“Green With Envy (Mom)”

Art therapy has really been my savior! Whether viewing, purchasing (I really need to get that under control 🥺), or creating it (and again, I’m no artist), but all of it really, helps me deal with a lot. It’s been my creative outlet when I can’t cook, when I need to get outside and connect to nature (because I paint on my back porch, warm or cold, dry or drizzling), and when I need to just sit down.

A dear friend recognized this and had been gathering me rocks and other found objects, buying me supplies, etc. We both initially thought that all that I’d be painting was rocks, as a way to deal with my young neighbor’s murder. That’s how it started.

My friend gave me this piece of metal a couple of months back. I gave an eye roll in my head thinking that was doing “the most”. He’s REAL extra. 🙄 Anyway, I graciously accepted the metal piece (it weighs a good 8-10 lbs, btw. You can definitely feel the weight of it.). I’ve been eyeing it from time to time, trying to figure out how to use the holes as eyes and convey “Rashad Mattered”, because that’s where my intention has been with painting. I could never seem to make it work.

Yesterday was stressful, I. BROKE. DOWN. It was hard and I just couldn’t deal. My mother’s visiting, and I’ll leave it at that. At some point, I had to just walk out of the house and onto my back porch to b  r  e  a t  h  e and call upon God. I picked up the piece and knew EXACTLY what to do. I started with one color, and I had to wait for it to dry before I could apply more colors. This morning, after running out to help a good friend’s mom, who grew up with my mom, I came back to cook my mom breakfast. She was downstairs waiting for me. I was shaking, but then calmed down. I realized that I had just spent time with a mother figure who really appreciated me. She insisted on paying me, but I really didn’t want it. The experience with her was validating and so much appreciated. Over the past year or so, my dearest relationships and experiences have been with women my mom’s age or older. So whether or not, I meet my mother’s approval doesn’t matter. I have so many bonus moms who genuinely care for and appreciate me. The last time I talked with my therapist was two hours before my mother arrived here on March 4th. She was supposed to follow up with available days and times for my session the following week. She has not, and I was thinking that something was wrong, but I get it. This has really been a test of my strength because…whew!!!! I’ve needed her EVERY DAY.  I’ve stuck it out though and realized this, and if any of you have issues with your parents, let me offer this, which is the original point that I was trying to make: SOME PARENTS’ ROLES IN OUR LIVES ARE SIMPLY AND ONLY, TO GET US HERE. PERIOD. Hard to accept, but it is what it is. My mother’s and father’s (his story will come later) roles in my life, were JUST to get me here. Not to love me, not to guide me, not to care for me. I’m grateful for them for life. I’m blessed. Their journeys in my life were actually done the day I was born. God bless them both.

Anyway, after cooking my mother’s breakfast, I came back to this piece to add more paint and to paint the other side. God told me it was finished. There was nothing more to add. I thoroughly inspected it. It is finished and I signed it.

Protect Ya Neck

So this story involves my mother, but is not totally about her, rather someone else who I don’t want to identify, and it’s all in love, really.

Well, my mother is coming for a month. I’ve known this for a while and my little brother and I have been trying to mentally and emotionally prepare for it (she can be a lot). It’s cool though, really. I would not knowingly put myself in a harmful situation, or would I??? That’s basically the crux of this story.

Here’s the back story. On Christmas Eve, I was attacked my a family member. I had been quantifying it by saying that I had been verbally attacked, but if you are a person who has suffered from anxiety and PTSD, verbal attacks feel very physical and real! Honestly y’all I haven’t been right since. Because of scheduling conflicts, I hadn’t talked to my therapist in weeks, I’ve been out of “butter”, and some other situations have been going on, but her attack was having a lingering effect. When I finally did talk to my therapist and explained the situation, she confirmed what I had experienced. The heart palpitations, hyperventilation and tremors were very real.

