Untitled*

Imagine that you’re standing on the edge of something beautiful. You look out before you and you see the ocean sparkle as though under its surface lies a million gems. In their finest form. Truly precious. You look around you, everything is tranquil. Then you feel a slight breeze. Something, a feeling of sorts, creeps up your spine.

Quickly, that picture of serenity is destroyed as that breeze becomes a gust of wind so strong it knocks you from where you are standing. You begin to fall. That picture of beauty is becoming an illustration of destruction. You’ve been tossed into the sea. You can’t swim. And the sunlight that so gently warmed your face just a few moments before begins to fade.

Now you’re caught under the waves. You kick as your instinct begins to take over. You try your hardest to break the surface, but it feels as though something is holding you under water. Suddenly, you’re thrown from the sea of destruction that wants to claim you and you’re thrown on to a jagged rock. Something you couldn’t see from your vantage point earlier. You’re stuck here. In the darkness. You begin to wonder, “How could something so beautiful hurt you so much?” That sea that once sparkled and beckoned for you to calmly wade out a safe distance has at once become a prison.

The winds still whirl around you and in the midst of your tears, something tells you to look up. You can see something that beckons you. Something strong. Something safe. You realize it’s a person. It’s a human. Someone you’ve hoped would help you. You stand on that rock as the water continues to swell around you. You outstretch your hand, foolishly, hoping that by some miracle, that person who stands above you will reach down and pull you up. You begin to scream. You realize they can’t hear you above the winds. You wonder what you must look like to them and all at once understand. In a moment of clarity, you see this person smiling down upon you. That picture of beauty that you looked down upon must be the same image they see when they glance down.

You’re caught in the midst of  storm.

They see you surrounded by beauty.

A wind comes by and knocks you down on to the rock again. This time, it’s so strong, you can’t stand. So you lie there. You’re vision is once again blurred and this time, you can’t tell if it’s your tears or the stinging from the water as it hits your face. This time, you begin to bargain. If you make it out of this storm, you’ll never get close to the edge again. You’ll exist. You’ll cease to live, but you won’t cease to have a life.

In the midst of your bargaining, things get worse. You don’t remember how long you’ve been where you are. It can last anywhere from moments to days. But no matter how long it goes on, you struggle. This battle is intense. It’s even harder because you know that there is nothing that you can really fight. This is something that you have to go alone. Once again you look up. This time, you see the person is concerned. You wonder again, “What must I look like to them?” And you bargain still. You think, “Am I the only person here?” Again, you look up and realize that it’s now a crowd. There are those that you love. They are worried. There’s no way to reach them. You bargain still. You want this to end.

And then…..

There’s a stillness.

You can get up now. As you do, you realize you’re back where you were in the beginning. In the clearing. Standing on the edge of something beautiful. You look down at that sea, sparkling in its beauty and you wonder, “How could something so wonderful cause so much harm?” You turn around to face the people who you’ve wanted so desperately to touch. They are gone. But it’s fine. You’ve found a peace and you feel that you can go on.

So, you begin to walk. You remember to dream. You go on. You don’t lie down. You don’t die.

But you always wonder, “How soon before I come back to this clearing again?”

I’ve thought of ways to describe my daily life. This was the best that I could come up with. Most days, the storm is light. Something that I can handle. Other days, it feels like the worst thing in the world. I feel like I’m powerless over anything…even the simple things that I should be able to control. On those days, I can’t get out of bed. I don’t want to talk to people. I don’t eat. And I always wonder, “What must this look like to others?”

I have depression.

Friends…How Many Of Us Have Them?

Friends! Ones we can depend on?

So, this is actually an older post from another blog that I have…but I still wanted to share it.

Let’s start with a surface definition of friend. According to Merriam-Webster online, a friend is one attached to another by affection or esteem; one that is not hostile; one that is of the same nation, party, or group; one that favors or promotes something; or a favored companion. Now with this said, we can talk about the qualities that would lead a  person to call another person these things.

Let’s start with the first part of the definition:What attaches me to another by affection or esteem?
The biggest thing for me is trust. Can I trust you? Every relationship should be built on trust. If I feel that I can trust you, then we have an important building block for whatever we are trying to build. I also live by the rule “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” This has backfired on me quite a few times however because some people that I chose to call “friend” in the past treated me in a way that really made me question my decision-making skills. Outside of those things, I feel a thread of commonality must be found for me to consider you my friend. This means that we need to share something in common. I don’t really consider a person a friend if we have nothing in common. This is not to say that I couldn’t grow to like something new, but it does mean that if I feel we can’t relate, then I only consider you an acquaintance. The final thing for me is the value system of the other person. What do they believe? Is it vastly different from me? For example, I cannot be friends with a person who hates Muslims. My father is a Muslim. I can’t be friends with a person who does not believe in equality from those different from themselves. I can’t. That’s against my value system. The funny thing about values is this: if you choose to surround yourself with people of an extremely different value system, something about you is going to change….and it might not be for the better.

