#men need to be taught the importance of mending their and their kids' clothes as standard parts of household maintenance

[sleepyandweepyandtired]

I do so much mending of my family's clothes and while I love extending the life of our garments I don't actually enjoy sewing. But nobody else is going to do it. So yeah, more unpaid unnoticed unthanked unending domestic labour. Yay me.

i need to start a collection of Takes About Alienation From The Material Conditions Of Production That Only Make Sense If You Yourself Are Alienated From The Material Conditions Of Production

[awakeningofthedeath]

Awakening of the Death: Chapter #16

“You sure this is a good idea boss?” Hans asked as he held Hellen’s right blade hand, hidden blade extended out, from behind as Hellen loomed over Jack’s bleeding side.

In the depths of Hellen’s mind and heart, she was more afraid for Jack then she’d ever been for anyone she knew. She had removed bullets from her own body in the past, yet to remove it from another individual is another matter at hand. Jack could die by the iron in his body, or the low risk of damaging his already broken body further. There was no other option for either of them.

Hellen took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling her heart slowing down only slightly. “We have no surgical tools at hand, and my blade is always sharp; but I cannot preform this in such position. I just need you to aid my hand in parting the tissue and mussel. From what I’ve seen, it isn’t too deep, but it needs to get the hell out of him quickly.”

“And you need me to just guide your arms?” Hans asked, giving a look that Hellen guessed that she must be a mad woman. Hellen probably was crazy.

Taking another breath, Hellen held the tip of her blade over the torn skin, said a silent prayer, and began to work just as James and her father taught her long ago.

Forcing her arm to move, with he aid of Hans, Hellen waited until her left fingers opened up the torn skin, feeling hot blood in between her fingertips. She could see the walls of tissues and mussel exposed, and buried within was the metal bullet. Fortunately this one was small, and couldn’t do great damage, nor was it anywhere near a bone. When the tip of her hidden blade went into the torn skin, she felt Jack flinch aggressively and started to move violently; fortunately, two men held his arms down, let his legs were bucking violently. Hellen felt Hans’s hands leaving her arm.

“Boss, you need to get that metal out soon, or else he’d be ramming himself into ya blade without knowing.” Han’s large body was enough to pin his legs down.

Hellen withdrew the blade carefully. She’d bent down and with her bloody hand, stroked Jack’s blond hair. “You listen to me Jackass.” Hellen was insured, yet cracked as she spoke to the man who rescued her once again. Hot tears began to weld. “I’m just as scared as you probably are right now. The last thing I want you to think is that I’m going to hurt you. Will it painful, yes. But know that I’m saving your life now you idiot! Please...don’t fight me now...just endure it a little longer. Hold on Jack! Don’t you dare leave me here Jackass!”

Hellen looked up to see the two men holding Jack’s arms looking at her with respect. The nodded as Hellen repositioned herself and resumed the surgery. She felt sweat building up on her brow as she leveraged the bullet out from his open wound, she snatched it with her left hand as it exited out of the man. With a flick of her right wrist, the hidden blade withdrew itself back into her sleeve. She looked to see Jack breathing labored breaths. One of the members brought a wet cloth and placed it on his head.

Hellen then took the thread and needle set aside for her, she used the same cloth with a light mixture of bourbon from a flask from one of the members and holding his torn skin together, Hellen began to mend him back together. She’d focused on the work she had to do, yet she looked with her eyes to see Jack’s tortured face, even in his unconscious state, the man has demons to wrestle.

Why? Why Jack? Why Me?

When Hellen completed her work with stitching up Jack, two of the members aided her into carrying Jack back to her apartment. They’d arrived before the dawn rose from the Atlantic. The two men placed Jack upon the bed by Hellen’s directions. He was shirtless with the exception of being wrapped in a bandage around the wound by various clothes from the abandoned shop. Hellen watched from the doorway, holding Jack’s bloody coat. The washing lady would give them hell for the mess. 

When the men finished seeing him in bed rest, they’d checked on their boss as they made their way out the door. “You okay there boss?”

Hellen only nodded, squeezing the black bundle tighter against her chest. “Yes, I’m just...you two better head home. It’s been a long night. I’ll take over from here.” The two men looked at each other then to Hellen, one of them gave a nod and both made their way out the door.

