The amount of time I’ve let pass before I took initiative to write is astonishing.
6/26/2024 at 4:44 PM I have decided to come back to this.
I feel very called to blogging, even if I don't have any readers. The calling is still there. However, with that being said, there is a direct yes or no answer to whether or not I am the same person I was in the last few entries.
Hell no.
I do not prioritize my relationship with men as much as that girl did. Or at least my love life has way more clarity than it did beforehand. Spoiler alert, though, I am single. I am a single mother, to be honest. And if you asked any man what they thought about single mothers, the opinions would come in droves.
She's a gold-digger, she's promiscuous, she lacks respect for men or herself.
Incredibly presumptuous I might say. But the unprofessional part of me, that agonizing fire that shoots up my bones whenever I feel attacked (which is embarrassingly often) wants to tell these men to eat my whole ass.
I am exhausted over expectations. Mostly, the expectations I set for myself. With these expectations, becomes deadlines. With deadlines, I attempt to set boundaries. Boundaries I have a hard time following as well. But, heavenly and thankfully so, my morale has not wavered.
If you are not hurting anyone, you can be anyone you want! No ifs ands or buts.
I am bisexual. I waver towards being pansexual, but that word has an idiosyncratic history that I just do not care to use to define myself.
"You're saying you want to have sex with a pan?"
I take a long, harmonious gulp of my watered-down iced coffee. With a large sigh, I respond, "No, being pansexual to me mostly means that I'm saying I don't want to have sex with you."
You'd think telling people you don't want to have sex with them would have less of a sting attached to it. But physical intimacy sells. It's unfortunate, because intimacy in all other aspects of life fuels my wanting to live.
I crave the intimacy of lying beside someone and talking their ear off. Of kissing shoulders, and cheeks, and necks, and hands. Mouths and privates aren't all they are cracked up to be. I just need to be encased in one large hug and not with the expectation of giving people parts of me I simply do not want to share with anyone. To this day. That still is a part of me I have a hard time sharing.
I remember telling my best friend I am asexual. Not coinciding with aromantic to say the least, but I am eternally grateful for her holding space for my accusations against myself. I think whenever I talk about my physical intimacy encounters that is still a thought in the back of my mind.
Guess what 19-year-old me is going to be excited to hear? I still have body image issues!! Aren't you just pissing your pants in excitement, college Aaliyah? Mexican restaurant server Aaliyah? April 30th, 2019-August 22nd, 2023, codependency Aaliyah? They're so much better though, Aaliyah. The blame is not on you. You don't spend your days in ruins or pieces trying to figure out how to love a body you had no choice in choosing. You'd be so happy to hear that I loved my body so much more after birthing a baby. My uterus is so freaking cool. My stretch marks are so freaking cool. My apron belly I want to tie in a knot and rip off on most days, but even seeing that long ass thing in a pair of jeans and crop top? So gorgeous.
I cannot be the only person that loves bellies in jeans. I do not care who you are or what your belly looks like, I will find every reason to look at your belly through rose colored lenses. It is so sexy! Do not allow ANYONE to convince you otherwise. Especially that brain you got behind your eyes. Stop being your own worst enemy.
I hate how all of my writing pieces turn into wannabe inspirational speeches with halfcocked words etched in with no rhyme or reason. Just listen to me. Please. Because there is always a reason.
[Image description: a curly haired chubby brown woman sat on top of a life size Lil Debbie's oatmeal cookie in a playground at Lil Debbie Park in Collegedale, TN. We had just finished a cordial outing with my son (birthday boy!!!), his father, and my sister, Marrisa. This was one of the last outings I wanted to accomplish to show my coworker a photo of who I was incredibly fond of and called a friend at the time. She has since wished death on me and quit that job, working at a local store that I have frequented a few times since she's worked there. I refuse to look at her in the eyes when I see her. That is a story for another day. My outfit is the kicker, it's a bright yellow sweater that says Mom. I bought myself Mom attire after asking for it for years as gifts to no avail (my loved ones need to let me be sour about things, thank you). I have on TikTok viral leggings that are see through but they're also bright yellow, so I loved them. I have since given them up (I have way too many articles of see through clothing, I am frankly over that fact in itself). I have on a half ass closed smile because I am missing a tooth, and my face is fat. My face is fatter when I smile how I want to smile. Both facts do not make me ugly but tell that to my dumb ass brain because she just won't let it go. I've got on the only pair of shoes I owned at the time (I have since thrown them out because I wore the outer sides of the shoes out leaving holes in them). I have a Stitch lanyard with feministic pins on them that I cherished dearly until the pins kept falling off and the back of it broke. You can have something nice, just don't expect it to be long-lasting or overestimate the longevity of fabric. Remnants of the lanyard sits in a floor level cubby in my beat up CRV. If I ever lose the remnants of that lanyard, I will rue the day. I love you. Thank you for listening.]