's voice was stern, First Officer Sharpe caught the glimmer in his eye.

As she turned, Captain Morton laid his hand gently on her shoulder, and she turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

"Thank you," he said quietly. Then he scrubbed a palm against the scruff of his overgrown beard, desperately in need of a good shave. "Your dad would be proud of you, kid."

Sarah threw him a teasing smirk that did not deter her following words' sincerity. "Yeah. He'd be proud of you too."

Black Box 6/12

[16mmtoodeep]

it's just unfortunate

Two of my friends and I went to go see Black Panther: Wakanda Forever in theatres the day of its premiere. Like I've said before, I'm not a Marvel fan, but I keep up with what goes on. Based on real life events and the comics' narratives, I was more interested to see this one. Plus, my friend Zach wanted to see it so bad. And with how I adore the movie theatre experience, how could I say no? 

I was most interested to see how they would handle Chadwich Boseman's death here, since they had already announced they weren't going to recast T'challa. Based on comic lore, I knew that Shurri, T'challa's little sister, was meant to be the next Black Panther. Since the MCU had been heavily leaning into the comics for plots during this phase, me and everyone else knew that Shurri would be Black Panther in this film. But the question was: would they do it right? 

In short: ehhhh yes? Technically yes? 

First off, the way they handled T'challa's death was perfect. The film started out with Shurri rushing around her lab attempting to come up with a cure to her brother's sudden illness. While doing so, her mother comes to tell her that he died while she was in the lab. A truly devastating scene. Then we snap to the funeral procession through the capital city, the whole city in white and mourning. Beautifully shot, beautifully scored, beautifully acted. After this comes the Marvel logo which was missed in the beginning, but in pure silence, in purple, all with images of Chadwick Boseman as T'challa from the last movie. In that moment, the air was sucked out of the room. Everyone held their breath at the beauty and rawness of this tribute. If anything could be heard, it was the tear drops hitting the red leather chairs.  

After this, the movie was good. Not in the same way the first 10 minutes were good, but like, a 6/10. It was a little above an average movie. While they handled Chadwick Boseman's death extremely well, it couldn't make up for the fact that they had lost their main character. Shurri became Black Panther by the end, and for the last 15-20 minutes was the main character, but that left the 2 hour middle where Shurri was slowly rising from sidekick to heroine. She eventually got there, but T'challa's gaping hole was too obvious to miss. The film, in some ways, felt empty and false. Shurri's whole character arc of healing from her brother's death happened over a few days and it feels forced. She's a great character, she deserves and needs the proper time in the story to heal, but because she was forced into the spotlight too soon, her arc suffers. But, these of course were extenuating circumstances.  

The antagonists were... fine? A little peculiar? They were Aztec fish people that gained the ability to breath underwater from a plant that grew in Vibranium rich soil (basically the same plant as the one used to create the Black Panther), which calls a lot of things into question. Why does their plant grant them the power of gills and siren song like a mermaid, but the same plant doesn't give the Wakandans anything like that? That plant caused the antagonists' skin to turn blue on land (like the colors of the plant). Why doesn't the Black Panther's skin turn blue? It unfortunately ruins the seemingly simple rules of the universe (one specific plant found only in Wakanda gives the Black Panther super powers).  

Overall, it was a fun watch, and the first ten minutes were amazing. But if you begin to think about it too hard, everything else kind of falls apart. It's just unfortunate.

But hey, at least I got some good ole, movie theatre popcorn. 

[thegoodomensdumpster]

You might be tempted to think that Newt and his family would have to be the boring ones, while with the Devices being witches and professionnal descendants of Agnes Nutter life would be constantly thrilling. Nope. It’s the exact opposite.  The Devices have been following Agnes’ predictions for centuries. There is no place for anything random in their lives, they have only two sets of minds: absolute blind certainty and “no”.