Hellen placed the bundle with the others ready for the wash. She was about to strip off her own clothes that were stained with Jack’s blood. She froze as she was about to removed her shirt, realizing that there was a chance that Jack could wake up, seeing her naked again. Turning to look in the mirror, Hellen noticed that her face was imprinted with his blood from her hands as she had been rubbing her brow and eyes with them, making her look like a Crow warrior.  She’d thought that possibly a wash in the showering area could help her in a great manner.

So Hellen grabbed a bar of soap and a towel with a clean set of clothes as she made her way down the hall. When she made it there, as she stripped herself and turned on the hardened water, Hellen thought about Jack once again, when he first saw her naked. She didn’t get angry though with the thought of Jack staring at her like a pervert. She’d seen that difference compared to when Johnathan tried to rape her. But in Jack’s eyes, those eyes as deep as a clear mountain lake, had the eyes of one who thinks before he leaps, who analyzes before he lunges for an attack. And his hardened mussels on his body, the shape of him that she’d only imagined men of mythology and Native warriors can look unworldly to her. She’d wished she could touch all of him now, to see if an assassin like him is as strong as the legends are visioned in the history books.

Hellen found herself touching her body in ways that startled her. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s bad enough my thighs seemed to be more wet then usual. Now I’m going all gaga like a school girl. Who am I kidding? Jack has been in my mind more then usual. No. He’s now...an important person in my life. Even though we’re completely diffrent; both in assassin and individual terms, he still tolerates the bull shit I put him through. Hell...he was willingly to take a bullet for me!

Hellen pressed her forehead against the tiled wall, trying to diminish the fantasies in her mind, only to replace it with guilt. Too many men and women had died for her in her short twenty seven years.

When she’d finished, Hellen returned to Jack’s bedside, and sat in a chair beside him as he’d laid on the bed, his forehead covered in sweat. His face looked tortured, as if beyond his contagiousness, he is reminiscing the wrong memories.

And I thought my demons wouldn’t let me sleep.

Hellen went to the kitchen, filled a bowl filled with water, grabbed a dish towel from the drawer, and retreated back to the room. She’d dipped the towel into the bowl, the cool water a contrast to the warmth of the shower Hellen just emerged from. She’d squeezed the water from the cotton cloth, folded it in half, and placed it upon Jack’s forehead. She’d traced it along the skin of his head, neck, cheeks, and all that was dampened by sweat. As she allowed the cloth to soak in more water from the bowl, Hellen looked down upon this man who had come to be closer to her then anyone she’d allowed. And now there she was, tending to him like a mother to a child. When in terms, he’d usually took care of her.

“Looks like I’m getting my just desserts...no...” Hellen gave a dried chuckle, trying hard to fight back the tears that threatened to leak out from her eyes. “No one should be in the position where we are now. Especially you Jack” Hellen took one of Jack’s hands and held it closer to her lips, pressing her forehead on Jack’s large palm of his hand. “I already lost one man in my life; I can’t lose you in my account.”

Days past by as Hellen, with the assistant of the wash lady and a few members of the Dark Horses who came by to see their boss lady, Jack remained unconscious for that period of time. During that time, Hellen attempted to make Jack stable; which included giving him some food. 

There was one fact that all who knew Hellen, and even she herself would often state the simple fact; Hellen was not a chef by all means. Some say she could burn water by just the thought of the fact. Perhaps this was due to not having a mother around who’d taught her how to cook, not even Zerelda James had the patience to teach the fiery red haired girl how. Still, Hellen attempted to make a ham and bean soup using the leftover ham from recent meals with pinto beans that were being soaked overnight days prior. She’d only fed Jack the broth when she would lean his head against her shoulder blades. His face was close enough for her to touch. 

One night, Hellen was stressed and tired, so she’d took the time to go upon the rooftop and drink a few shots of vodka until she was more tired then when she needed to be. Before she could retreat to the couch, where she’d slept at the past three nights. 

When Hellen climbed into the bedroom, her mind and emotions were fuzzy, her body tired not only from lack of sleep, but from when she was just barely getting done with her minstrel cycle. Hellen looked at the bed, and in her tired and drunk mind, she saw her pa upon the bed, wearing the same clothes that he’d worn twelve years ago, bleeding from the chest and the cuts on his head. The pain of her father’s death came crashing in.

