Hey, you. Did I ever tell you about my seasonal depression? I feel like cold weather changes the molecular structure of my entire being. It’s a constant fight to stay motivated. I turn to foods, drinks, low brow entertainment to keep me distracted from the uncomfortable exposure to chilly air. I get exhausted easily. I cry more often at things that normally wouldn’t bother me. I am quick to anger trying to defend myself against the bleakness winter brings. This.Is.Not.That. It is almost 70 degrees here in southern California and yet last Tuesday seemed to change the molecular structure of my entire being. I am fighting to stay motivated. I find myself turning to foods, drinks, low brow entertainment to keep me distracted from the uncomfortable exposure to bigotry, racism and privilege that is in the air. I exhaust easily. I cry at things that normally wouldn’t bother me. I am quick to anger trying to defend myself against the bitter truth that hate brings.
This morning I told my husband about the panic attack I almost had driving to my acting class the night before. I explained how difficult it was to care about class or anything really, because it all seemed pointless. He gently rubbed my back and as he stood up said, “Yeah, but what’s the alternative?” Now in no way was my husband trying to be flippant about our conversation. What he said was an attempt at consoling me, however I couldn’t help but think to myself, “That’s an easy statement to make when you have always been able to move around freely without question.”
You have no idea the energy it takes to move around in this body. Well, I suppose if you’re a woman, you might have an idea but when you add a darker layer of skin it’s a very different experience. An experience largely ignored because acknowledging it would make other people feel responsible for it….which they wholeheartedly are.
So I put on my best non-threatening smile while attempting to advocate for myself. I counter the micro-aggressions and gas lighting with gentle facts from personal encounters in order to be seen, heard (and most importantly understood), as more than just a black person in America but as a fucking human being. Period. Everyday, aiming to make some kind of impact. Striving to make headway. Creating the possibility of hope, something I’m fresh out of at the moment.
After the conversation with my husband, I went to the gym. I’m afraid I faired no better. I did my best to stay present and disregard the fight between Fox News and CNN on who could spout fear the loudest. I’m not sure if were the other tv’s with scattered programming full of sports, cooking and general nonsense or just watching people move about without a concern in the world, that did me in. Either way I ended my workout crying in my car desperate to drown out the noise, when I had a flashback to something that happened to me over the weekend.
Peter, the kids and I were in Oklahoma for my bonus dad’s memorial service. One of my bestie’s drove up from Texas to spend time with us. While we were there, she took me to a metaphysical shop called Craig’s Emporium. The place was crawling with all kinds of crazy things from wall to wall. It’s not a place you can just rush through. I purchased some lovely things to add to my meditation space. When we got back to my friend’s car, I realized that my sunglasses were missing. I immediately went back into the store to find them but could tell pretty quickly there was no way I was going to find this needle in a haystack. The staff were so kind to try and help but to no avail. Before I left the store one of the sales associates took down my phone number and said they would call me if they found them. About an hour later I received a phone call. The manager asked me if I was still in town and if so, would I like to hear a story? I replied, “Yes and yes.” He proceeded to tell me that he went through his cameras to find when my best friend and I entered the store and saw me with my sunglasses. It just so happened that while we were in the store, they caught a shoplifter. She was in the store with several family members. Apparently I had set my sunglasses down and unbeknownst to me, her father picked them up and handed them to her and she pocketed them. They retrieved my glasses from her and called me immediately! I’m telling you right now, if the manager would not have looked back at the cameras, there’s no way I would have found my sunglasses in that store. There’s so much merchandise. When I went to pick them up the manager had thrown in a free pack of incense for my troubles. When I got in the car, I smelled the incense. The smell seemed familiar but not at the same time. I let my bestie smell it and asked her if she knew what it was, she didn’t. I then discovered it had a tag attached. The name of the scent was, “Angel’s breath.”
I never told the manager, or any staff member at Craig’s Emporium, my name. That whole scenario seemed kismet at the time but it meant more to me when I was sitting in my car this morning. Last Tuesday hope was taken from me and maybe last weekend’s encounter was the Universe softly reminding me that as long as there’s breath in this body of mine…I will get it back.
**Everything I write comes from my personal insights and has all the drippings of my opinions, biases, and what-nots. Rather than come for me with facts or judgements to contradict my said opinions, biases and what-nots, I’d rather you find a different blog that makes you happy. If you find these posts therapeutic or helpful in anyway that means we connected and it’s all I can ask for, however I’m not a therapist nor a coach. I’m just a writer floating words out there hoping they find the person they are intended for.