The second part is: A person that is not hostile.
We all get angry; but the thing is do you live in anger? I don’t think I would like to surround myself with a person who is constantly negative or constantly angry. It makes life harder than it has to be because you forget how to look for the silver lining on your storm clouds. I know that if I constantly surrounded myself with a hostile person, I would probably forget how to smile and smiling is like breathing for me. I just HAVE to do it! So it’s simple. We can not be friends if you are hostile. Period.

The third part is: A person that is of the same nation, party, or group.
This goes back to that thread of commonality. What do we have in common? I have noticed that this plays a role in my selection of friends, especially since I began my undergrad at a predominantly White institution (PWI). For me, I was very uncomfortable the first week or so when I got to my campus (I was allowed to move in a week early). Every morning, I woke up to country. I have no problem with country. I had a problem when I would be asked to turn my R&B off. So I felt out of place with something as universal as music! Then I had questions about my hair like “Do you wash it everyday?” or “Can I touch it?” Now, I have no problem answering those questions. I had a problem answering the questions everyday. So you can imagine my relief when everyone else was allowed to move in and there were 7 of us on my floor (Quick math: What’s 20 * 4 + 2 * 3? 80 +6. We had 86 students per floor not counting the RAs) and I finally had someone to relate to. There were other students like me! Then there are my church friends (most of them are not of the same race/ethnic background). We have a similar value background (I will acknowledge here that most organized religions share the same value systems) and we could talk about something that was important to us AND feel comfortable. So for me, these threads of commonality are important.

The fourth part is: A person that favors or promotes something.
I guess you could place something about values here, but I’ve already mentioned that. So I’ll go another route. What are things that we both enjoy doing (together or alone)? Can I talk to you about classical music? Can I talk to you about different forms of dance? What about art? Do you like to read? My ideal friend would love these art forms. My ideal friend would have an appreciation for all sports (I didn’t say you had to like them, I just said you had to appreciate it). My thing is this. I like a lot of different things and I really don’t feel that you  could truly respect me if you don’t appreciate the things that I do. Also, I have found friends with different organizations because they stand for something or they promote something for a group that can not really speak for themselves. I guess what I’m trying to say is this: My friends are allies for humanity and for people to be treated equally.

The fifth is simply: A person who is a favored companion.
For me to favor you, I must love you. There are different types of love and the one I’m speaking of is the kind of love that would allow me to extend to you what I have when you need it. My most favored friends are those that listen and pay attention. They are able to read other people’s emotions. They can admit when they are wrong. They can apologize. A friend that I favor is like family to me. We have our differences but we don’t let those come between the relationship that we are trying to build or the one that we have built already. A friend is also a person who is not going to throw something in your face or take on the characteristics of a highlighter (this means they don’t highlight or pick out things that are “wrong” with you to make themselves feel better).

So I guess you could say that a friend is honest, congenial, focused on bettering themselves and those people or things around them, open-minded, a person that possess a similar value system, a person that love humanity, a person that is kind, and a person who could grow to love me and all of my flaws. As for the number of people I would call a true friend, I don’t really know. This post has caused me to do a lot of thinking about the qualities a friend would possess and I can’t say for sure that I have true friends. I know that I have friends…but how many of them are true?

Dream.Hope.Believe

An Open Letter to the Congressional Black Caucus (CBC)

**Here’s is a letter that I submitted to the CBC. Feedback is welcomed.**

FACT: As of November 2009, the unemployment rate for Blacks/African-Americans was 15.6%, while the rest of the nation was at 10.0%. (Source: United States Department of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics).

FACT: In 2007, 19.5% of Blacks/African-Americans in comparison to 10.4% of non-Hispanic whites were uninsured; 49% of Blacks/African-Americans used employer-sponsored health insurance; and finally, 23.8% of Blacks/African-Americans relied on public health insurance. (Source: United States Department of Health & Human Services, The Office of Minority Health).

FACT: The total number of black students enrolled in higher education in 2007 was 2,383,400. The number of Black men in undergraduate programs in 2007 was 870,000, while the number of Black men incarcerated in federal, state, or local prisons was 837,000. Percentage of all high school students who graduate on time who are black equaled12.1%; while the percentage of all students who drop out of high school in tenth grade who are black equaled 36.7%. Between the 1997-98 and 2007-08 years, college tuition rates rose a total of 30%. (Source: United States Department of Education, Digest of Education Statistics).

Given these dismal numbers, I understand your frustration with our President during this time of economic strife, as you feel he is not taking a special interest in the community which you were elected to represent. However, I feel that you are unfairly placing blame on his shoulders. Keep in mind that President Obama has only formally served in this capacity since January 20, 2009. Since taking his oath, he has accomplished considerable feats. Nine days after taking office, he signed the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act of 2009, which overruled the Supreme Court’s decision in Ledbetter v. Goodyear Tire & Rubber Co. and so eased the requirements for filing employment discrimination lawsuits. Five days later, he signed the reauthorization of the State Children’s Health Insurance Program (SCHIP) to cover an additional 4 million children currently uninsured. He nominated current Justice Sotomayor in May of 2009 to replace the retiring Justice Souter and she became the first Latina and third woman to serve as a Justice. He also signed into law the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act this past October.