“Pa...I’m sorry...I’m so sorry...why can’t I’d be as strong as they’d claimed I was born to be? Why can’t I be as strong as you? I can’t allow Jack...Jack...” Hellen’s vision seemed to blurred back to the present, seeing the man with the golden hair. Hellen was tired, and tears flowed down her cheek. She’d needed comfort tonight. So she removed her boots and climbed on top of the covers, snuggling herself against Jack’s body, the warmth welcoming her like a warm fire after a bitter winter. She’d took a deep breath, taking in Jack’s scent. It had a white musk scent that reminded her of juniper trees she’d found a comforting scent when on the run back west. She’d wrapped herself around her savior and fell asleep.

Jack breathed heavily, sweat covering his bare chest and brow. He was laying upon a soft firm bed that seemed so foreign to him; for it had been over a month since he slept in one, with the couch or at occasion, the chair as his place to sleep. He rubbed his face with his left friend, rubbing his eyes together. He then looked down to see two foreign objects upon him. The white bandages that wrapped around his waist, and the sleeping body of Hellen, snuggled into his chest. She was laying on top of the covers, with only a green blanket on top of her. Her face was half covered with Hellen’s auburn hair. Her shirt wrinkled so much, possibly from multi uses without changing. A bare foot stuck out from the blanket, showing a high arched foot with toes that a couple of them looked as if they’d been broken once or twice.

Had she been by my side the entire time?

Then Jack remembered the woman holding him as he slipped into his uncontioustess. It was Hellen who seemed to have saved him. Hellen shifted in her sleep, dug herself deeper into his chest, her soft cheeks brushed Jack’s scar. He moved a curl out of her face, and with his right hand, pulled Hellen in tight, feeling her warmth.

Jack had forgotten what it was like to be held, and now to hold someone. This woman. This is his something to hold onto. He vowed to follow his mother’s spirit’s promise.

As he took a deep breath, eyes heavy with sleep, he whispered “We’re even.”

Darkness took over again; but this darkness seemed to be kinder then usual.

How the hell did she get into this?

Hellen awoke the next morning to find herself on her side, her eyes stinging from the tears that spilt from the night before.She’d turned upon her back and rubbed her eyes as she yawned. When she sat up, Hellen turned only to be surprised to see Jack sitting up in position with a pillow supporting his back and head while reading a book, one that she’d picked up from a print shop days prior.  Mark Twain’s “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer”. Jack then turned his head to look at Hellen, who immediately sat up and turned her face away, blushing red. 

“Jack!” Hellen squeaked out a cry. “I wasn’t expect...I was tired...” 

“I suspected you were.” Jack interrupted Hellen as he’d folded a cover of the book’s page. “Possibly dreaming of the high hills of Hannibal, riding the Mississippi, and now going into a cave trying to find a way not to get caught by Ingun Joe. But then again, you’ve been out for almost a day and a half.” 

Hellen’s face turned red with anger as she realized that he had been up for days possibly when Hellen was asleep.

“Says the man who was out for five days after taking a bullet that was meant for me!” Hellen’s eyes hardened as she looked at the shirtless man, with the exception of the bandage around him. “Why did you do it Jack? You know I could of stood on my own two damn feet. I was so worried about you! I thought I would of lost you like I’d lost my pa...I would of never...” Hellen’s eyes threatened to leak the tears again, and she emerged herself into Jack’s chest and hugged him so tight that she never wanted to let go. “You’re a damn fool Jackass.” She squeaked

Jack wasn’t sure how to take this unexpected gesture. He always felt uncertain when it comes to having someone holding him down. No, not holding down, Hellen was holding onto him The kind of embrace he remembered when his mother would comfort him, even Jacob embraced the lad when after his escape from the asylum. This moment, feeling Hellen’s tight embrace felt like a comfort to him. So he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight as well, smelling the scent of lilies and bath oil in her fiery red hair. He closed his eyes, embracing the relief of the hell they both went through to get Jack back among the living. Yet deep down, the water from Hellen’s heart in a cold dark world was breaking away the hard stone heart that Jack had been bearing for years.

Something was happening with them.

[seekwrites]

September: A letter of Loss, Healing, and Closure

We did not fight for marriage to see it cheapened. — Bishop Yvette Flunder

“But it's a long, long while, From May to December, And the days grow short, When you reach September”… - Kurt Weill

It could've been the way the blue buckets hung off the wall that housed the food coloring and cutting utensils. Or the glimpse of the frustration on your face as you moved balances from one credit card to the next. Maybe it was selling of a home, and the buying of another. It could’ve been the way my body took space in our already cramped kitchen, or maybe it was the pound cake I put in the oven to feed someone else when all you wanted to do was eat too. I'm not sure what it was, but it was the beginning of the end, and although I knew it, I also knew it couldn't be. Not like this. See, in my mind this was just some marital shit we were going through, and like we had done before, we would get through it.

