Welcome to my blog. This is where I live out my passion, and illustrate my purpose. Holla back. 


When It Rains...

When It Rains...

The weather in Southern California has been a bitch. 

On her period. 

Who just found out she's making less than her male counterpart at work. (Like how I inserted my Feminism right there?)  

I feel slightly disrespected and lied to. (Tony!Toni!Tone! and their bullshit anthem "It Never Rains")

Don't get me wrong, I love rainy days. But this shit right here. I'm done. 


As I am writing this I can find the humor in the onslaught of rain that has poured down on us. I can find the hope in that maybe this is reliving us from the drought, which in my mind I am irrationally correlating to have some affect on the San Andreas Fault that will result in me never experiencing an earthquake. A Georgia girl can hope.


I wish the rain could have came when I was happy. I wish it could have came when I could have appreciated the want to curl up in front of a window and crack open a good book. I wish it could have came at a time of me being in a relationship and not caring that it was raining both outside and inside. Catch my drift.

I could not appreciate the rain this time due to my own storm that has been brewing inside of me in the past month. I love the rain. It's just been mocking me and my depression.    

When I am not depressed I have the best conversations. I know exactly what I want to say, and I can express myself to whoever I am speaking with. In a large group of people I do not have the  onslaught of panic in regards to who I should look in the eye, or if I am saying the right things. That nagging whisper in the pitch black corner of my mind doesn't remind me that I'm not that cool, nor am I that funny.

When I am not depressed I love speaking to anybody willing to listen. This doesn't exclude those who voted for Donald Trump. I love to debate. 

When I am not depressed I call my friends, text them back, tag them in Facebook post, and snap them any and everything that deals with my mundane life.

When I am not depressed my group chats with friends and family are literally on fire from the enthusiastic camaraderie that I've included myself in. Fire Emojii. 

And like a rude-ass train that stops traffic on the busiest street in Los Angeles, my depression barrels down on me. 

My brain never warns my body that it's coming.

That has to be the most frustrating part of my depression. It attacks me, and because I was never prepared for it I sit in a stump not having any new fresh tactics on how to weather the storm.

It is not rocket science to know that what I am going through in life has a major part in battling with my depression and anxiety. 

On top of going through a mind battle of wanting to follow my dreams I am also dealing with my parents divorce, student loans, apartment hunting, and Donald Trump. 

No, I am not blaming Donald Trump for being depressed.  

But he, and his supporters haven't helped much.

My point : There are many factors that have been a component in  having to walk around in emotional shambles. I should have expected that I would be dealing with it. While I shouldn't be mad at myself that I didn't prepare for it by going to the doctor, releasing the pressure by working out or writing, I am.

But I am most disappointed in myself on how I've let my depression keep me away from talking.  

When I am depressed my communication skills cease to exist.

I stop writing. I haven't posted anything in ages. I know. Bad Mo. 

I will not text you back.

I will not call you back.

I will not be on Facebook.

This past weekend alone I have blown three people off. Instead of going to a concert to listen to bomb-ass Lizzo, be a bomb-ass bitch in my local Women's March, or dance my life away at a bomb-ass party I stayed in my bed.

It's not hard to explain that to people. But adding in my regular anxiety the mute button gets brighter and louder.

It's not enough that I'm depressed and don't want to currently talk to people. My anxiety steamrolls right alongside and keeps my chest filled with worry and uncertainty on my value to other people.  

To my friends,

I see that you called. I got your text. I know I haven't called to check-in in a ghastly amount of weeks/months.

I wish I could be there.

But I am at home. In my room. With the lights off.

Under my covers not having the strength to move the pillows underneath me.

Give me understanding. Give me encouragement. Give me time. 

Because there is nothing more that I want to do then to go and experience life outside the walls that are surrounding me.    

I have already imagined my first conversation I'll have when this grey cloud rolls away.  

I've pictured myself in line at Trader Joe's behind a hipster-Asian man buying almond milk, and organic gum. Don't ask me why he's Asian. 

The rain outside is pounding on my newly washed car, but I was grateful to find a perfect spot in front of the store. I dash inside barely getting my new Forever21 active outfit wet. I would have just gotten back from the gym so my basket would be filled with raw vegetables, a couple of Pasadena Salads, and low-calorie beer. My basket would also contain non-fat, non-fructose, non-gluten, non-lactose, non-soy, non-milk Milk.

A.K.A. "I'm just buying this shit to look cool". Because we all know it's going in the fridge to be nudged in the back, to eventually get old, and thrown out.

Back to my daydream.   

The scenario plays out flawlessly. I will have already glanced at him in the milk alternatives section. Kellyanne Conway joke anyone? 

We end up walking towards the same register. He beckons his head for me to go ahead of him, but because he only had milk I elegantly do a Vanna White hand gesture from Wheel of Fortune to show that I have too many things in my basket, and that he could go ahead of me. He nods his head in thanks and places his non-milk beverage on the counter, and hunches down to look at the organic gum optionsIn the middle of his hard decision between cinnamon or spearmint the windows near checkout rattle from the hard thunder strike startling him. 

But not me, because I'm from Georgia. Have y'all even heard of tornado season?

He softly laughs and slowly looks behind him to see if anyone else in line was spooked.

Que my perfect conversation starter, "This weather is shitty."

He smirks. I blush. Then we go off and do obscene things with our milk substitutes and my raw vegetables.       

Obviously, that was a very hyped up account of what I want life to be like when I get through this. 

Trader Joe's will never have perfect parking. And even though it's active wear, anything from Forever21 is not built for sweat.

But it helps me. Coming up with scenarios on how I'll get myself back up and running is like a light at end of long road. Sorta like how the world will feel in about four years. #dumpTrump

A reminder I have set for myself : 

I have been here. I have gotten through this before. 

But damn does it pour when it rains. 

Just Fucking Do It.

Just Fucking Do It.

Never Fight For A Man

Never Fight For A Man