Anyway it’s a week away from my mother’s visit and my baby has been asking me if I’ve had “the talk” with my mother. He’s been asking me for almost two weeks, and I had been purposely putting it off. The talk was basically to let my mother know that this person is not allowed at my house. He can remember picking me up from this person’s house after the attack and witnessing my shear fear and trembling breakdown. I’ve since, had to cease all contract. Anyway, I had been putting this talk with my mother off because I didn’t want to deal with the drama. It so happened that my mother brought this relative up and talked about it being her mission to reunite us during her visit. That was my opening. I told my mother that this relative is not allowed at my house under ANY circumstances. She proceeded to tell me about all of the good that this person has done for her recently, helping her out with some things that she doesn’t know how to do. I told her that this was not a conversation about what good this person does, but about her traumatizing behavior towards me. At that point, my mother exclaimed, “You don’t think I’m traumatized me too??? Yesterday called me a b****h, but…!” 😳 There is no “but”. I calmly told her that that’s not normal, but it’s her choice to deal with that. I however, will not let this person or anyone else to go off on me like that ever again. I also told her that I knew that this person is also banned from my brother’s house. So, it wasn’t just me. I told her to not even think about going against my wishes or this is going to be a short visit. I’m not dealing with anyone’s bullying behavior, including hers.

I love all of my family. I really do. I love them enough to tell the truth and to set boundaries. Boundaries are essential to life. You have to teach people how to treat you. In ALL areas of your life. With family, romantic relationships, work, raising children, customer service, etc. Boundaries not only protect yourself, but also the other person. Knowing how far to go with someone could really keep you safe.

I try to tell my relatives that if they really loved this person that they would let her know about her behavior and suggest some kind of help, instead of ducking her, talking behind her back and/or blocking her.

So, I’m partially at fault. I didn’t want to be there. I’ve seen the outbursts too many times, and have been on the end of them often in the past. I put myself in harms way and am done with that.

The really crazy thing is that I had taken some sativa butter before I went. I figured it would ease the anxiety I usually feel around this person. And because it was Christmas eve, they were serving me egg nog with cognac. That made me even more giddy. I was laughing at everything, and letting microaggression after microaggression fly. I really didn’t care, but once the yelling and cussing started, my central nervous system was triggered, and I went into fight or flight (which ended up being flight).

Rashad

(Originally written 12.04.2020)

I feel everything, and I feel very deeply. It’s a blessing and a curse. A week ago today, my next door neighbor, a young man with mental health challenges was shot, not too far from our houses, maybe a few hundred feet away.

Our co-op community consisting mainly of seniors, including his dad, was rocked. I’m new, having just moved here only two years ago. But most of my neighbors have been here from the beginning. They are proud residents of Ralph Bunche Co-Op. Each and every one that I’ve met is proud to tell me that they’ve been here since the complex opened about 50 years ago. They keep their grass cut, they plant flowers, they support the local high school and community football teams. They are hardworking retirees who have raised children and some, grandchildren here.

They have been failed. We have been failed. The young man who was shot has been failed. I learned late last night that he lost his life. He is no longer here. I’m devastated. He and I had issues because he was usually off of his meds, but I would talk to his father, a very kind and gentle man, to get an understanding of what he was dealing with. Most of us here saw his illness on display from time to time. We believe that he came across someone who wasn’t aware and found his behavior threatening. I initially did when I moved in, but I talked to his father frequently who explained that he wouldn’t take his meds, and that he could be challenging during those times. The police frequently visited their home.

I wish we would talk more. I wish we would take the time to understand each other. I wish I could stay here. I put so much love and care into my new home, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I’m devastated. I can’t imagine not ever seeing his face again. He had just come knocking on my door twice looking for his father the night before, Thanksgiving evening. He should still be here. He was only 24. I’m happy that his battle with mental illness is over, but he should still be here. Rest in peace, Rashad.

I feel everything, and I feel very deeply. It’s a blessing and a curse. A week ago today, my next door neighbor, a young man with mental health challenges was shot, not too far from our houses, maybe a few hundred feet away.