It was September, the 9th month of the year. The third month in the trimester of what God was birthing. It was laid it out plain before us. The miraculous turn of event that happened in July was the beginning of what I thought would be our destiny, or at least a part of it. I mean how could I post one cake on social media, and it turn into a business almost overnight. Surely God's hand was at work.

August, you had given me a birthday dinner, invited friends and family to come and celebrate with us, me, my life. June had proven to be difficult. My heart and lungs were attacked by blood clots that crept up from my knee and lit up my chest like fireworks leaving the Pulmonologist befuddled wondering; how was I still alive? Emergency surgery was inevitable if my life was to be saved, and healing would come at a greater loss...you.

My knee had begun to bother me that day in September. I knew I should've been resting per doctor’s orders due to meniscus surgery, but I had orders to fill. Me “negating” my health was agitating you. You thought I should be lying down with my leg elevated, but my hard headedness wouldn’t allow it. I was simply excited that people liked my product, and that my clientele was growing. I was two months out of surgery, in rehab, and doing well. Yes I still had pain, but I was under pain management. Yes I was on blood thinners, but healing all the same.

There was a shift in energy happening in that moment. I needed your help in the kitchen. I wasn't asking for much just that you would help me by sifting the flour. I mean, you had sifted the flour before. What was different this time? I wasn’t sure, but asking you to help me somehow turned into an argument that had been brewing in you for some time seemed like. I can’t count on one hand the amount of arguments we had in the 15 years we’ve known each other, nor the 3 years we were together. And I remember thinking to myself...why is this an argument? Doesn't he see what I'm trying to do here? Doesn't he see the hand of God at work? Doesn’t he see not only the work I’m doing, but also my repentance? I wanted you to see how thankful and grateful I was for you. I needed you to let me make up for the pain I caused you six months prior. I was sorry, and I thought the only way I could make you see that was by putting in the work. But you had been seeing something different all along, and what had been lying dormant in you injected itself into the chamber of your throat, and shot out of your mouth like a full metal jacket.

“YOU ABOUT TO LOSE THIS MARRIAGE.” You said it boldly, and matter-of-factly. Everything went silent, and the feelings that had been festering in you rushed over me like a tsunami, my spirit swept away like debris. Truth is I had already lost my marriage. You were already gone.

“Summer has come and passed, the innocent can never last, wake me up when September ends”…-Greenday

I'd been constantly thinking about that day in September. Trying to figure what happened to us. I knew there was a crack in our foundation. I also knew that I contributed to it, but it wasn’t too deep where it couldn’t be mended. So when you said I was about to lose to my marriage I wanted to be the blame for it. I assumed all the responsibility. I bathed in the guilt of my wrongdoings, and questioned everything about me as a man, a husband, and a human being. Was it my passion, and creativity? Was it my interactions with people you thought I shouldn’t have interactions with? Was it the nude pictures you found on my iPad that wasn’t of you, but lead you to question your very existence in my life as you compared your body to his? Was it the text message conversations you found on messenger? It all had to be to much, right? It had to be something that I did to make you decide to leave our marriage. I mean, why else would you stand in my face and utter those words? You see, I can take complete responsibility for my faults and wrongdoings, and assume it was me that caused the deconstruction of our marriage, but we both know that would not be the truth. And it’s not for me to call you out, or to say nasty things about you. I will not drag your name through the mud, nor create stories about you that just are not true. I love you to much for that even now, but there are some things that still weigh heavily on me. I’ve been carrying them for way too long, and now I must bring closure to them. This letter will read like the 5 stages of grief. Some of things I will say here will leave me open for judgement. I don’t care. All of my feeling are still valid and must be released in order for healing to take place.

