Nehanda is a name I have chosen for myself, much as I did Moxie. It is a name that comes from my ancestral home of Ghana, if I recall correctly. It means, “Beauty has come.” I don’t mean my outer beauty by any means, I can hardly look in a mirror. Though after recent occurences, I do wonder about any beauty coming to me.
I trusted the wrong person, he fancies himself Panda. Ha, don’t have to be very careful referring to him since he calls himself Panda! He seemed so full of life, so full of kindness, acceptance, and understanding. It was all a farce. He was just another mind-fuck to tally with the rest of my so-called friends. In his defense, he seems to be suffering from a few undiagnosed mental disorders. No judgement, I am the queen of fucking being diagnosed. But when I became apprehensive of the closeness he and I had come to, he got weird af. I get that he was afraid of loss, and I understand that more than most people. But he became quite disrespectful, demanding, manipulative, and rude. I couldn’t comprehend why he’d turned so quickly. I couldn’t understand why he would demand my undying, unearned, complete trust with such brute, force, and venom. And to think, I’m such a goddamn loser that he was the one to end our communication. Though afterwards, I had a feeling he might want to continue this fucked up carnival ride of a friendship so I blocked him in every avenue I could. How does one go from wanting me to tell him my every thought, to wanting me to fall in love with him (he is polyamorous- no judgement), to acting as though I was being some rotten bitch, for wanting to slow things down. I am not polyamorous. I cannot handle the closeness he required or requested, nor did I find it appropriate given that I am married. At one point after I told the bastard that I didn’t deserve his behavior, he admitted that I didn’t. Then a day and a half later, he had convinced friends of his that I was bad for him and that he shouldn’t speak to me. He must’ve lied like hell, have a skewed version of reality to think that I was in the wrong in any way. But whatever, fuck him- like I said in my last post.
I am still reeling from this. Perhaps it is what is tearing my stomach up. It would only make sense, eventually this life of sordid, gruesome, fucked up, hardly believable shit had to catch up with me. Who gets raped more than a couple of times? Who moves across the country to be with a con-artist, gets pregnant by said con-artist within 9 days? The fuck is wrong with me?
My husband hasn’t been taking his antidepressants. Guess who has been falling into a depressions… yup my husband. He thought that since he was feeling better for a few weeks or days, he hasn’t dedicated himself to taking the fucking pills ever, that he didn’t need them. This is what I was afraid of. Luckily, there was only minimal tension between he and my son. I don’t need that shit. I’m working mother fucking hard on my recovery, I am taking my medicine everytime I am supposed to. I see my therapist when I’m supposed to and my psychiatrist too. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t take their health seriously. Everyone in my immediate family growing up has had to take medicine to live, so maybe that is it? His family is Christian and believe in holistic only shit. And I’m fine with that, but he won’t take that shit either. I don’t know if we’re going to make it. I don’t wanna try with anyone else.