Look, Anathema panicks completely when she loses Agnes’ book, a book her and her family have been studying so thoroughly that they have an exhaustive set of recapitulative cards. She has known she was to be involved in preventing the end of the world since she was a kid. She has probably studied and memorized all the predictions she thought to be linked to Armageddon. She has her cards. She knows her stuff. She is competent. And yet, when Anathema loses her book - and if we disregard the emotionnal attachement that, imo, shouldn’t be kicking in this much when you have a fucking end of the world hours away -, when she loses her book, her emotions get the best of her. Because it was not part of the course she was supposed to take, and that had never happened to her before.  Now, let’s take a look at Newt. That guy has been blowing up computers unwillingly since forever, even though he has a passion for all things electronic. He didn’t stop living because he had obstacles to overcome. Heck, he probably learned coding and manually wrote scripts that would work if entered in a computer by anyone other than him. He gets job after job, and doesn’t stop searching for something to do even when he feels discouraged. He signs for the fucking Witchfinder Army when he doesn’t think witches are a thing and when Shadwell, of all people, is the one doing the recruiting. Why not ? One more weird thing in his life, at least he might make some money out of it. And there, in the chaos of Shadwell’s appartement, he manages to understand all on his own that something is up in Tadfield. He also, when presented with enough proof, wholeheartidly admits that witches are real, and so are demons and angels and other things, and he doesn’t panic nearly as much as one should when confronted with a real UFO -ok, he might have been a bit stunned, but still.  “Yep, my girlfriend is a witch. Yep, the antichrist is our neighbour. Yep, I helped prevent Armageddon last week. Oh by the way, should I go buy more toilet paper?”

Newt has been so used to adapting to chaos, he can actually make sense of it. And my personal take on this is that it’s also the case for his family. They’re all chaotic. They all have incredibly bad luck ( as a possible result of a curse, courtesy of Agnes Nutter ). 

So here are Newt and Anathema, at a Pulsifer family meeting. Anathema thinking “oh its gonna be lovely meeting Newt’s family, something quiet and normal after all this Armageddon thing”.  Anathema. Oh. Anathema. Sweet summer child. She doesn’t know that all Pulsifer family meetings end up either in the emergency, or locked out of the house, or running after some kind of wild animal that managed to steal Uncle Patrick’s casefiles that he absolutely needs because he’s been at war with his neighbour for basically thirty years because he could never gather all the files when he needed them and he finally had them all and that fucking boar barged into the garden as he was walking by and somehow got all tangled with the casefiles and now all the Pulsifer have to stop aunt Meredith from showing off her wrestling techniques because dammit woman, you’re nearly 80 years old, stop strying to wrestle a boar, and then when they’re all back home covered in mud and, of course, without the files, they have to try out cousin Dean’s horrible new culinary experiment and someone always ends up having diarrhea after trying out Dean’s cooking so everyone starts betting who it might be this time, and now they’re talking about how every Pulsifer around the age of twelve has avoided an anvil falling out of the sky because yes, that is a thing that happens to every member of this family and every kid knows that they’ll have to avoid an anvil some day, but wait didn’t a Pulsifer die because of that whole anvil thingie back in 1923, and now some people are arguing because it might have been 1935, and oh, that reminds Newt’s mom of that time her great-uncle Patrick (there are several Patrick Pulsifer of course, the last one is 2 years old, it can get very confusing) woke up and had a toad in his slipper, so of course when he tried to put them on he couldn’t and he fell over, and she doesn’t remember exactly how that whole thing happened but one thing led to another and at the end of the day great-uncle Patrick was in a hang-glider he couldn’t control and had somehow lost his trousers while the town’s priest was running after him, and there was a plate of lasagna that were too hot involved somewhere and oh, she can’t remember but it was hilarious.  “And” Anathema asks, “why did that argument remind you of this story?” “Oh” says Mrs Pulsifer. “I don’t know. It just did.” There is ZERO logic to that whole conversation.  Anathema, who has never had any surprise in her life before losing Agnes’ book, looks desperately at Newt. “I thought your family was normal.” “But... We are normal????” Anathema thinks about arguing something back, but she is interrupted by aunt Hortense who decides that now is the perfect time to explain how she nearly died yesterday after going into a scientology building without realizing where she was stepping into. Anathema doesn’t say anything in the end. She’s already too exhausted for that. 