I’ve been reading a book called Rebuilding by Bruce Fisher. It’s a book of tools and assignments that are designed to help one accept, heal, forgive, and move on from the trauma they were left with post-divorce. I was looking for any and everything that would help me understand the pain you left me with. So this letter to you is a part of the work I had to do to push me towards my healing. And the work was important, because it allowed me to ask myself what was it all for? Why would we write marital vows and not keep them? And if a vow was broken due to errors in human behavior why should we ever commit to love only for love to be proven a lie? I know I am a man who is able to love beyond loves capacity. A man who learned over the years to hold himself accountable. A man who showed remorse, and pleaded for redemption for my wrong doings never to hurt you in that way again, yet to be turned away after you said you forgave me. Yes, a man who is able to forgive the bullshit, because my love ran much deeper than that for you. But where was the love for me? And what about men like you who would share how too’s and ways to stick to it with others but didn’t believe it for yourself - at least not for the marriage that you said you wanted with me. How dare you? Come on man! You got me out here in these streets looking like a god damn fool. Naysayers were lying in wait hoping we wouldn’t make it, and you proved them all right. Well done.

I poured the best of me into our marriage, into my creativity, into our home so that we built a foundation of love that was unbreakable, no matter what you did, no matter what I did, and no matter what anybody said could ever tear us apart. And FUCK me for thinking that our experiences being married to women taught us more about ourselves - gave us agency to explore what it means to live authentically, and fully in who we are as same gender loving men. Guess not.

December made a year since we’ve been divorced. I didn’t think I would make it. Suicidal demons danced around me, sat on my shoulders and spoke in my ear - “there’s a bottle pills over there.”, “you should jump off the 288 bridge.”, “a gun is quicker” - haunting me for months thereafter.

I stared at a bottle of OxyContin that was on the edge of the bar one night in October. The next day I found myself in a mental institution...on a bed as hard as a rock…in a room with a 16 y/o who cuts into his wrist because he too couldn’t find a place of peace. Four dreadful days I spent cramped over a toilet violently throwing up my soul. The counselor asked me if I wanted her to call you. I said yes. I needed you to see me. I needed you to see what your absence was doing to me. I needed you to see how badly I needed you, how badly I needed us, but you denied me your presence. And her call gave you the freedom to enter back into our cramped apartment only to get your clothes leaving empty drawers and bare hangers to meet me in silence upon my return.

What happened after that I could never believe that you, my husband, the man I loved and trusted could ever be capable of doing. The blatant disregard for my health, my life, and livelihood was beyond sinister. Imagine being told that you no longer have insurance coverage after handing the pharmacist the prescription for medications that was saving your life. Nigga, I left a job that I’d been with for 15 years – good ass benefits – vested in the company - believing that you believed enough in me and in us, and in what we were building together, and this is how you do me? I emptied my saving to clear debt, to build another home, to start a business because you said out of your mouth that we were in this together, and I believed you, but it was all a lie. You took the money, and told the builder that we were busting out of the deal. You never picked up the phone to call and say anything to me until I called you about it, nor did you give me the chance to try to save the home. I had to call the realtor myself and hear it from them. How could you just throw it all away? What was the reason? Here I was stuck in an apartment, jobless, in school, under doctor’s care, fearing for my health, and my life trying to manage a new business, provide income for myself, pay rent and utilities, and all you could say was that you were tired. Tired? Are you fucking kidding me!!! Nigga, I left that hospital on antipsychotics! Do you know how many times I felt tired, but never gave up on us? Do you know how tired I was of the insecurities stemming from your weight loss surgery, and childhood issues, but I never gave up on you? Do you know how tiring it was letting you know you were perfect just the way you were over and over again? Yes, it’s tiring pouring into a person their goodness when they don’t believe it for themselves, but I did it because I loved you. There were so many things I could’ve been tired of. Like your ass not having a thought or idea about almost anything. About your mental lackadaisicalness, or the fact that you had no goals or purpose. I lost everything…my money, my home, and you just because you were tired. Fuck outta here with that bullshit.

We had a plan, a mission statement, and a marriage, and leaving when one gets tired wasn’t apart of it. And here we are two years later I haven’t seen you, nor spoken with you, and all I got to hold on to is that you were tired. You are a joke, a runner, a liar, and a thief who lead folks to believe you were something you were not. Ok, let me take a deep breath, because I don’t want this letter to be about me calling you every pejorative I can think of that lessens you as a man. I’ve come too far for that. It’s just that rehashing this is difficult. Plus, this is just the beginning of the damage you left me with. Listing the others would make this letter much too long and trust me this is already too much.

