chronicallyspokenfor

[chronicallyspokenfor]

#persianparents101

They will make hurtful jokes about you or someone close to you, & when you tell them that it was hurtful- they’ll respond with a simple “oh that just means you’re too sensitive” Don’t even try to defend someone close to you for having hurt feelings over something hurtful your parents said, because you’ll get hit with the “and who are you? nobody.” oooh and just wait until you get home, then you get to hear all about it. 

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Process of Cozy

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Music was composed by video game and film composer @rycamus http://www.ryancamus.com

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Jake: Why do we have to have feelings?

Rosa: You don’t. Get rid of them.

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Hey, do you know that feeling of hitching up a long skirt so you don’t fall on your face when walking upstairs, and then you immediately become a wretched yet resolute Jane Austen character? It’s a universal thing, right?

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i still think about these earrings a lot

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About an hour ago, I was in Walmart looking for my conditioner because today is wash day for my hair. As I’m looking for my product, this older white lady approaches me and she says, “Excuse me, miss. Please don’t be offended by this.” And usually when white people tell me not to be offended, 9 times out of 10, whatever they are about to say is going to be offensive af.

Anyway, she follows it up with, “My husband and I just recently won our custody battle with our foster daughter and she means the world to us. She’s a beautiful African American girl and her hair looks a lot like yours. But I’m afraid because I don’t know what to do with her hair. It’s a lot different from mines and our other children and we are at a total loss. I’ve tried looking up the YouTube videos and my husband went to the braiding shops so they can teach him how to properly braid her hair, but he’s still pretty new and it will be a while before he gets used to it. Do you have any tips you can give me? If you don’t have the time, it’s okay, really! I just needed a little advice because I want her to look beautiful.”

Y’all. swear I almost started crying on aisle 6. So for the last 30 minutes, I spent my time talking to her and what products to use and how to properly detangle and comb her hair with the proper tools and what not to do with natural hair. And I showed her a bunch of easier to follow natural hair tutorials on YouTube and saved them for her. (I also had to create a YouTube account for her so she could save it for later.) but omfg, she was so sweet, and I could tell that she listened to every single thing I had to say and she took little notes on her little notepad.

And what really filled my heart was the fact that her husband actually taking classes from African braiding shops. And she showed me a picture of him wearing a little sweater vest and loafers in a little shop surrounded by beautiful black women showing him how to braid black hair and even the lady he’s braiding on is guiding his hands. And omfg. Bless these old white people and their black daughter who I know have new loving parents because they are willing to step out of their comfort zone just to make her feel and look beautiful.

I really hope our paths cross again one day, Mrs Cicilia. 💖💕

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i talked to someone today, and i told them about what happens at home. i felt the urge to say something, to cry and ask for help. and somehow it just came out. it spilled out. i think i feel better. i think. i wonder if that was a weak or a strong thing to do. to talk about it, i mean. am i weak for not being able to handle it on my own? am i strong for having the courage to tell someone? am i looking for attention? am i the reason for the abuse? is it justified? if i lived with someone else would they feel the need to treat me in the same fashion? am i the problem? or is she? is everything she ever said about and to me, true? hmm.

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today it hit me that i’m broken. i’ve never had the illusion that i’m unbroken, and even now with introspection i haven’t a clue as to how broken. but in retrospect i find there are things i can explain now, it’s because of my brokenness. it explains why i never felt like i fit. anywhere. why i always felt different. it explained a yearning that i have had for as long as i can remember. im not quite sure when the abuse started or how it progressed to the point that it is at now. but now that i recognize the abuse.. as abuse and not as a norm i can see what an impact it has had on my life. i can see for the first time how growing up with an alcoholic stepfather has been detrimental, i always knew it would be. i just didn’t know how it would be detrimental. people would often say how surprised they were by how i turned out okay. how i turned out normal despite everything. meaning my parents. well news alert, im not okay.. and thats okay. i think. i’m still figuring it out. but i am broken. i know that for sure. is it weird to feel reassured by this fact? cause i am. huh. interesting.

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i finally understand the sad brothers and sisters. they have unchangable circumstances, it zaps their energy. they have to show joy and genuine happiness to the others in the congregation, for once i understand why its so hard. why it would be easier to stay home and remain in bed. i get it. every thursday and sunday. because sometimes they can’t genuinely conjure up that joy and it makes them feel worse to be among those who can. 

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i feel alone; i feel like im forever cascading down a river of tears. i need to see the good from my circumstances but just for today i’m going to ride this depression wave to the bottom. i’ll come back tomorrow. 

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sometimes I forget to breathe and the room starts to twitch.

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i started doubting the truth a while ago.. then it hit me, the truth didn’t change, Jehovah didn’t change. I did. my study habits did. i was slowly adding less and less wood to the fire & all the while wondering why the room was getting colder. 

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its impossible to be disappointed by Jehovah. If you have been, either you viewed the situation through warped lens or your personal imperfections had a say in your thoughts. either way Satan was involved. keep that in mind, future me.

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there’s really no-one i can trust in this world.. there’s no-one who hasn’t disappointed me in some shape or form... only God is there for it all. interesting. we seek a physical form of acknowledgement, trust & assurance. and yet thats exactly what God is not, visible. He still provides and we can only see the effects. the way you can feel the wind and see it blow against the leaves. but you can’t SEE wind. hmmm.

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todays turnout has left me severely happy. theres an ache in my back from muscles and bones that have yet to heal and coincide correctly. my face is dry. my hair needs oiling. i feel like i neglect my dog’s in terms of my love given. i have ideas spilling over my head without enough time to write them all down. but I’m home. I’m alive. i have food in my stomach and a bed underneath me. life isn’t perfect. but today’s enough. today is enough.