I highlight these key acts, a few among many, because the legislation focuses on two key minority groups: women and those most likely to suffer from hate crimes. The importance – the majority of your constituents can be identified as belonging to those groups, so celebrate those acts.

Finally, and this is arguably the most important point that I can make. The most significant piece of legislation that our President signed, the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009, became a law in February of this year. As you are aware, this was a $787 billion economic stimulus package aimed at helping the economy recover from the deepening worldwide recession.

I’ve drawn your attention to these few things because I want to remind you that now is not the time to be unreasonable in negotiating with our President, as well as the rest of Congress. Change your scope from exclusively focusing on what you feel to be the shortcomings of our President. Help your constituents by pressuring states to remember their stressed communities. History has shown us that even at a President’s urging and support of legislation with an emphasis on minority communities, especially that of the African-American community, the call for equality and humane treatment can fall on deaf ears of the state. Your tactics in playing “hardball” with our President will only further hurt the communities that elected you to representation.

As a constituent who considers herself fairly informed about issues, I would like to offer my suggestions on how you can help our community by highlighting a few key issues:

With the African-American unemployment rate being almost double that of the national unemployment rate, special attention should be paid to economic policies. With regards to these policies: encourage and lobby states to focus on improving urban communities (i.e., paving roads, painting buildings, maintaining street lights, etc).  Remind them that their Black constituents are vital to a thriving economy and convince them that businesses with a large minority employee base should be recruited to serve as contractors in these endeavors. This will in turn create some of the jobs that your constituents need.

With regards to health policies, stand firm and support a public option! One of the fastest ways to accrue debt is to accumulate medical expenses and not be able to pay for them. In the expansion of health care debate, it is critical that you support the BEST option for your constituents, even if this means that a special focus is not placed on them. Remember that 19.5% of the African-American population is without coverage and that another 23% of your constituents rely heavily on government sponsored programs. Additionally, 15.7% of our youth lack necessary health coverage, a statistic relayed by the Annie E. Casey Foundation and their KIDS Count Initiative.

With regards to educational policies, push for increasing Pell Grant amounts that are sent to schools and discourage states from freezing or reducing the amount of money set aside for higher education. Instead, persuade states to continue to implement programs that will keep students in school at all levels (from Elementary to College) and remind them of the words of former President Kennedy, “Our progress as a nation can be no swifter than our progress in education. The human mind is our fundamental resource.” With the cost of higher education continuing to rise and available financial aid remaining the same, students who do not have the personal economic means to pay for education may face the decision of continuing their education or relinquishing this opportunity with the hopes of “something better”. Remember these students. Remember that they are your constituents.

In closing, I would like to applaud your collective efforts and the things that you have been able to accomplish. Now is NOT the time to present a fractured picture of our Black congressional leaders to our nation. It’s best that you show your support for our President and his goals, and admonish him ONLY when necessary (preferably in private).  Finally, encourage states to take a special and vested interest into their struggling communities and remember that the fate of the Black community is inherently tied to the well-being of our neighbors. This is a fact that you must understand and keep in mind as your continue to fulfill your duties in the D.C.

Once again, thank you for your service and commitment. I hope that these words are met with serious consideration.

Respectfully submitted,

Courtney J. Hardwick
A Concerned Citizen

© December 14, 2009.

Moment of Clarity

*Note: This post is super personal in nature. If you don’t feel like reading about trials and personal (internal) battles, then by all means, take a gander over to Explosm.net or any of my other buddies that are linked in my blog roll. You still counted by clicking this page. Thanks.

The problem with setting a goal that not many people around you has attempted or accomplished is that there is no one that you trust to tell you how hard it will be. You may have an idea but to experience it is something altogether different.

Many of my friends have said 2009 was a tough year for them and I can relate. The hell that I experienced in 2009 was just a continuation of the craziness that existed in 2008. Starting in 2008, my grandparents passed away (my final living grandparents) within 3 days of one another. I never thought I would take those deaths as hard as I did. Looking back now, I realize that my pain came from the fact that my Dad and his siblings were so fractured at the funeral. They barely sat with one another. I didn’t want that for my siblings and I made a decision to attempt to bridge whatever gaps existed between us. I quickly came to realize that we were all battling our personal demons (as it concerned our parents) and that there was no way that I could help them.

Beginning with that (the realization of those issues), I slipped into something worse than a depression and I reached out to the wrong things and other damaged people. The crazy thing about a damaged person is that they don’t realize how hurt they are and that even if you are able to offer some sort of clarity, they have to want to see it. The damaged people I knew did not want to see it. I clinched and held on anyway. Those relationships going sour, I also took that hard.

To deal with that pain, I started to party. I mean, I’d probably gone out more in my final semesters of undergrad than I had my entire 5 years at CMU (which really isn’t saying much because I wasn’t a partier). But I saw a trend. I drank. I started to hang with the wrong people. I allowed people to use me. And I used other people. I started to hate myself for who I knew I was becoming but because it felt “nice” to have all of those people around, I just continued down that road.

