Adventures through Oz - We're off to see the Wizard

So in late 1992, I was 19. Knew it all, so much so that I walked straight into the tornado. No storm cellars for me, thank you, I'd much rather just ride like Mickey Knox, straight into the eye of the storm.



I hadn't dated anyone seriously because I still had an ex-boyfriend trying to cry me back and who I wasn't paying the least of amount of attention to. At 19, how could I? Just under a year and half away from legal drinking, friends, dates, many dates. I wasn't thinking anything about him. So, the tornado looked like a lot of fun to me, I was having a lot of fun and I had a good girlfriend to ride the storm out with, at least until she moved in with her boyfriend. But that's when the winds picked up too.



I met the Cowardly Lion first, at her housewarming and he wasn't even meant for me, he was meant for another skittish friend of ours. And he was pathetic to be sure. My best memory of him this day is that as we all got to hanging out and eating, talking and bullshitting, this guy just sat in a corner to himself. I thought that was really weird, I don't know why but it was. Well, when I got ready to eat, the only seat was next to him so I went over and asked was anyone sitting there. He said no, then jumped up and ran (yes, in an apartment, ran!) across the room to stand and wait for another seat to open up. When asked later about this weirdness, he told me that he's shy and he wanted me to be comfortable. Here he is the oldest person in the room (we were all young, with maybe 2-3 people that could legally buy alcohol, but if you got one, that's all you really need) and he's acting like we're at a middle school social. I didn't really think enough about him to like him or not, just that something wasn't sitting the good left of center.



The next day, I'd been invited with my girlfriend and her dude over to a Bronco party. It's like any great Sunday football party, with die-hard fans that aren't watching the game, just eating and playing cards/bones (dominoes) while the TV showed the game. We get there and guess who shows up but the weird man from the day before. Complete setup, and coaching too. He was different, more engaging, willing to talk and open up and I did believe him to be just a shy boy. But here's the warning signs that I missed: 26, single, living in his sister's basement because he got tired of living with his mom, shy to the point of skittish and now not so much. And he had the smoothest hands, with long nails and everything. Now let me make a side note here, I am suspicious of smooth hands on a man. First it implies no hard work, but that's not always true. It does suggest softness to me. Now, I'm not saying that a man can't have really great hands, mine does but he also doesn't grow out his nails also. It's feminine to me and it always will be...but moving on...His hands gave me pause, I don't think anything good can come from a man having pretty hands and I've been right both times.



His first act of control was very subtle. I'd just gotten of work and was hungry. He picked me and I asked him to take me through McDonald's. It never ocurred to ask him if he wanted anything because I figured if he was hungry he would speak up. He didn't, I got my food and grubbed. Now I can see the rudeness in it, but I can see the rudeness immediately and not a few days later. Yeah, missed that sign too. He stewed on it for days before mentioning it to me, and got angry when I asked him why he didn't say anything at the time, why be hungry and you don't have to...to begin to control.



It's been so many years now, that I don't really remember when the physical violence began, no that's not true I do. We'd been arguing, living in his mother's house while she lived in the Bahamas, paying the bills and keeping it up. I truly don't remember what we were arguing over, by that time in the relationship, it could have been anything. He had a chair and a stool to match that he loved. Standing on opposite ends of the room from each other and yelling, I was closest to the stool and I kicked it at him. I played soccer, so my aim was pretty good, and it just missed him. He charged me and WWF bodyslammed me to the floor, yelling about how I could have killed him with it. I'm thinking the whole time that I kicked it from across the room, he had a chance to move, but I didn't expect to be slammed. After he's done spitting and crying in my face he leaves and I was just stunned. He hadn't hit me, and it did seem like restraint, though I hadn't done anything to him but kick the stool.



That was just the end result of months of build up, moving into the house was a huge mistake. At the housewarming, my dad and my grandmother almost kicked his ass. A few months earlier at the Sweethearts Dance, my uncle and my grandfather got ready to kick is ass, matter of fact, when I think about it now, my mom might be the only one who didn't try. She did give me the best advice "He's got a hole in his ass, no matter how you try to fill him up, it's going to keep draining out of his ass." To which he'd stayed on the line and listenend to. So you know he came out of that bedroom ready to rumble.



