This morning, I woke up thinking. I had mad thoughts racing through my mind about "Who is Rhonda?" Its a question I continue to ask. For Colored Girls still fresh on my mind as I've examined my confusion of who I've become. I don't really know.
I don't know who this person is that I carry around daily. I remember someone else, happier, more pleased with her smile, her style, her flow, her focus. Today, I miss her. I wear an outer shell of this confusion, my body. I can teach the world to eat, move, love and those steps are being lost on my own journey, my own poetry. This outer shell tells the story. It tells the story of being kicked, smacked. It tells the story of being called dumb and told my dreams are foolish. It tells a story of longing for closeness from a father that doesn't know how to be close. It tells the story of repeated death and loss. It tells the story of mistrust and dishonesty. I'm wearing this outer shell of hurt and pain, of womanizing, of sexual exploits. Every pound is a like a layer of clothing smothering the woman I use to know and be. I miss her.
I sat on the floor of my office approximately two weeks ago and cried. I longed for her. I cried as my stomach ached in pain confessing my death to my dearest sister/friend. It was truly a confession repeating over and over, "I don't know me." Just in that phrase I knew I am an abused woman. I am a suffering woman. I am a depressed woman. I'm a grieving woman. I've put on these layers so that the world could not see me anymore. Maybe if you can't see me, you can't hurt me. You can't demand me to be something I'm not. You will stay away. You will not claim to love me then hurt me. Each pound a reflection of mental illness. I no longer purge but I've traded the euphoric feeling of bulimia with workaholism with food still being a passive lover. Rhonda is known for being a hard worker. Just this past weekend when I spoke with my aunt, I told her I had to attempt to write a grant. Her response I connected with. "Rhonda, you're always working." It was said with pity and I noticed. It sadden me.
I wonder if I'm a walking build board of hypocrisy as I lay down the foundation of a nonprofit to teach women and their families about balanced living when I know my own life is on full tilt. My eyes are wide open. I know the path to health. I know the steps to freedom but I'm admittedly in some bondage. I want Rhonda back. I need to have more to me than a great work ethic, great ideas for change. Maybe it isn't about getting her back but allowing her to live and breathe again. I've lost my FREEDOM. She needs CPR. She needs to heal from abuse that she thought she could so easily walk away from because she is that cliche`, a so-called Strong Black Woman. She is here. I feel the labor pains of a rebirth but I need midwives and hand holding through this delivery. I'm a motherless child and I feel that loss daily but I know there's power in being here without the physical love of a mother. There is hope. Its time to peel the layers off. Its time to prepare for this rebirth. My spirit connects with the Spirit who woke me up this morning with all of this on my heart to release unto the Universe. This is my confession. I am greatness. I'm an eagle who has to be reminded she is an eagle. I am greatness. I'm a lioness who has lost her fierce roar. God has revealed my latter will be greater than my former and it starts with a confession. I am still know my rainbow is on the horizon. I must first deal with the rain.