Some people are genuinely sensitive to the idea that they might be a racist, so rather than out rightly admit that their behavior is racist, they will instead hide behind a thousand reasons as to why their behavior is not racist.
Tiny lies and behavioral changes, inconsideration and outright ignorance of the way you feel even as they tell you that you in fact are being insensitive are training for people who think they hold the power of your voice in their hands.
I have to the best of my ability, for years, allowed what I wanted, what I needed and hoped for to be called insane, stupid, or too hard to try doing, because it was just easier than arguing with someone about why I should be allowed to fantasize about my future in a positive way throw around ideas and have some real constructive criticism beyond “don’t bother it’s too hard” or “let me tell you all the reasons that will not work out for you.”
If I had to say “this is what I want”, followed by what I actually want in any genuine way with the expectation that someone would be on the other side listening, I go into full on complete shut down. My emotions are all over the place and I can not ever find the strength to directly voice my opinion on any subject.
Yes white person, please tell me how much Black Lives Matter helped me when I was arrested not once but twice for no legal reason what so ever except that White cops wanted to make themselves feel good that fucking day, in both cases, which I can prove.
Yes white person, please explain to me one more time why you need to understand who I am, so you can continue to tell me that I am wrong, crazy or a “Silly goose”. Please tell me one more time that when I say “no,” I really mean “yes” because No means No for everyone, as long as you aren’t Black.
And oh yes Sisters of the Black community, please please PLEASE tell me one more time that I am not Black and have no right to claim Black Heritage because I am not African-American, specifically.
I hate to tell you this but there are lots of different shades of Black in Canada too you racists fucks, knock that shit off. Cunts. Yes I fucking said that shit, those of you who look me in the eye and tell me I am not Black are fucking Cunts. Like I don’t have enough people hating me because I look too much like you, you gotta tell me that I’m not enough too, still? Fuck you, fuck your colorism, fuck your jealous hatred of my existence, and fuck every single one of you who insists you need to infantalize me in order for me to tell you how I really feel.
Do you know why I have to use my “Little Mode” as they call it in the BDSM Community, to tell you how I really feel? because my “Little” is five years old mentally, she’s strong and powerful and she still has hope that things are getting better for Black Women. Sadly, she also believes in faeries and Angels and Demons and the idea that they really could be friends. Whatever, everyone has their own inner child mine just happens to be a fucking moron.
She also believes she can open portals and she’s a fun character to dream about some nights when I’m feeling bad, that being said, I am fully aware that my “little” is just my mind’s way of coping with the fact that I’ve been so traumatized in my life time and I am exactly NOT where I was convinced I would be at five years old.
At five years old you think you’re going to take the world by storm, and anything is possible, until the bad stuff comes and you experience some kind of trauma, then you get to spend the rest of your life having White men mostly, tell you how if you just “get over it”, it’ll get better and all your dreams will come true you just have to “believe” in yourself.
On top of that some dipstick with the emotional capacity of a genuine teenager, tells you to be “less of yourself”, because you’re too intimidating. L. Fucking. Oh. Fucking L. No, I WILL NOT be less of myself to appease you, because I’m too busy trying to figure out who I am, trying to fill in the blanks of all the shit that I had to wade to get to this place where I unlike many of my friends are dead, or living in poverty with a bunch of children they often have to worry about feeding or buying diapers for.
I am fucking lucky and blessed beyond life and I have no idea how I got here, but it occurred to me, that even with this blog I have been trying to appease other people, I’ve been so focused on the numbers, that I stopped writing about the shit that irritates me the stuff tat haunts me in the middle of the night, the amazing beautiful majick that I get to see almost every day even when I’m bored out of my mind.
I am so busy sitting here trying to find ways to majickally heal this damage that I forgot how hard this was going to be, and I have this voice in my head whispering “it’s almost over,” and then I realize, no it’s not almost over, because this is stuff that I am going to have to experience for the rest of my life.
I am never not going to be Black, I am not going to be less Black because I am Jamaican, or because I live in Canada. I’m not going to stop being less annoyingly right, like all the fucking time, and I’m never going to want less privacy, about my relationships than I am now. I am going to want even more privacy in the future, because I have a running list of people who would come running to be at my side if I really were famous or rich.
I have a list a mile long of people who would go back to pretending to be my friend, pretending to genuinely want me back in their lives when they could have cared less when I was broken and completely shattered, by them.
The list of people I want in my list is now officially down to just one, and the ironic thing is that for the first time in my life I’m so fucking okay with that. In more than a million ways I am utterly and completely okay with the fact that I can say I don’t have anyone in my life and because of that I have no one to blame for myself for the fact that I am alone right now.
There are a lot of things, for a lot of years that I can say are “not my fault,” I was a victim of a lot of abuse over the years. My behavior afterwards was a direct result of my brain trying to cope with my pain the only way I knew how, and I take responsibility for that, but it occurred to me tonight, after bearing my soul to all the people I loved who mattered to me, not a single one has contact me since the last time I saw them.
Not a singe person has sent me an email other than to ask if I can give them a reference, and it hit me that I don’t feel bad about that.
