The Chronicles of another Black Woman (Raw & Unedited)

Writing is my therapy. It always has been. For someone who writes so little, you’d think that I hate it. Truth is, I bottle my words, thoughts, and feelings. Often times I forget that writing is how I let it out.

I honestly should quit abandoning writing. I really am expressive and when I pick up a pen, it reminds me of how fluid it is for me. I could have been further along, so much further.

My dad was a writer for the newspaper so I’ve been told. The Clarion Ledger, a local Mississippi news paper, the politics section. He died. I should keep it alive. I probably love writing so much because I got it from my dad. That and my looks, I’m starting to notice the older I get.

I honestly don’t know the purpose of todays journal. I used to do these daily a year ago and man they were therapeutic. I just needed to pick up a pen because I’ve been crying my eyes out. January was a hard month for me. I got fired from my job. could barely pay my rent, been in and out of the doctor for weeks, and finally I’ve just come to the realization that I’m an unstable person. In fact so unstable that I cannot build myself up after having a conversation with a girl near and dear to me. It hurts, but it's true.

And for that, I need a detox. A detox from social media, the world, and anything that is too loud. I’ve turned my phone off for the first time in probably forever because I was suffocating. It isn’t fair that I’m not strong as I thought. Being taken care of your whole life, how can you be? I need to challenge myself. I’m 28 with goals, dreams, and things to prove…to myself. I almost cannot look myself in the mirror or face any human being. It is too embarrassing that I feel about as tall as a toddler right now. People you love, you care what they think so much and when the moments get real, they sting. I’ve got to build myself whole as a person. My own person. Ever feel that way?