2/22

My little bit of Comfort

I took a deep breath before writing this post.

I’m writing this post on February 14, 2016 and it’s almost a year. However, the publish date will make it a year since I had left home.
Valentine’s day 2016, I had no hopes of spending anytime with anyone because as per my Philly post I’m not dating. Basking in my singlehood, I guess. But today is airy. Last years fun, and not so fun moments resurfaced. That happens when you’re left alone to think.
Last year, we had Cold Stone Ice cream after waiting for him for hours as I watched him study, finish the budget plan for the conference he was controlling, and answering emails. We were supposed to go ice skating but I’m not sure why that didn’t happen. We came back home, his house, and slept in each others arms. It was a cute day, even though he never bought flowers. But it was still airy. It was only a few months into our relationship and I guess I am as private as he is. But my mother felt different about my privacy that she expressed that Friday, February 13, 2015. But my privacy came from two different reason. I’ll explain.
Before this guy, my last relationship didn’t die until about 3 years after we broke up. My family mentioned him every opportunity they had. I was beyond annoyed. If they seen him, they had to report it to me. Even through the “IDGAF” face, they still were telling me shit about him. My mother would say slick shit to my sister about how him and I would be good together if he had himself together. Mainly why I am no longer with him, so leave it alone, but no they couldn’t let the relationship die. Because of this, I barely brought any guy I was dating home. In fact, I felt like any guy I was dating has to be worthy enough to meet my family until I felt secure in our existence to do so. So I wasn’t bringing anyone home. I spoke of only two men to my family after my last relationship. But for some reason, my mother was more concerned with the existence of the last guy. Almost obsessed with wanting to know who he was. And maybe because I spoke of him with great pride and joy, but I wasn’t ready to bring him home.
Reason two, my last love spoke about his ex’s asking him to meet their families early in their relationships and he wasn’t fond of it. I completely understood. It was a lot of pressure. Unnecessary pressure at that. But because of this other reason I wasn’t ready to add that pressure to our relationship. Amongst other factors, we were fairly new, still learning each other, and there were still something’s needed to be learned to define us. His level of privacy was serious. If he’d pick me up from my house, he’d wait at the top of the block. I called him LP (low profile). I would always tell him that I will not put him in any positions to deal with what he isn’t comfortable with. Hell, he didn’t meet my parents until JULY, and that was way after we broke up. I think he assumed, I may be like the others. NO. I look single all year around, I’d have to be willing to tell you that I’m in a relationship or someone told you I was. Like my ex, calling me at 7:00 in morning one day to ask me if my “boyfriend” was a drug dealer because he heard he flew me out to California to go to his convention last year. I’m thinking, Damn you did your research huh?
That weekend was still airy. My mother gave me my last warning, and told me to bring him home. AND, I DID NOT BRING HIM HOME. I returned home that Sunday night. Went on with my week. Went to the gym that following Saturday. And that following Sunday morning, February 22, 2015, changed my life forever. My mother sat at her Island in her kitchen and asked “Where is he?” I already knew, he isn’t coming here. To interject, this conversation was the fourth conversation about bringing my “boyfriend” home within less than 6 months of seeing him. I was 25 years old, paying bills in the house, and wasn’t disrespecting her house. Every job I’ve ever had I got it on my own without anyone’s help, as if this is supposed to validate anything, but shit, I felt grown as hell. My mother, who is a control freak, wasn’t going to win this battle because, unfortunate, I am the oldest girl, and you are about to learn that I will always be your daughter but will have to accept I am an adult. Moving right along, I responded “I’m not sure, I didn’t speak to him about meeting any of you because I am not ready, this should be my choice not yours.” What happened next is for the record books of my mothers controlling ways. “Well move out.” And I say, “Okay”. She jumps up, runs to my room, grabs a garbage bag, fills it with some of my things, walk to the front door, and throws it through the door.
To this day, she swears she didn’t kick me out. Claims it was a scare tactic. But I packed the rest of my things. My friend happened to call and rushed to my house with his truck, loaded everything up, and took it to storage. I had $500 in savings because I had just bought a car and paid big bill. I texted my “boyfriend” to ask him to keep something for me he had bought me for Christmas. He was confused but I couldn’t tell him anything. Because even after he may read this, he’ll think I am crazy. Sacrifice is a hell of a thing.  I drove to Brooklyn that night, it had snowed a few days before and my Uggs were soaked, my hair was a mess, my sweatpants were filthy, and I looked like I was from a different planet. He sat at the edge of his bed staring at me through his thin framed glasses. Although I wasn’t looking at him, I felt him. He gave me a towel, a rag, soap, a pair of his boxers, and one of his t-shirts. I took a hot shower, got in bed, and slept in the only place I had peace, his arms. I just rubbed the bridge of my nose. Frustration resurfacing at its finest.
Let’s just say after that day, I was homeless until April, cried my eyes out on the hotel curb in California in March, broke up with this boyfriend in April, technically resigned and got fired in my resignation, started a new job in May that took every penny due to travel, lost weight because I barely ate dinner at night because I was so broke, started school and didn’t know how I was going to pay for books but Jesus guided me, transferred to another site saved me shit tons of money, and now I am somewhat comfortable.

It has been a year, some days are still rough but when I look back, I survived it. God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. 

I’ve conquered this!

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