The first turning point came in February of 2009 (it’s sad that I’m realizing this mess went on for as long as it did). I was forced to move out of an apartment and even though I still had trouble coming up with the rent every month, I began to see the people who TRULY cared for me. The folks that let me stay in their rooms, sleep on their couches, use their showers, etc. See, that shit was humbling. It reminded me of exactly where I’d come from. But it did me a huge service. I graduated because of my period of “semi-homelessness”. I started to stay in the library more and I didn’t go out as much. I was also forced to take better care of my health because I had a serious case of pneumonia (felt the effects of that cold from Feb 14, 2009 – March 19, 2009). All of the time that I stayed in the library, I worked. I made better grades my final semester than I had the two preceding semesters.

I was also accepted to graduate school, which gave me something to look forward to. Looking back, I remember the exact emotion I had when I opened my letter saying that I was a student: relief. There’s nothing scarier than attempting to move forward in your life when you feel it crumbling around you. I felt like I had trouble with everything – family, friends, health, everything. But that letter gave me life. Granted, I was graduating in May and that was a great accomplishment. But in an odd way, it felt as though someone was nailing a coffin shut. I had nowhere to go (I felt). I had no job offer on the table. I hadn’t heard from any other school (and when you apply for early admission, that makes you question yourself). I had no money. I was on the verge of losing my job.

But that letter gave me life.

I finished out my final semester and graduation was really a celebration for me (I literally danced down the aisle…I kid you not). I was going on to something better. However, when I moved out to Providence, I felt LOST. All of the people that I’d come to know for the past five years were everywhere but Providence. That’s when I began to recognize my problems for what they were.

See, the thing about a damaging cycle is that when it goes on for so long, that’s what you want to return to. It’s what you know. And you can believe that I wanted to run back to dysfunction. I wanted to run back to arguing with my parents. I wanted to run back to fighting and being belittled by friends. I wanted to run back to drinking and partying (with others or alone). I wanted to run back to darkness.

All because I was alone and I had no clue how to face the world.

My program started in June. Not a lot of people know this, but I moved out to Providence for two reasons: (1) it was my goal to get into this program; and (2) I was defying expectations and what people thought I needed to do. The sad part about that was that I let reason two guide every move that I made concerning graduate school and I planned poorly for my transition. The result: having to ask parents to pay for a plane ticket out to Providence and moving with two suitcases of clothing and “housewares”. That’s right. I moved halfway across a country with a bookbag, a carryon and my large suitcase (from my set). Let me tell you how smart that is NOT…and it was 3 days before my program began, nonetheless.

You can’t say I didn’t have guts. But remember, I’m still operating in a frame of mind that’s dangerous. With no money for books, clothing, food, or any other real simple shit, I started to play the “everything will be fine” game. It was pretty similar to the one that I played in September of 2008. Summer goes by without much incident (if you don’t count the whole fiasco of finagling money for school or the fact that I got sick) and it hit me hardest that I was alone on our summer break. We had an entire month off from school and most of my cohort (most as in ALL) went home or somewhere else. So, I was stuck. Feeling alone. And decided in my mind that I wanted to go home. I didn’t need a degree, I needed to feel like I was around people who loved me (even if we were damaging each other). Anyway, I never raised enough money to go home for the summer and I really only made it through with the help of two “counselors.” After my money was situated and I felt like I had a chance to succeed (really succeed), I began the Fall term with high hopes and (dare I say it) happiness.

However, when you have issues that you fail to deal with, they find ways to pop up. And pop up they did. I don’t think I’ve experienced so much illness or depression in one semester. I found myself hating (that’s a strong word but most appropriate in this situation) everything about myself and the people around me. I found myself questioning whether or not I deserved to be attending an Ivy League school and I felt fraudulent. I found myself wanting to drink and/or take a pill to help me sleep because that was the only thing helping me sleep at night. I found myself becoming that same person that was showing up the previous September.

I also questioned if that person was the real me.

Was I really damaging? Was I really evil? Was I really spiteful? Was I really the person that everyone dreads to be around? Did I really suck the life from others?

That person. The one that people despise in fairy tales and real life. That person that can’t be trusted. That person that will always hurt you because they hurt themselves. That person that I didn’t want to be.

My moment of clarity came while I was sitting in a library lobby and on the phone with my Advisor this past Friday. I had gotten behind on my work and I felt swamped. I had been sick and missed important classes. I was behind on some of my work for my internship and I felt that I’d let them down greatly. I was lonely. I was tired of moving forward and I wanted to leave. After sending an email to my Advisor, she called. First time that a person had done that. Called instead of communicating electronically. She calmed my fears and offered me encouraging words.  She let me know that I deserved to be here, otherwise I would not have been accepted. She told me to take one day (one task, one assignment, one minute, one moment) at a time because I could only accomplish so much. She helped me (there were others too, but in that moment, she was instrumental to my peace of mind).