[arikos-of-caelid]

So I've been playing my NG+ file and finally stopped dragging my feet on defeating Morgott and immediately Felt Sad Again. I love fighting the man enough to buy a USB to make a save before his bossfight to Come Back To Anytime; actually working up the will to End It is the hard part. (I was singing Why Can't We Be Friends, for goodness sake!) But you know what hit me this time around? The meta game world, if not the in-universe world, seems to recognize in quite painful detail how much of a tragedy this whole sequence of events is. His Remembrance and Great Rune descriptions sound like two halves of a eulogy, one sad, one more uplifting. You can get a literal doll of him in remembrance. And it starts raining in Leyndell afterwards, as if the very heavens themselves are weeping for this turn of events! Even the very field music of Leyndell tells you what's coming isn't a showdown between a hero against a tyrant; it's at best, two people with well-intentioned but mutually exclusive goals in a bitter clash that has no real winners. And afterwards, it's a funeral dirge. For comparison, Radahn's fight feels like it has a note of triumph in that this suffering warrior who didn't deserve this noise finally got the death he deserved as a legend; something sweet in the midst of the bitter rot. Morgott's death, meanwhile, is a tragedy that highlights just how broken the system of the Golden Order truly is, and can potentially serve as the catalyst for things really changing for the player. Whether you liked or hated him before now, the whole tone of this journey has changed.

I'm Mad, but I'm mad at it in the same way I would be when leaving an angry comment on a friend's fanfic that I really liked because it Made Me Feel Things. It hurts so bad precisely because it's good writing and presentation. And some people have the gall to claim this game's got No Story after this made me cry for like a half hour the first time!

You can't make a character That Cool, then make him That Sad, and expect me to be Normal about it, man!

[living-after-death-blog1]

The Day My Daughter Died.. (An introduction to the end and the beginning)

I received a phone call from my daughter's best friend, Alli, at about 2:30pm on that day. She told me that she had just left work and was on her way to my daughter's house, after receiving a frantic phone call from my daughter's roommate, Kenneth, who said that he had come home and found her unconscious, with a needle in her hand. He had called an ambulance, he had attempted CPR, and was now waiting outside of the house while the emergency personnel did their thing inside.

I think it was already pretty well established that my daughter was gone, and I think that this was probably communicated to me, but my brain literally wouldn't grasp it. I wasn't devastated; I was terrified. I spent the entire conversation (which was probably at least 20 minutes long) thinking that we didn't know anything yet, feeling like I was frozen, like everything around me was happening in slow motion, and that I was just holding my breath until the moment when Alli could finally get to the house and someone could tell us what was going on. I thought we were waiting to hear that she'd been trànsported or something. It honestly hadn't occurred to me until just now that simply knowing that Kenneth had attempted CPR should have been enough information to answer to the only question that was looping through my mind, over and over, until Alli arrived. "Is she breathing?"

I was 4 hours away, in another city.

Once Alli arrived, there were people everywhere; policemen, emergency responders, tons of neighborhood spectators, and Kenneth, the roommate. I was still on the phone, waiting, while he and Alli had a brief conversation, which I couldn't really hear and I finally interrupted to ask what I thought we'd been waiting to find out this whole time.. "But.. is she still breathing?"

At that point, I heard Alli take a deep breath and, very slowly, and with such pain, she said the words that made it real.

"No, Stephanie. She's gone."

I remember taking a deep breath and saying, "Okay."

It almost felt like, "Well.. Here we are. This is actually happening. You know, that thing that happens to other people, but not your child, not you? It's happening. Right now."

Another deep breath, and once again, " Okay.. "

I remember thinking that I needed to hold it together somehow, because I was going to have to handle and figure out a lot of things, and I really, really needed to be able to think. I just had to think. Figure this all out somehow, as if it were a problem that could be solved.

I did what I've always done when I need to call upon an extreme coping skill. I stopped feeling, and I started thinking. Intellectualizing, my therapist, Becca, the one from my daughter's first treatment center, used to call it.

I called upon that skill in that moment. Think. Think about what other people are going through, feeling, experiencing. Think about how everyone else feels, so you don't have to look at what this really is. Don't even get close to it.

That is the moment that I apologized to Alli for having to be the one to make such a horrible phone call, telling someone's mother that they are dead, and thanked her for being that person, at the same time. I thanked her for being a good friend. I told her I loved her. Said I'd be available for the police or whoever needs to speak to next of kin, and told her to give them my number.