Our co-op community consisting mainly of seniors, including his dad, was rocked. I’m new, having just moved here only two years ago. But most of my neighbors have been here from the beginning. They are proud residents of Ralph Bunche Co-Op. Each and every one that I’ve met is proud to tell me that they’ve been here since the complex opened about 50 years ago. They keep their grass cut, they plant flowers, they support the local high school and community football teams. They are hardworking retirees who have raised children and some, grandchildren here.

They have been failed. We have been failed. The young man who was shot has been failed. I learned late last night that he lost his life. He is no longer here. I’m devastated. He and I had issues because he was usually off of his meds, but I would talk to his father, a very kind and gentle man, to get an understanding of what he was dealing with. Most of us here saw his illness on display from time to time. We believe that he came across someone who wasn’t aware and found his behavior threatening. I initially did when I moved in, but I talked to his father frequently who explained that he wouldn’t take his meds, and that he could be challenging during those times. The police frequently visited their home.

I wish we would talk more. I wish we would take the time to understand each other. I wish I could stay here. I put so much love and care into my new home, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I’m devastated. I can’t imagine not ever seeing his face again. He had just come knocking on my door twice looking for his father the night before, Thanksgiving evening. He should still be here. He was only 24. I’m happy that his battle with mental illness is over, but he should still be here. Rest in peace, Rashad.

#RashadMichaelKimball #RashadMATTERED #BLM #sayhisnametoo

Rashad MATTERED

For the past three months, my heart has been hurting. Events of this past week really sat me down, literally and figuratively. Situation after situation seem to have a physical impact on my heart. It feels different. It beats harder. This is/was one of the hardest. I haven’t posted about it much, but those closest to me, hear about it often and know that I am still very disturbed by it.

I live in a townhouse. My walls are connected to the walls where my young neighbor lived. His family still lives there. His family is still grieving. In the midst of his father’s grief, he’s shoveled my snow more times than I can count. I see him in passing and sometimes we stop to talk, keeping up to date with the investigation into his son’s murder.

No matter how bright the day or how wide I open my windows, my place often seems so dark. I can only imagine how dark it is next door. There is a lingering sadness in my community and a deafening silence.

This is the part of black lives mattering that we (Black people) don’t like to hear or talk about. When exactly do Black lives matter? Do they only matter when we’re killed by non-Black people, and non-POC, or police officers?

This young man was murdered around 5:00 pm, the day after Thanksgiving. If not only because of the pandemic, people were home because of the holiday and the fact that  most residents are retired or semi-retired. Several people have Ring camera doorbells and the parking lot was full…yet no one saw anything, and all of sudden, their cameras have malfunctioned. It was eerily and ominously quiet the days and weeks that immediately passed. Nobody had anything to say. The co-op sent a memo about increased crime in the area and mentioned that a shooting had taken place on the property. The next month’s newsletter listed his name amongst the residents who had recently died. He didn’t DIE. He was murdered, and no one here cares. No one cares that this young man, this boy with mental health issues was killed HERE, where we live.

The police had visited his house for mental health checks in the past, and I guarantee you that had he been murdered at the hands of a police officer, especially a white one, that my neighbors, my community, this city, etc wouldn’t be so quiet.

While I feel for all of the people and families whose names have made headlines, I also feel for Rashad and his family, and the countless people whose names we haven’t heard. I feel for my little cousin Donald and the infant son he left behind 20 years ago. In my almost 52 years on earth, I already know that Black lives don’t matter to other people, but they should matter to us. I will seek justice for Rashad. I can not live in a community where people care more about their 6×6 patch of grass or their parking spaces more than they do about my life or his. I left this rock on his family’s porch around midnight last night. I couldn’t sleep.

This is not to engage in a debate…just expressing what I’ve been feeling. Say his name too.

#RashadMichaelKimball