I thought I was losing my mind. So much we’d work to build. So much we had shared with each other… with the world. I was devastated. Again questioning the very fiber of my being, who was I? What kind of karma had caught up with me? Who did I wrong to deserve this type of treatment from someone who said they loved me? I couldn’t grasp it. I paced the floors of the apartment crying out to God pleading for understanding. I was angry and infuriated. I made despicable choices by posting my discontentment on social media. It was a stupid mistake, but sometimes when a person is in tremendous pain they do stupid things. I couldn’t think straight. Depression suffocated me. I was heartbroken, and grief-stricken. If I was to live another day I knew that I had to let it all go, because I no longer knew you, and I didn’t want to be your victim. You made a decision, and I had to deal with it.

“It’s September, yeah, you’ve been gone so doggone long”…-Johnny Taylor

Letting go hasn’t been easy. Just when I think I’m there I realize — not yet. You see, no matter how many times I say fuck you the fact still remains that I loved you, deeply, and I’m not sorry it wasn’t good enough. I did the best that I could. Could I have done better? Probably. Could you have done better? Possibly. But isn’t that how relationships grow? There’s so much I want to pack in, and unpack as I scribe these words on these pages, so many untruths, guilt, hurt , pain, associations gone awry, people who I called friend, lies you told your attorney, all had to be let go too, no matter the magnitude. No matter the loss.

I want to say thank you again for coming home that day and finding me on the floor collapsed and gasping for air. You moved swiftly. I felt your presence. There was always something about your presence that gave me life, and drives to be on, and stay on top of my game. However, I needed you to venture out into the world and bring something back to the relationship that would grow us up as a couple (not to be attached to my hip all the time), and for you to find your identity in spaces that could offer the same beauty that I saw in you. Maybe I got what I asked for. Maybe I was so caught up in what I had going on that I left you to ask yourself the questions, “What about me? What about my dreams?” I ponder if this was the case, and if it really were the case, it was never my intention to make you feel neglected in anyway. But why in the fuck am I saying this now? You knew this then. Yet you created stories about me that were not true. And I thought the communication we established between one another would allow you space to voice your concerns, evidently not. You painted me as a villain, an abuser, you used my personality against me all to make yourself look like the victim. These allegations had me do some real deep down soul searching, and sit in the truths that have worked against me.

• I have a mind of an artist. Can be scatter brain at times.

• I can be argumentative, especially if it has anything to do with black people, politics or religion.

• I have an opinion on almost every damn thing.

• I know that childhood traumas show up sometimes in the way I associate with people.

• I know at times my facial expressions speak louder than my words. And this tongue of mine, lord have mercy. It’s been known to be venomous.

• I know my ego can get a bit out of control.

• I can be filled with passion for a thing, and my passion can sometimes be overwhelming to those around me, misconstrued for anger, or even self-centeredness.

• I can be abrasive, stern, stubborn, ornery, strong willed, adamant, and sensitive about my shit.

• I am a truth teller even if it hurts me, or you

Now this is not completely who I am. I have some amazing qualities that work for m. None need to be listed here, because you know what the are. Listen, I’m not for everybody. All of this you knew 10 plus years before I asked you to marry me. Why would you say yes, and did any of this really warrant the demise of our marriage? Redundant, I know. But we laughed, and we played, and we traveled, and we prayed, and we loved, and we forgave. I mean bro, are these not the making of a marriage? Oh I forgot one thing, trust - that thing that is the easiest to lose and the hardest to gain. If you didn’t trust me anymore why didn’t you just say it? Why make this situation so devastatingly difficult? I guess your actions spoke louder than those words ever could. My mind wouldn’t allow me to rationalize your behavior. That part was the hardest, but I know now I don’t need to.

“Ba de ya, say do you remember, Ba de ya, dancing in September, Ba de ya, golden dreams were shinny days”…- Earth, Wind and Fire

We were both grown abled bodied men with careers and independence. We didn’t need each other for nothing more than the love we shared, the camaraderie, the friendship. Somehow it all started slipping away, slowly vanishing into nothingness. And the questions I once had have been resolved within me, and my resolve is this; I can’t, nor will I ever be responsible for what you don’t say. That shit belongs to you! I will not carry it any longer. I will not let it depress me. I will not lose another minute of sleep over it. There was a time that the husband in me wished I had known. Maybe I could've done something different. At least tried to fix it, made it better, even listened a little more, offered you a hand to hold, and a cuddle when you needed it most, but not anymore. Wishful thinking for something that’s dead doesn’t benefit anyone. It took me awhile to get here, but I’m here now and it feels good to be done. Just as done as you were when you walked out never to return.