I called my boyfriend first, in a panic; I had to get home, I had to get to Houston, and I had to get there NOW. I couldn't drive, and all I could think was how I needed to get there, I had to get there, and I needed to get there NOW. No answer.

I called my ex-husband (not the father of my daughter, but of two sons, ages 15 and 18, at the time) and, not realizing that the boys were in the car with him or that he had answered on speaker, I started screaming that my daughter was dead, she was dead, and I didn't know what to do. Of course, after finding out that the boys had overhead, I called both of them to apologize that they had had to hear me like that, to hear the news that way.

I don't remember very much of the next few weeks. The things I do remember are choppy, like random scenes from a movie, but I remember those things vividly.

I realized that I had to tell people. Who? Who is the first person you call to announce your daughter's death?

I called my mom first, I think, and I listened to her sob and repeat, "Noooo..." over and over.

I called my daughter's other grandmother, on her father's side, and I listened as she cried and kept saying, "Oh my god.."

I called my daughter's ex-boyfriend, Javi, the father of my granddaughter, who was 8 at the time, and he couldn't believe it, couldn't accept it, either; jumped in his car to go over there. I guess he needed to see it with his own eyes.

I spoke to another of my daughter's best friends, Jessica (she happened to text me, so I thought she already knew, and when I realized that she didn't, I told her to call me. She asked me, "How bad is it?" I said, "Bad."), and then she, too, immediately drove over to the house to meet up with Alli, Kenneth, and Javi.

I couldn't listen to any more breaking hearts at the moment, so as fucked up as it seems now, I just started texting people.

I texted my friend, Sarah, who, along with her entire family, have been like family to us. I don't even know how I said it. I think I said, "I'm so sorry to tell you like this, but they found her this morning, unconscious, with a needle, and she didn't make it. " Sarah immediately called me, and started screaming, " What? What? " as if she couldn't hear me. Her mind, too, couldn't seem to allow this to be real.

I spoke to my friends, Theresa and Joie, sisters, and they immediately offered all kinds of practical help that hadn't even occurred to me, such as setting up a GoFundMe account to pay for funeral expenses. I had been laid off from my job of over ten years several months prior, and so all of the life insurance policies and everything I'd been so used to just having were no longer available, and I had nothing.

Joie also posted on Facebook on my behalf. It was the only way I could think of to let everyone know, especially my daughter's friends, and it was because of all of these people, and so many more, that I have managed to get through this last year.

I don't know what I did to deserve such wonderful people in my life, but I am surrounded by them. The GoFundMe account reached over $5000 within a couple of days.

My daughter's best friend from middle school is a hair and makeup artist, and she flew in from Colorado to make sure that she was the one who did the makeup for the viewing. That was always their thing, and even though my daughter's addiction had driven them apart over the years, Vikki had to do this one last thing for her friend, and I was happy to have her do it.

Sarah's ex-boyfriend, who knew my daughter as a child, took care of all of the flowers and arrangements.

Sarah's mom has a friend who was able to make a dress for my daughter to wear during the viewing; an Alice in Wonderland dress, because that was always her thing.

Sarah and her mom had already found the cheapest most decent funeral home that they knew of (her mom had used the place for her own mother's service), so I literally spent the next few days just having to answer yes and no questions.

It turned out that since my daughter never divorced the father of her second child (my grandson, Isaac, who was almost 7 at the time), even though they'd been separated and out of contact for a few years (she was engaged to someone else for at least a year), he was her next of kin, not me, and this brought forth a whole host of issues. He doesn't raise their son, his mother does, because he is either 1) insane, 2) brain damaged from drug use, 3) currently using drugs, or 4) a combination of all of the above. These things made the entire process very difficult for me.

They tried to dictate who could be invited to the funeral, which I wasn't on board with. They threatened me by saying that they would have her body transferred to the funeral home of their choosing and they would let me know when and where to show up. They said I could not have any locks of her hair. They said they would not split up her ashes. They even dictated to me that she be cremated, because they somehow knew (having only known her for a few years, and not knowing her at all, really, for the few years prior to her death) that she wanted to be cremated and that she wanted her ashes spread over the ocean.