What I do feel bad about is that I let people think I didn’t love them when the truth was that I was so busy trying to get from one day to the next, I genuinely didn’t have time to fall in love, it just wasn’t something that I was concerned about, at all. It wasn’t something I feared, being alone, and largely because I kept my mouth shut every single time someone annoyed me.
I once slapped a woman, who told me her brother would “never marry a nigger, I’d never allow it,” I full on slapped the bitch across the face. We were in our early twenties, and it was the first time I’d ever hit someone in my life…(and only since) and I don’t fucking regret it, Nazi bitch destroyed one of the best friendships I ever had with someone I had only just met, just to be nasty. Just because she wanted to hurt me, he spent the next few years “paying me back” for what I did to her in many terrible ways. He’s gone now, and what could have been never will be, and I don’t even fucking care.
I tell you this story to illustrate a point, and to save you some time. The people who are no longer in my life hold a special place – in some cases I will love them forever, in other cases I could care less. Those I loved know I love them, those who I didn’t care for have no idea how I feel about them and that’s the way it should be.
I’m entitled to my personal opinions, I’m entitled to my personal and private thoughts, but maybe that’s because I’m not the kind of person who has the balls to walk up to someone and say “You aren’t Black,” or worse “you don’t belong here.” Maybe that’s because I don’t use penny anti bullshit mind games and then swap the carpet out from people when they aren’t looking purely because you don’t have the guts to say you’re a white fucking racist and you don’t want my colored ass in your office.
I suppose I should have seen that coming when I walked into the place to see a giant monkey, but then again what do I know…I had “faith” that things were going to get better.
Things will get better, of course, when you learn to listen to your fucking instincts, instead of listening to what everyone around you wants you to believe. Listen to yourself, first and foremost, and when you take those moments to get real quiet, let them think it’s because you’re angry, when you know that you’re busy listening to that inner child, to what she expected, wanted and hoped. Maybe, just maybe, if we all listened to our inner Little’s, maybe just maybe if we took the time to stop letting others decide when we listen to our inner children we’ll be happier.
My entire life has been about pleasing the men in my world, and it wasn’t until I started getting really quiet the last few weeks or so, really just softly whispering and listening, did I start to realize how much of this world is dependent on men.
I’ve learned a lot from the Original Creole Queen, and I have to tell you she is wise beyond her years. I used to think maybe she just rattled on to hear her own voice, but it occurred to me tonight, just how special it is to have someone in your life smarter, and older than you, who recognizes you for who you want to be, and reminds you even when she’s being a pain in the ass, of who it is you really should be listening to you.
The only person who knows you better than you, is the inner child – the person you used to be who had hopes, dreams and faith that no matter what things were going to turn out okay, so the next time someone says that you’re not Black, or that you are Too Black, tell them that’s too fucking bad for them, because you’re the most amazing black there is and they can take it up with God. Apparently he’s actually listening again, or whatever, the fuck was he when Trump was elected? Jesus Christ, Donald Trump.
Seriously, THAT’S what Jesus died for? So we can have fucking Donald Trump on a fucking coin for the rest of our lives? You remember when they used to burn books in the dark ages? Maybe after 2020 we can just burn Trump out of history, like a real Witch Hunt, or is that still illegal?!
Who can remember, because the only thing we seem to talk about is how Black someone’s ass is, or what the size of their ass is, or whether or not they’re good enough to be in a country that was stolen by White men anyways.
I am so fucking tired of White Men behavior and White men Mentality, and the kicker is, that my person happens to be one, and even if he is an okay person, he still has a lot to learn about independent women, and unfortunately for him, I’m just not interested in waiting around for him to figure it out.
From here on out I am putting all of you on notice, I will not be less of myself in order to make your lives more comfortable. No one has ever once tried to make me feel comfortable, in fact, as a woman who survived more than twenty years of sexual abuse, many of you have gone out of your way to give me reasons to kill myself, and yet here I am still telling you to go fuck yourselves. It doesn’t mean I quit you idiots, it means I’m not interested in giving up because whatever the universe can throw at me I can handle, as proven by the fact that I am here.
I am thirty-six I live at home with my mom, my cat, my cable, my computer and unfortunately although I lost my dog last year I’m still happier than ninety nine percent of the assholes who tell me that I’m not good enough to be whoever the hell I decide to be when I’m done healing.
Take that and shove it up your twats, and quit telling me I’m not enough, worse quit telling me that I’m too much, you’re only saying that because you’re blind as fuck and you think you’re looking in a mirror.
On your best days you couldn’t be me, you could never be me, because I’ve had thirty-six years of training to become this person, you have exactly however long it takes you to read this post to try and understand that it is never, EVER okay to tell someone they are not enough or too much.
Accept them as they are, and if they can’t let you do that, then walk away and remember you tried, you tried all you could and that’s all you’re expected to do. Try once, that’s it, if after one time people don’t see you for who you are, then they aren’t looking close enough and you’re far too busy to settle back and wait on them.
Sending all my love,
Siddha Lee Saint James