She gave me a piece of myself back. The part that was shut up when the caskets closed at my grandparents’ funeral. That part that I started to give away to other people who were hurt because I wanted to help them so much. That part that I needed returned to me, yet others held onto it or threw to the side. That part that was often forgotten. She reminded me of why I was here in the first place. Why I decided to do all that I had set forth to do. She was a voice that reminded me of a whisper I’d heard once before. She reminded me of all of the people that care and aren’t here to hug me today. Her words were a salve, a balm that I needed immensely.

See, in my troubles, it became too easy for people to offer a cliché response to what I was going through. I thank them for all of their responses for I’m truly grateful. The thing that was hardest to deal with was that I knew other people had been told the same thing before. I’d been told the same thing before. And those words were just band-aids to my soul and I felt that my soul was still seeping away from me.

Painful.

The most painful experience in my mind was to be within myself and still feel as though I was losing my essence.

Anyway, I sit here. December 7, 2009 at 12:44 am and I type these words. I had a moment a clarity.

I know why I chose to continue on this road. Each day that I work, I may have to relive many painful things, but I’ll do it with the hopes that no other person has to go through similar situations. I’ll have to remember being belittled for being smart by peers that looked like me and then going on to being belittled by peers for not looking like them, and I’ll do it so that other smart children who may or may not look like me don’t experience that. I’ll have to remember the homeless shelters, the degradation for going to a school that failed to educate its students adequately, and the long trips home after school, and I’ll do it so that other youngsters don’t have to do it. I’ll remember wondering where my next meal or the next month’s rent payment while I was an undergraduate student, and I’ll work so that no other undergraduate student has to experience that.

I know what I feel. I know why I’m here. I know who I am. I know what I am.

In my moment of clarity, I remembered that I’m all things good. I’m hurt, yes. I’m damaged, yes. But I’m all things good. I’m not my circumstances or what happened to me. I’m all things good.

I can feel it. And it feels good. I haven’t felt a thing this good since before September 2008.

Dream.Hope.Believe.

A Personal Challenge: Two-A-Days

There is one goal that we should all move towards: self-improvement.

In my efforts, a thought struck me last night before I went to bed. It’s almost like the Two-A-Days that athletes go through to make sure that they are in top shape for competition. Well, my Two-A-Days involve reflecting on myself and taking a hard look at what I could have done to be a better person all around.

Essentially, this idea began as journaling twice a day. After I thought about it more today, I realized that this still kept me “closed off” from others and the experiences that they’ve lived (and are willing to share). With that being said, I will now tell you all what’s involved in my Two-A-Days!

 

To begin with, there will be some period of reflection in the morning and at night. The morning will consist of writing out my daily goals — doable things; at least four and one of those has to be outside of my comfort zone. It could be as simple as sitting in a different seat in my class or not bringing my laptop at all (I can’t think about how hard that would be for me or I won’t do it). Along with the goals, one must be slightly “out of reach”…one of those things that I didn’t think I’d be able to do (finishing a paper…at the very least, a rough draft or calling a long-lost relative). Four goals! Attainable…and worthwhile. I’ll also have a period of reflective writing, whether it’s simply a few minutes to write out how I’m feeling and why. This is to set the tone. Something to measure the progress in my day by.

 

The “evening workout” will consist of reading (because that’s what nerds do!) a book that I may not otherwise read. This actually began as personal down time in my evening and reading things that I liked. But then I thought to myself, “That’s NOT challenging…at all,” and decided to find books by people who’s beliefs are “fundamentally” different from my own. This way, I get to see what my “opponents” feel on issues and I also get the opportunity to examine why I hold the stance I do in the first place. This also comes with some reflective writing (because I like to write duh).

 

But anyway, as I’ve said before, I’m doing this to challenge myself and to grow. I want to look back a year from now at what I’ve written and say to myself, “I’m different. I’m better. I’m more at peace. I’m of sound mind.” Things like that.

 

All are invited to join!

 

“Because if you’re not becoming better, you really are just wasting space.” – My Grandpa

“I’m Not Hating But…”

I really can’t think of any other phrase I hate to hear more than this one (or any other variation of said phrase). To me, that’s exactly what you are doing. Anytime you have to announce a “disclaimer” along with a said phrase, odds are, that’s what you’re doing. Hmmm…are you still confused?

 

SAY THAT MESS AND I’LL DECLARE YOU A HATER!

 

That’s all she wrote….for now.

Just Let Me Speak My Peace

So, I recently felt compelled to write this blog because of current events that took place earlier today (Wednesday to be exact). After a few hours of dealing with issues, I took to my Twitter to tweet! I simply let out my frustration over the entire situation and since it was already after midnight, I wrote, “Thursday is going to be a horrible day.”

Someone, in trying to remain positive, told me that I shouldn’t write things like that. In all fairness to them, I understand their position. However, I’m a person that tends to hold a lot of things in…and sometimes, I get really frustrated. I let it out. I effectively vent.

See, whether or not people realize this, there is a time for everything. You can vent. You have that right. As a matter of fact, I think people should learn how to perfect that craft so that they too can let out their anger and frustration in a healthy way. I’m not saying, “Don’t be positive.” I’m not telling you to not look for your silver lining. No, I’m saying that sometimes you have to let that anger out with your words. If you feel that something is going horribly wrong, say so. Other people, namely your friends, will be there to offer those positive words and bring you back to your happy place. Even if you don’t have those people there to do that for you, trust me…you feel better.

