THE GET UP

I know how it feels to feel overwhelmed, distressed, depressed and confused.

Where the hell is my happily ever after? My Prince Charming?  Where is my good Karma? It seems like I have done good by folk and I can’t even find a good companion to save my life. All the hours I wasted listening to friends vent and invade my happiness with their sob stories. And I listened… because that is what a good friend is supposed to do right?

But what about me? Can somebody pat me on my back and tell me it will be ok?

Shit, can they at least call me and see if I am still breathing?

Where is my durable umbrella when it rains?

It feels like my world is crashing around me. I am drowning financially. I am suffering emotionally. I am confused spiritually and now its affecting me physically. I can’t sleep well. I can’t eat without feeling sick. My back hurts and I got a headache every other day. I’m trying to stay up to work on my business plan, but my mind is wandering. It is hard keeping my eyes open at 10pm after being up every morning at 4:30 am. Working an 8hr shift, then coming home and working again. Plus, I am mentally drained.

I can’t help but think about the unfairness I am feeling. Plus the News got me feeling some type of way. Police brutality, my peoples negative mentalities, abductions and drugs. I’m depressed because I got a young black boy. I love him, but the streets don’t. Now I can’t think of my plan because I got thoughts of how I got to keep my son out of the streets. I got to raise my son to wear certain clothes so he won’t look threatening. I got to help him debunk the stereotypes of thug, baby daddy, lazy, thief, womanizer and murderer all because of his melanin.

And my daughter…

Yes, she is gorgeous and getting more gorgeous by the day. A gift and a curse. I pray she makes better decisions than me. I’m hard on her because I want her to use her beauty and talent to be a virtuous woman. I want her to stay in school and avoid the slums. I want her to see her true value and self worth at a young age. I want her to be all that she was created to be.

My babies got to be the best version of themselves. Then all the stress I endure will be worth it.

I try to focus again on my plan to change my reality, but my kids are yelling. My kids are my everything, but they are annoying the hell out of me right now. I stop to see what the problem is. I can’t push them away because I have been away from them all day. My son is mad because my daughter won’t give him the last Pop-Tart.

“The last Pop-Tart? Dammit, didn’t I just buy a box?” Another expense I thought to myself.

I see my kids a couple hours a day. Most of our time together is spent eating, getting ready for the next day and then sleeping. I have to get up and go to a job I hate to make ends meet. I thought when I graduated college life was going to fall in place. Three degrees and triple struggles. I shouldn’t be ungrateful though because that job I hate puts food on my table. And for a regular person, they would consider it to be a great job.  It’s not enough though. I have talent. I have ambition and I am on a mission. I wasn’t built for this average life. I never felt average. Yet, I been making some average ass decisions.

I might as well die because everything around me has been crashing down. But hell no, I can’t die because my babies need me. I would haunt the hell out of someone who tries to hurt them even if I was dead.  I just need a long sleep. Just enough time to rejuvenate. I need to revitalize my heart. It’s hurt.

I have just learned how to manage while the pieces of my broken heart has come together.  I feel defeated. I feel like everything I attempt to do turns against me. Friends have left. Family dismissed my pain. They say it is going to be ok when I don’t agree.

I’m not a drinker and I have never smoked before, but stress got me contemplating both.

They tell me to Just pray about it.  But shit I’ve been praying.  My knees are sore from praying. I have had faith like a mustard seed. I have fasted. I called on the prayer warriors.  Matter of fact, I stand tall and I get knocked down constantly. Did God forget about me? I guess me breathing means he still cares about my existence. My prayers are relentless.

I run to my bedroom and fall on the bed. The tears in my eyes. I want to hide my face. I want to hide from myself. I am stronger than this. I been through so much I am a champion right? At least my kids think I am. I even think my family feels that way. I can’t have a breakdown in front of my kids. I am their superhero.

The mere fact that my kids see me crying is embarrassing. They looked shocked that mommy is crying. But unbothered by my weak moment. They have faith in me. More than I have in myself. My son handed me a tissue. My daughter brushed my hair from my face and helped wiped my tears away. I tried to cover my face. Then I heard my son say, “Get up mommy”

So I got up.

And I stood to fight another day!

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