I won't ever be able to understand why someone would treat the mother of a dead child the way that they treated me, but I've just added them to the list of people I'll have to figure out how to forgive somehow, eventually.

Everyone showed up for us, and I was so grateful for the presence of every single one of them. People I hadn't seen or spoken to in years, such as my ex-husband's ex-boss's ex-wife, lol.

I placed a son for adoption when I was 19, and though I had met him in person once, he and my other kids had not met. He and my daughter had been talking a lot on social media, and he had planned to come visit and meet everyone in May, after he graduated college, but ended up coming in April for her funeral, instead. He never even got to hear her voice.

There is so much I want to use this blog for. I want to document my own journey through this grief. I want to talk about addiction and help destigmatize the way people view addicts. I want to offer resources and maybe even hope. And I want to remember my daughter.

Her name was Jade. She was 26 years old when she died. She was one of the funniest, coolest, most creative, beautiful people you could have ever known. Yes, the addiction was a part of her journey, her struggle, but she was more than that. And I intend to honor ALL of who she was, by speaking the truth.

The truth is that she died from the toxic effects of an accidental overdose of heroin and methamphetamine. But that's just one part of her story, and mine, and I need to tell them both, even if no one ever reads a single word I type. I need to tell these stories.

Since I started with her death, here is a photo recap of what there is to know so far:

#grief #overdose #addiction #loss #bereavement #grieving

[terrablaze514]

Being Black + R. Kelly, Living With Secrets, and Writing Catatonic Fanfics

Hey everyone.

I'm up extra early, because this is bugging my mind and heart right now. The words might leave if I don't voice (write) it.

In a few hours, I'll be going to church again. Christian, yes. Predominantly Black, you've guessed it. Both of these cancel each other out. Why?

Despite my suspicions growing up, the vast majority of Black people I knew (family, friends, acquaintances, etc.) were still jamming to R. Kelly's music. It makes all the more sense why he's known as, "The Pied Piper", and that's scary as buck if you stop to think about it.

I've never understood why he was permitted to keep making music. Why the buck does Wendy Williams still have an audience? Why did 2Pac and Michael Jackson get destroyed by false allegations (until their sunset), while R. Kelly is still a free man in the music industry with proof of sexual deviance in multiple court cases?

I was 7 when I was molested by a grown woman. I couldn't approach my parents about it, because she became a close friend to my mother, got closer to other notable family friends, and I was already misunderstood at school and church (Grade 2 was a horrible year). My parents were also coming to terms with their breakup, so it didn't help (because what if they had another physical altercation?). Top that with the ongoing belief that men were innately predators...

October 2018, I've had a nightmare of her stalking me while visiting my hometown (the 514) - woke up in a sweat, purchased Black Panther on Google Play Movies, and watched the movie until my eyes shut again... Because mentally, I needed to feel safe. I wanted Wakanda's protection. And I ended up getting it in my dreams (occasionally). M'Baku and The Jabari Tribe are the best!

Back on topic... So, while I'm happy that justice is happening, I'm also disappointed. Deeply disappointed in The Black Community for sweeping this issue under the rug.👏🏾Every.👏🏾 Single.👏🏾Time.👏🏾 I understand firsthand why it's hard to come forward. Allow me to explain (and these are some of the reasons why going to church is a farce in my book).

I've shared with a few Gundam Wing fans (via Discord) that I've sung in three choirs (four if school curriculum counts). To this day, I still jam to my favourite songs and sing as a secret means to calm down when times are too stressful (and if I have no access to a pen and notebook). So why bring this up? Simply put, during my tenure in the third choir, I was spanked and grabbed on the buttocks for holding the door open for an elderly man. [This isn't funny, so if you're laughing, check yourself or leave my blog ASAP]. Not only did this trigger my fear and cripple my confidence as a young adult, but I wasn't able to focus. I've felt scared... Moreso when I've relayed the incident to a few choir members. They've laughed it off, because it sounded funny to them.