See, what happens for me when I don’t vent is that I spiral deeper and deeper into a “bad” mood (my moods have degrees…it’s crazy). So, if I say to myself, “Things will work out” after something horribly dumb happens and it leaves me (for lack of a better term) pissed off, it usually doesn’t get better. I stub my toe, roll an ankle, forget an important assignment at home, etc., and my day continues to get worse. So, I’ve learned to vent.

Which leads me to the next thing that I want to say. I’ve come across people who’ve told me that I always seem to be angry. I can’t fault them for that. It’s what I project. See, when I began to blog, it was to come to a place where people didn’t know me and I felt comfortable enough writing about the things that bothered me or happened to me and left me confused. The more I began to write, the easier it became for me to say to myself and for myself, that “this is what went wrong and this is how I felt.” To some, I can see how I’m always “negative.” I would find myself in a defensive stance because I’m always the friend, in REAL life, to offer encouragement to someone. I’m the person that listens or offers a shoulder when someone needs to cry or to lend support. You know what happens when that kind of person doesn’t get those things reciprocated?

It all goes to hell.

So, I started to blog. I wrote and I felt better. I felt better because I would vent.

I said all of that to say this — if you don’t agree with what I write, you don’t have to comment. Just take your disagreement and keep it to yourself. If you don’t like what I’m saying when I’m obviously having a shitty moment, don’t say so…you’re going to make the moment “shittier.” If you would like for me to be more positive, then maybe you can say so…but I guarantee that if you really pay attention, you’ll notice when I start to feel better. I usually feel better. There is a 99.99% chance that I WILL feel better…so you don’t have to tell me to erase my negative thoughts.

I promise, I’m okay. I just need to speak my “peace.”

Until Further Notice…

…whatever I was writing about has been put on hold. Recent events that have taken place have been the push for writing this.

In the news today, I read a story about a young man named Derrion Albert. He was a high school student beaten by members of his community, who happened to belong to a gang. He died as a result of this (the event happened on Thursday). Now there are many issues that I have with this whole situation:

The first issue is that people in the community feel that they can’t live a life that is free from violence. People feel that it’s necessary to join a gang, or some group, for their safety and sanity. That scares me. Gangs promote violence and often operate with a mentality that is detrimental to a healthy and functioning larger community. Gangs, as we know them, promote fear and instability. No person should have to live through that and when communities are subjected to that, they suffer.

The second issue is that people feel they can’t tell. I know the reasons and the rationale behind why people choose not to. It’s understandable. Everyone doesn’t feel the way I do. I’d tell (I’ve done it before). There are some communities where some members enough grief, stress, and fear to the point that other community members just silently wish for better days and hope that their children are not caught in the crossfire.

But that’s not really what this post is about. No. This post is about the ignorance of people. On Twitter, I wrote a pulse and stated:

“There is especially one kind of person I don’t like in this world – one who CHOOSES to stay ignorant about the world around them.”

This wasn’t in reference to educational attainment (and I can see why some people may feel that way). No, this was about the people who live in communities where rage becomes the pulse of that place and dictates the actions of its members. The ignorant people I referred to are those who would readily tell someone to stop snitching or to hush someone else when asked if they’d heard about what happened to another person. These are the people who witness crimes, yet close their mouths and their minds when the police come to question. These are also the people who will offer their condolences to a family who is grieving over a family member lost in the violence.

I’ve taken this stance (and believe me, it’s not always easy to argue why a person needs to tell when they see wrong-doing) because of an experience I had when I was 10, almost 11. You never forget what it’s like to hear that a family member passed and their death was from the hands of someone else who wanted to play God for a moment (or make a point). You definitely don’t forget the image of the person who did it, if you witnessed it. You don’t forget how your Mother reacts to the news that her “only” son (who was actually her eldest child and was 16 years older than his next sibling) is gunned down because a “woman” was mad at him. You don’t forget the funeral. You don’t forget the condolences. You don’t forget the police. You don’t forget the depression. You don’t forget any of those things.

Most of all, the one thing that you don’t forget is that “life is not fair” or that he “was taken too soon.”

I remembered those lines from the wake. I remember how rigid my Mom became. I remember how cold the room suddenly felt. I remember wanting to scream and just ask the person how could they say that. A Mother lost her oldest child (a parent should never have to bury a child). Siblings lost their role model (he was our “Male” figure). Children lost a father (my nieces were young and I still see what this has done to them). A Wife lost her husband. I mean, I can go on and on about this…but I won’t. You all should get the picture.

But I think about all of that as I think about the family of Derrion Albert. I think about all of those things as I think about the community he lives in. I think about where I am now and I can only wonder if he dreamed of getting here. People don’t realize what happens when someone passes.

A void is left. A void that is unimaginable and may never be filled. Dreams are taken. Laughter is removed. A family is fragmented in the worst way.