But I never took this as I was being abused, even though I was drinking two full bottles of wine a night on worknights, and double on the weekends. I was so consumed with keeping our friendships together, my girlfriend and I were still close and we were each other's constant companions. We had the house, so all parties took place where we were. After work, weekends, we were all usually together. We had another two couples that we hung with too. But they had it bad, I mean their dudes were punching and beating on them. Mine was just throwing me around like a ragdoll trying to get his way, when he wasn't verbally assaulting me for another stupid thing I'd done. And you know, he only did it because he'd never graduated from high school and was scared about getting his GED, because his mom was religious and overbearing, and oh yeah, because his stepfather used to beat the hell out of his mother and never treated him like one of his own.



I identified with some of it. My stepfather was no peach, and he beat my mother and I for being different. He'd also gotten help, stopped drinking so much and apologized for his actions. To the best of my knowledge he's never beaten a woman again. I didn't walk with my class, and I have a soft spot for the hurt things. Obviously. None of this was anything that I could have fixed, but I stayed for almost 18 months and tried. I didn't leave until after I'd turned 21 and spent the night with my girlfriend's man not sleeping very much. It was an out, but it's also part two of this series....



What I hadn't stopped to deal with in the aftermath of breaking up is that I was being abused. Everyone but me saw it.



I label him the Cowardly Lion because he didn't have any nuts and there are a lot of men out there like this. He'd completely given them to his mother and I didn't know anything about telling him to go and get them back, he would've failed anyway. She wasn't about to let them go. Even knowing that he'd come to me as damaged goods, I thought that with love and care, I could change him. This will be a reocurring theme throughout this. Why could I change him? Because I'm strong, that's why, that's what I thought. I didn't know, no, I didn't believe at that time that sometimes people just get broken. I didn't have the wisdom of knowing the first step to changing a problem is admitting that there is one, the second being doing something about it. I thought that love can heal it all.



Also in the aftermath, he became a stalker. Here's the twist: he wasn't stalking me, he was stalking the Scarecrow, who is who he loved in the first place. It wasn't about losing me, it was about losing the friendship with him.



As a matter of fact, nothing got done in our home until the Scarecrow gave his seal of approval. It was just a sick situation to be in and I walked into that of my own free will. I'd stopped grooming myself, as I am quite vain. I'd stopped dressing in great clothes and sexy lingerie undereath. The sexy draws was never for a man, funny the things you remember, not like now. I didn't wear lingerie for men, I mean if I got lucky then benefit for him. But I didn't wear them in the hope of getting lucky, in my mind it was a given. I'm a girl, he's a boy. Simple biology. I wore the lingerie for me, I loved how it felt against my skin and the good stuff too. Victoria's Secret. Ohhh, I loved it. Through all of the mental manipulations to control me, I'd let myself go. The night we broke up, earlier that day I'd been with my girlfriend (I knooowww!), sweating on how I was going to tell her that I'd fucked her man but I didn't. After she took me home, I called another girlfriend and came clean. The Lion, was hiding in the house waiting for that to happen.



But all of this is for another post.



Until next time.

Adventures through Oz...an Introduction

I've been reading A LOT lately. The library issued me a card and I have been reading my behind off. All those years reading stuff that I didn't really like or the stuff that I did over and over again gave me some limitations...Then I came across The Wizard of Oz. Everywhere.



It came on TV like a million nights in a row, then there were the commercials for the commemorative plates, and the digitally remastered DVD available for a limited time. Everywhere, and the movie always scared me as a kid, so much so that I haven't ever read the book. That witch was scary, and flying monkeys, and a whole bunch of little people dancing around because somebody is dead. I mean I only really dug her shoes and Glenda the Good Witch. But the Wicked Witch of the East, nothing scarier than her. Even years later as a teenager, I watched a late night low budget scare flick that freaked me the hell out because the human witch in the story had green skin like Frank L. Baum's evil witch. Nightmares.



But back to what I was saying, the last reference came in a book I was reading at the time, Ditch That Jerk, great book. She was making the point of not being Dorothy and trying to save every jerk that crosses your path. And a gong went off. I've spent a large part of my adult life in Oz...



So the next few posts will be entitled Adventures through Oz, which if anyone starts to read, I'll have to change the title because I think that's the original title or one of the books in the series. I'm not exactly sure. I do this to get it out, purge it and give it to the world. There's a chance that this will reach the person that it needs to, just when it needs to and that's a great reason to do anything.

So, I'm writing a reply on Nappturality.com and I start thinking.

Why has this journey to natural hair been so impacting?

Because my hair, like my life, is not straight. I cannot profess to be walking the straight and narrow. I am thankful to Allah (swt) everyday that I get another chance to try and straighten this all out. But then am I supposed to? And who's straight and narrow?