It didn't help that this also happened a week after one of my closest friends had died from cancer (and I couldn't make it to his funeral). So being forced to laugh it off, take it with a grain of salt, and keeping it moving wasn't easy. Also, being Black means you don't cry. "Stay strong," is all people would ever say.

I've also been approached and stalked by some strange men, around my age (no older than 27). I'd be waiting at the bus stop so I can commute to work. Strange man shows up, and requests (to the point of begging) that I take the taxi with him. One week later, he begs me to skip work and come over to his place. For what, only God knows. I didn't go, but I've sent text messages to friends. The majority of them found it funny - except one, who also called to check up on me. If it were up to him, he'd drive across town and set the stalker straight.

That was then.

There was a fellow co-worker (cisgender woman) who used to touch, or feel up my inner thighs and buttocks without my consent, and in the presence of customers. How many times have I reported her, yet supervisors promoted her, and would say, "That's her way of giving people props."

What the heck?

Then, by the time I was 25, I've reached my breaking point despite graduating from college and acquiring two careers to call my own. My physical appearance (gaining weight), marital status ("let's find a boyfriend for you on WhatsApp Messenger"), and popularity were the only things that mattered. Damn it all to the grave.

Dating prospects were more like, groomers. And they were all Christian Churchians.💯 I've never given up the V-card, but I've tried to fit in to the point of mental starvation and social exhaustion. In the worst case scenario, I've heard adults (including a parent) poke rape jokes. What's so funny about that?

We sure as hell did not deserve Aaliyah, because the ignorance is real.

I've ended up writing a fanfic project that deals with the music industry, and emphasizes deep comparisons between a good rep team versus an evil rep team, by pulling bits and pieces of experiences by real artists, as well as my "inability to be more transparent/speak up/get out of my shell", and conceptions of what could go wrong if there was no access to a healthy outlet... Combined them into the realities of the characters I'm borrowing. It's still in progress; I'm a perfectionist, yet, the story needs to be told.

There's a second project where two cousins grow up together in the kingdom, get separated after the death of a family member, and the elder cousin searches for his bestie in America. Friendships are formed, but there's also a rampant rape culture against girls in the community where his cousin took residence... Pedophiles will get killed after witnessing the dismissal of reports by police. Go figure.

Writing these types of things, is an outlet. I don't condone abuse, murder, things of that dark nature, but honestly. I grew up in a rape culture. I need a healthy way to deal with (process) that.

Talking about it to people is only safe enough in therapy sessions. Outside of that, get laughed at. Mocked. Told that You deserve it (or did something to deserve it).

I've contemplated suicide last month. Resurfaced memories do more harm than good... And even if I followed through on December 29th (I'm glad I didn't), everything in this post, especially the woman predator who was a babysitter, is the secret I would've taken to my grave. Who could I talk to without feeling unsafe or unwelcome? Without laughing it off in a dismissive manner? Without assuming that I've done something to deserve it, like forgetting to pull on my panties first?

No one.

I've been taught that my big butt, juicy thighs, bust... Yet fat belly, rolls on my back, and somewhat bouncy arms, are something to be ashamed of. From 14 to 23, I used to sport Beyoncé's figure (used to be slimmer)... Yet I still had to feel guilty for embracing that, because if I didn't cover up... If I walked out late... If I didn't keep up with trends... if I didn't turn up for what... If I didn't drop it like it's hot, turn around and bump bump bump, my body too bootylicious for 'em, 'cause if it's worth it lemme work it... And whenever I did these things...

I am guilty.

Now that I'm older, and I don't do these things as often...

I am still guilty.

Because I grew up in a community and a society that hates rapists and pedophiles while making excuses for rapists and pedophiles if I spoke up. If other girls and women spoke up. If boys and men came forward with their true accounts without receiving homophobic comments, or the overused, "You became a real man, congratulations!" Canada's Supreme Court will not keep a sex predator behind bars for more than ten years. That's all the additional proof you need.

The hypocrisy was real, and it still is.

There was an incident where a little girl complained about a church elder touching her... No one believed her.

Later on in my teens, a teenage boy was falsely accused of sexual harassment, and everyone believed the lie (except his closest friends, whom told her to stop following them around).