My only hope, after all of this, is that something happens to restore the communities that Derrion Albert comes from to better places. Happiness needs to come back. Safety needs to come back. Peace, it definitely needs to come back. I just hope people take the necessary steps so that those things happen and another mother doesn’t lose a child to something so senseless.

This is an original work of Miss C. Jayne. © September 28, 2009.

Recognizing My Personal Bias

**Warning: This post IS controversial and highly prejudiced. No offense is meant. If you find yourself feeling that way, then you can respectfully post a comment.

In working through the program for my Master’s degree, I’ve come to realize a few things about myself. The biggest hurdle that I’m currently facing is one that is very personal in nature. But before I get into what this post is about, I’ll state a few facts:

1. I’m a Black woman.

2. I grew up in the inner-city (many times while homeless or in transitional housing) and I’ve made it this far because of teachers who pushed me forward.*

3. I am in my field to help students, more particularly students of color, succeed academically…so that it becomes the rule and NOT the “exception”.

Now that those truths have been stated, I’ll share my bias:

I’m in a cohort that is diverse by definition (racially) and a field that is highly politicized. When my classmates are discussing things in the classroom, I get this sickening feeling in my stomach. This feeling is something that I’ve been trying desperately hard to deal with and to even put it into words. Sometimes, I feel that I make sense, other times, I don’t. This feeling also only comes up when certain classmates speak on a topic. It’s my prejudice.

As a child who grew up in an “urban” center and who attended an “urban” and “disadvantaged” school, I feel quite ill when the discussions take place in the classroom. When I was younger, I began to notice the inequity that plagued our school system. During my 3rd grade year, I was invited to participate in a testing session to see if I would qualify for a scholarship to a private school that was in the same neighborhood as my elementary school. Until that invite, I assumed that the elementary school was in fact a college because the building was that nice. I scored high enough to be placed into a classroom and when my Mom asked if I wanted to go, I said no. There was something not quite right about the situation, but instinct told me that I didn’t want to be at that school. When I graduated from elementary school, I tested into a Magnet school for my 7th grade year (I didn’t graduate from this school however). The same thing happened when I graduated from Middle School and while I was proud of my school, I also recognized it for what it was — the lowest performing school in the city. For High School, I had the distinction and privilege of going to the best high school in the state.

This is when things became dicey. You see, during my elementary and middle school years, I’d attended all-Black schools (I kid you not, every student was Black). High School was a huge shock all around. Here, the kids had lockers. Here the kids didn’t walk through metal detectors. Here the kids did NOT have to eat inside of the cafeteria for lunch if they didn’t want to. Here the kids had books for every class that they took home, no paper copies. Here there were enough desks in every class. Here every kid was expected to succeed and they had no choice. If you didn’t do well, you were asked to leave. I don’t remember seeing a girl who was pregnant (maybe one) and I don’t remember there being a shooting or anyone ever being taken out during the day by the cops.  I don’t remember negativity. What I do remember is it being “white-washed”.

From the administrators, to the counselors, to the teachers, to the majority of the students. It was white. It was happy. It was the status-quo. Here you made it, even if you were a “student of color”. Anywhere else, you might have been the exception. Here, you were the rule.

That experience is taken with me everywhere. From being embarrassed in a French class because I forgot my homework on the bus that I had to catch at 6:40 am to being mistreated by a Biology teacher because I had to explain that I couldn’t take my work home with me (it was a project about worms). Both of those teachers asked something that I will never forget, “What’s wrong with you that you can’t keep up or do your work?” The better question would have been, “What’s wrong with you all that you don’t understand that not everyone lives in a house with a white picket fence?” I remember the very nice guidance counselor who did her best to help me complete my English homework (which always had to be typed) by getting me a computer. I also remember her disdain when I explained to her that I couldn’t afford the floppy disks (y’all it was old) to save my work on or a printer to simply print things out. I remember how everyone would praise my High School and I would remember how I wanted to go back to the schools that I’d come from. I wanted to go back to the teachers that were like me.

So what does this have to do with my bias, you wonder?

The classmates that usually rub me the wrong way are the White classmates. They are the ones who point things out about their schools and how great they are doing. They will juxtapose their schools and compare them to other largely “minority” schools in the district and tell you how much better their kids are doing. Now, I’m happy that someone is picking up the task of educating our children, but I always want to ask, “Why are you doing it? Why do you have to speak in that way?” They talk down to their classmates and strike below the belt in their comments (and I’m sure all of us do this). Many times, I feel that they are somewhat elitist. They remind me of the guidance counselor that I had who initially wanted to do some good, but then made me feel as though she knew what was best for me or that I wasn’t good enough. Hearing them speak in class about things, I can’t help but wonder if they truly understand their students’ experiences (as I’m sure they do, they are there enough). I can’t help but wonder if they bring that same, “I know better than you” attitude that comes across in the classroom to meetings with parents. I can’t help but wonder if they KNOW that they give off a sense of superiority.

Or maybe it’s just me.

