Is too much honesty a mistake?

      The problem with writing a blog is that… people on here know me. But how many venues does a person truly have to be who they are? And at what point do you just stop giving a fuck about what people think and say so that you can being to be the real you? Have you met the real you? Like the real uncensored fuck-what-the-world-says you? I’m just getting to know the real me and really it’s all due to this blog. 

      I’ve begun to accept myself because I can make it beautiful in scribe and the mere idea of people reading this gives me energy beyond comparison. If my sister or my brother-in-law were to walk out of their bedroom at this moment, they’d see me groovin to Jay’s  Regrets on repeat, eating milk and cookies, staring blindly into this screen with one goal in mind: To tell you all the truth. Now, I’m not saying I’m absolutely comfortable talking about everything (and I’ve got to save material for the book(s) I will write some day) but I’m going to try to give you the essence of what’s in my mind. If I could, I’d attach a USB cord to my head and give it all to you as vividly as it is in my mind.

   But I’m not sure the world is ready for that. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not exactly proud of. The people I’ve shouted out as my friends have seen me in my ugliest moments and know there are things I can’t talk about on here (for fear I might lose the job I just got). I mean it’s so nerve-wracking I’m hesitant to link my real job to my Facebook account. While I can let you all know, I can’t let everyone know. Somehow, I need both credibility and respect. Blogs are sort of the hood of books: uncensored and dangerously graphic. My sister and her husband have no idea about this blog. First because I don’t know if they’re okay with me mentioning them (do now, ask forgiveness later), and secondly because my sister is the closest thing to a genius I’ve come across and she’d despise my typos.

    But that’s what blogs are about right? The rawness. The inventiveness in the moment. I can only edit these but so much. I’m always thinking about the next post. The next topic. The best way to spread my blog and get more reader (Y’all should really help me out and “share” the links lol, muchas gracias).The most beautiful thing is, I regret nothing. In the moment…. maybe even a while after I did the things I did, I regretted the places I found myself in. But perhaps I wouldn’t be who I am. I’ve never been perfect. I’ve tried to walk the straight and narrow but always find myself “narrowly escaping my death” as Jay once said. I’ve tripped. & each time, I’ve held on by a string. But they were the scariest times of my life. After a while,  I found I had too much justified thug.

    While I am no fan of the underworld, I am no stranger to things like death, pain, violence, poverty and incarceration. I know them all too well. So well in fact that they no longer concern men. It’s hard for me to volunteer. It’s hard to me to fight beside causes. Because I felt like no one fought for me. And when I did fight, I felt like I had to carry the battle on my own. I was the one taking all the shit and being the angry black girl while everyone around reaped the benefits of my work. I also felt like… if I can make it through, it’s possible to make it through. If I had to fight my own battle. Everyone should have to do the same. This was not only my environment but the environment in my mind. I meet people all the time who think I come from money. That mommy and daddy got me everything I wanted because I speak perfect English, walk with poise and am rarely impressed by the things others have. The truth is, I don’t come from money, but because I know what it’s like to be without, I understand it’s value. Mommy did get me everything I wanted because Daddy wasn’t around. She “told me I was the best. Anything in the world I want, I could possess. All that made me want was all that I could get,” so when she couldn’t get me what I wanted. I found my own way… “Yea I snatched purses. I persevered.” 

    Slowly but surely, I’ll peel back the layers of Ella. It starts here. I love to talk about nothing… but I yearn for shit that… matters. Jay said, “can’t fake it. Keep it authentic”. Hopefully I can build up the courage to share my stories with you all and you can learn from my mistakes. I’d say it’s so that you don’t have to make them on your own, but you will. And you should. No one can learn for you. We’re all individuals with our own experiences and our own ways of reading the world. Luckily, my mistakes didn’t finish me off during my frequent stages of self-annihilation that came in the typical forms. You know: Sex, drugs and money. 

     All I’m saying is, don’t let your mind get the best of you. You’re capable of even more than you tell yourself. I’m living proof of that. Luckily. Because I surely tried to prevent it.  Anyway… I hope you’re touched. This whole post, I been talking to your spirt… a little too much. 


NOTE: This was written sometime in 2010.  

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