Another church elder (and a Bible thumper), fondled my breasts out of spite - and my mother blamed me! The next time I've seen that elder, I've set her straight, but who the hell am I for talking? She's still the most respected because she knows every scripture passage, from Genesis to Revelation, and also knows every volume, word for word, from The Spirit of Prophecy. So she has no sin...

THE LIES!

I was nervous shaky the entire time.

So growing up Black, in a church community, as a girl (now a woman) had many catastrophes. I'm not crazy for putting this out there, just keeping it real. I'll be in church in approximately less than three hours from now, and if anyone cracks jokes or makes demeaning comments about R. Kelly's current and former victims, talking about how they're fast, and how they should've come forward... Nah, Hollywood gets away with sexual deviance against minors. A large percentage of them have bought R. Kelly's music, at music stores and on iTunes/Google Play Music. No surprise, huh? As much as I love my church family, I cannot accommodate the ignorance that's gone on for my whole life so far. *Sigh* This has blackened my heart, I just... I am at a loss, not only for R. Kelly's victims, but every child and youth who will be targeted by men and women who cannot be trusted.

I will always support Black Empowerment, Black Lives Matter and Black History... But I have zero tolerance for the enabling of pedophiles and rapists. Even the jokes. It's distasteful.

If you are a supporter/apologist of R. Kelly, Sparkle, Marques Houston, and any other person who'd used/subjected minors to assault and/or grooming, get off my page. And stop pretending to be a huge Aaliyah fan... We've lost her because the adults in her life had failed in exchange for her fame. We also owe Michael Jackson's family an apology for destroying his character and career under false allegations, while R. Kelly was still a free man, preying on girls and grooming boys to become like him... And all the evidence of his crimes were readily available on the archives while I was in Junior High. While we're at it, Kitti Jones and Drea Kelly need to take several seats. They've had every opportunity to approach the police. They've known what R. Kelly did to all those girls and how it's destroyed their youth. They are the poorest examples of how to put sex offenders in their place, just so they can get money now that #MeToo (who never gave a damn about half of your experiences, unless you were penetrated by a man)... Nuh-uh! The lives that were destroyed by rape, molestation, grooming and exploitation matter more than the money anyone might make from a case that should've been dealt with decades ago! My heart is very heavy throughout this post. I know it's Sabbath hours, but I'm currently listening to "Don't Stay" by Linkin Park, because it truly reflects my thoughts and memories, in the wake of #SurvivingRKelly.

Everyone (especially Black people) who put on R. Kelly during weddings and birthday celebrations, I've taken notes. You will not be trusted around my future children (if it's meant to be). I've never healed, yet. The community does not offer a safe space to heal from the damage that's been done. So when I hear about Chester Bennington (Linkin Park -I hope I spelled his name right), AJ and Nick (Backstreet Boys - their parents stood up for their sons), B2K (especially Raz-B), IMx, Sammy, O'Ryan, the victim of Brock Turner, a few victims of Bill Cosby and that actor from 7th Heaven, the young girl who was sexually assaulted and exploited by that loser who was granted a chance to finish up his studies at UofC (University of Calgary), Natasha McKenna who was stripped, dehumanized and tasered in her last moments by eight men, the former victims of Eddie Long who were forcibly silenced, the girl who was raped, hospitalized and raped again in the hospital by her father and brother... This is real ish. I have no more words. Leave my page if you support R. Kelly... Special shoutout to John Legend for keeping it real. Another special shoutout to Terry Crews who spoke up. To the victims of Harvey Weinstein and Kevin Spacey, you also need to get your voices heard, because you also matter. To the victims of Ryan Seacrest, the same also applies. May Corey Haim Rest in Power, because Charlie Sheen is getting his just reward for what he did decades ago. Although I'm glad B2K is reuniting for tour, I've been conflicted with how R. Kelly wrote your popular hits. That wasn't your fault, though. Your former manager (Chris Stokes - another pedophile) had that set up for your grooming - good thing y'all left TUG behind when you did. Other artists and notable faces in the entertainment industry - you don't have to comment, but I beseech you to STOP collaborating with R. Kelly. What he did to those girls is beyond me. If you keep enabling him, you're now guilty for proving that rape is okay.

It is not.💯