I want to make aware that there is another truth here - your experiences of me. Whatever they were, however they were should be acknowledged as well. I admitted earlier that I am a lot. Shit, everybody knows this. But it does not release you from your accountability, and your silence, and unwillingness to communicate speaks more of who you are rather than who I wished you to be. See, some folks think that being quiet is dignified, or signifies being “done” with a situation, but what they miss is silence is also guilt, and guilt is complicit, violent, culpable and shameful. So, it doesn’t matter how cute you are in the reflection of your camera phone, or how sweet your disposition is to others, in the end your actions spoke truly of who you really are…good, bad, and indifferent.

I never told you what happen to me one morning after class. I had a moment that shook me. I was sitting quietly on the train when I heard a voice say “he doesn’t want to be here”. It was soft as if someone was sitting next to me whispering in my ear. There were very few people on the train. Most scatted throughout. This was months before the argument that was the catalyst for our divorce. I ignored it. But those same exact words I remember repeating to Kia that night you said I was going to lose my marriage. I was warned. That still small voice warned me. My subconsciousness was preparing me for that day but I ignored it, because I loved you. I was filled with the desire to make you proud to be my husband, and to be a good husband to you. Yes, you showed me signs of your fragility, timidity, and insecurities, but you also showed me your strength, and endurance, and that’s what I held on to. That’s what I believed in for us.

You weren’t strong enough to deal with me. You thought you were, but time showed us differently. I’ve finally come to grips with it. I’m not bitter, or angry. Disappointed? Yes, but grateful, because I hold no vacancy for anyone who chooses not to share space with me, even if I offered space to them at some point in their lives. I am clear that if it had not been for my light you would still be in the darkness. I say this not in a braggadocios way, but in what I know I bring to the table. You knew it too. That’s why you attached yourself to me. I’m not stupid. Neither are you. Everything is becoming so much clearer. You offered me light as well, in your own way. You taught me many things. Many lessons I have learned with you, and since you.

“Put away the old September blues”…-My Morning Jacket

The other day in therapy I was asked how would I respond if I found out you were dating someone else? I sat there for a moment, took a deep breath in, released it and said – he hurt me just as well as I may have hurt him. I wish him the best, and much success on his journey through life. As I drove home I ruminated over my response to that question. It was the truth. I do wish you the best, but it’s difficult for me not to think… here we are again with another hurt, broken, black homosexual man moving from relationship to relationship hoping to find what he’s missing within himself. God I hope this is not true. For the sake of all the single black men looking for love I hope you were responsible enough to do some self-work. But if not know there’s no judgement here just awareness. We all have our own crosses to bear, paths to tread, journeys to walk. I’m only speaking from my experiences with you. So, if there is someone else I hope you’re able to share with him the things you couldn’t share with me. I hope you stand firmly in your truth, and tell him who you really are and what you are capable of doing. I hope you tell him that there’s still a 400lb damaged insecure little boy trapped in your now 200Ib insecure grown ass man body. I hope you tell him that the gastric sleeve only took the weight off your body not the weight off your heart. And I hope you tell him about the childhood pains, pangs, and abandonment issues that show up in the way you abandon other people. In the way you abandoned your ex-wife, and in the way you abandoned me, your ex-husband. You owe him that. And I hope he offers you grace, and not shame you, or give himself an excuse to leave when he gets tired. I hope he loves you much more than that.

So as difficult as it has been for me to write this as closure, I have, and now I can truly be thankful for the experience. It was hard, but worth every tear, every pain, and every ache my heart once felt for you. I get it, you know, having to release yourself out of a relationship that you were not happy in to ultimately find your happiness. However, I will never fully understand the will to hurt someone that you said you loved as if I was nothing to you. But just like the old cliché says – hurt people hurt people. We are no different. My responsibility is accepting the fact that I chose you, and in choosing you I chose this experience, and I walk away knowing that I am not in control of the outcome. All things are lessons that God would have us learn.

I now I look forward to the many Septembers to come. The leaves will change colors. The wind will blow cooler. People will come, and they will go leaving us with lessons. My life’s work is to always get the lesson, and once I get it, try my best to do better, apologize if I hurt you, forgive, move on, and help someone along the way. This is also my prayer for you, because one thing I know for sure when a black man dares to loves another black man in any capacity this is still a revolutionary act.