Whatever it is, it bothers me. I sincerely appreciate their contribution to our society, but after living as a Black child in an impoverished life to grow into a Black woman in this time, it is very hard for me to listen to my White classmates (and sometimes other classmates) when they begin to talk about all of the good they are doing (look at the emphasis there). Maybe they don’t get that it’s a community? Maybe they don’t understand that the child’s aptitude plays a role? Maybe they really do believe that they can “save” a community of people not like themselves?

And that’s where my problem lies.

So, I’m working on this. Hopefully, I can work through this issue enough to speak up in class without feeling as though I’m going to say something HIGHLY inappropriate because there are many times that I want to. But most of all, my hope is that I can really see that they are good people (because they are) and that I’m able to digest their comments without taking any personal offense. Hopefully.

*That isn’t the only reason. I’d like to think that my faith has allowed me to come this far as well.

This post is an original work by Miss C. Jayne. © September 2009

The Things They’ve Said (What Will They Say, Part 2)

I’ve come to recognize when I’ve changed for the better. One thing that I’ve noticed recently is that I’m no longer concerned with the things that were once deemed important in my life (although some people around me still hold on to these things). I don’t worry about what someone said to someone else (I’m also not interested in what people have to tell me about other people, it actually disgusts me). I don’t care about what the person next to me is doing (unless they are endangering the community). Those things don’t concern me.

However, there is one thing that will always concern me – my reputation.

There is a quote out there that says, “You shouldn’t be concerned with your reputation, but your character. Your reputation is what others think of you while your character is who you really are” (or something like that).

I agree…and then I disagree.

Nothing has shown me more that your reputation directly influences your interactions with other people more than the events that have transpired in the past year. Roommate issues, I’ve had them. Organizational issues, I’ve had them. Personal issues with people I don’t know, I’ve had them (thank you Facebook, cue *eyerolling). Personal issues with people I know and love, I’ve had them. Losing family members and spiraling into some deep internal abyss, I’ve done it. There’s really nothing new in the arena of interacting with other people that surprises me.

My surprise comes along when I hear or read something about me that is not true. What’s (not so) funny about these situations are the sheer numbers of people who listen and believe what they are being told (the innocents, I can’t fault, especially if they don’t take the time to know me). In the past year, I’ve heard:

“She lies.”
“She’s fake.”
“She’s a bitch.”
“Don’t trust her.”
“She’s a hoe.”
“She steals money (or insert whatever else you can steal here).”
“She’s dirty.”

I’ve heard this, and more. Most times when things come back around to me, it’s negative. Not only is it negative, it’s hurtful. Especially since I can count ALL of the people that I hang/hung out with on one hand. I mean, I know people and I have friends and acquaintances that would total more than the digits on my hands. But my closest circle isn’t even enough to fill a “Top 8” on Myspace. Seriously.

This is why my reputation concerns me. It’s what the general public believes. It’s what I’m working against when I’m putting in the extra effort to seem sociable (which is a very hard task for me to do). It’s what I’m working against when I’m representing various organizations. It’s what I’m working against when I’m rushing across campus (or was rushing across campus) and people would speak and I would mistakenly not see their greeting. It’s what I’m working against when I’m trying to negotiate with people. It’s what I’m working against when I’m trying to have my ideas heard.

So, the fact is simply this:

You can be fooled into believing that your reputation doesn’t matter, I bet you won’t win a position you run for. You can be fooled into believing that your reputation doesn’t matter, I’ll bet that the first response you get from a random stranger who is acquainted with your name will not be something that you’d say about yourself. You can be fooled into believing that your reputation doesn’t matter, but that’s what people look at and base most of their decisions on.

Think I’m lying. Try this out – Start a malicious lie about yourself (this works better if you’re super involved in something in your community). See how fast it spreads. Wait a few weeks and attempt to make a new friend. I’ll put money that they’ll recognize whatever malicious foolishness you’ve started.

Since I’ve said all of that, I’ll finally tell why I decided to write this as part two. I was recently dealing with some frustration on an online account. I got the funniest response from someone and it basically said that they had heard that I was a bitch and what I was putting on the site confirmed their thought. The thing that initially made me pause (actually, it was a few things) was that they felt comfortable enough calling me a bitch. Okay. The next thing that concerned me what that I did NOT hang out with them. We knew similar people BUT we never ran in the same crowd. My folks kept to themselves and their people kept to themselves. We just knew of each other. Never mind the fact that I was involved in many community activities. Never mind the fact that I had a kind word for them when I spoke to them or saw them. Never mind the fact that this person asked for my advice once after sharing a problem with me and I gave sound advice. Never mind the fact that they couldn’t remember whom initially told them that.

Those things are irrelevant. The “fact” that they immediately recalled was that I was a “b*tch.” That came from my reputation.

So, I’ll let the people continue to talk. I just hope that they learn just how hurtful some things can be and how jaded some people become. The fact is that everyone will hear (at some point) something about themselves that isn’t true and may possibly be able to find out the source. When that happens, since I’m not them, I can’t even think of a possible ending. When I find out, that person loses so much respect from me. And that is something that you’ll never get back.

People. Just be careful about what you’re saying.

To be continued…