I have cheated on men. I have. But if the man in question was where he needed to be when there was need for him, the cheating wouldn't have happened. But then, who am I kidding? I made the choice, I cheated. Until I just got tired of it. Or until I'd been left alone so long that it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy come to manifest, and I was one of the vessels. I've made apologies for it, apologies I inevitably don't mean. I have cheated on men.

I've lied. I've lied to avoid just about anything I didn't particularly want to deal with. Simple. I've told lies for my safety. I've lied.

My life is not straight, I am tested and I fail. Sometimes I don't. It is what it is. But I guess since the creamy crack has had a chance to get out of my system, I am having clarity of thought as my hair gets kinkier and kinkier. In having to take the time and do my hair, to think about what's good for my hair, to look at other journeys, read books (ahhhh, the books) I've begun to think what is best for me, for my children, for us. And I've gotten tired of somethings, fired up about others, one of the most important being to make my hair look its nappy best.

Yeah, it's been a mess lol!

The straight years were the worst, let me tell you, the straight hair days. I can't imagine what I was thinking. I'd tried one of those relax and color kits at home one time, about three weeks later, after a bath that felt GREAT! When I turned around and looked at the water, I noticed a good amount of my hair running down the drain too. I can't even describe the red colored mess that greated me in the mirror. Only rivaled by the time I'd try wearing a weave glued into the back of my head and it got wet. Both times, I was with this guy that was cheating on me, repeatedly, openly, shoot, one girl would go and get our drinks. Where was I? At home, finding anoter way to screw my hair up, to look more attractive for this jerk.

Which led me to another jerk, just another flavor. The funny part is, it's exactly what I asked for, with just enough of a twist to let me know that is not the way you Ask for Things. Still straightening my hair, but a little smarter about it (if that can even be said), I got involved with a very damaging man. He's still looking for ways, truth be told. Since he didn't like fake hair, I didn't get my hair latch-keyed very much, although I enjoyed the style very much. So it was creamy crack for me, for 6 long years of burning out my hair in the back, where it's always been thin due to a perm put in my hair too young. The more I tried to keep up "apperances" the worst my personal life got.

But then the summer of 2007 arrived, and the road to freedom began.

I decided not to put perms in my hair anymore. I, just didn't want to. So I wore it in braids for a long time, with short periods of afros in between. Then I got curious about other ways to wear my hair. But let's first talk about, the stages.

I'd gotten re-involved with a gentleman I'd previously known, during the straight years. Always, unquestionable someone I'd let touch my hair, and he gave me a lot of time to sit and think, but he also gave me a lot of time to discover what makes me happy, smile, laugh, joke, feel comfortable....how do I want to be treated. I wore my braids through the awkward transition from perm to natural. My ends had a lot of protection and I got to retain a lot of growth. I didn't like messin with it to much anyway, you could just see the breakage. This time last year, it was half fro, half straight. It was a mess to try and comb through, still too vain for the BC, but with more natural length, I am begining to consider it. Where there's no more relaxer, in the shorter parts, my twists and twist outs are beautiful. I also became aware, that I no longer considered me sexy anymore. Now, that's a problem. For me anyway, I've always said that even if no one else would marry me, I would. And I wouldn't have taken me for dollar menu.

My personal life was a mess too. Problems with the gentleman, confusion on my own part, hair not being what it should. Sucked.

Where am I now? Sucks...but not as bad. I use all of my time a little more wisely. I don't really care why the gentleman is the way he is. I just know I'm tired of it. I've started wearing my hair in two strand twists, still retaining a lot of growth and hopefully by the end of the year, I will truly have all of the perm out. My reading has expanded. My library card is like my license, a must have when I leave the house. This blog, although nobody reads it, is a great release. And my chance to show at least me, me...but then, who else matters anyway right? So why write the blog, right? Because I want to. Who knows who will come across these ramblings and find interest.

Anybody out there on a journey, hair or otherwise, that can feel it. I hope.

Some thoughts....

As I began my transition, it had more far-reaching effects.

And I am going to write about one of them.

In 1998, I ran into a man that I went to high school with. I couldn't stand him then, something about him just set my teeth on edge. But, meeting up with him again, after a few drinks before going to the club (I know, drunk, club. Should've been huge flags then), listening to him talk, he seemed like a really nice guy. Someone that I might want to get to know.

In 2009, I can tell you that the abuse that I suffered at the hands and mind of this man, just the previous paragraph shows all the red signs that I needed.

So I write this to say, for anyone, male or female that comes across this blog: Abuse is never okay. It is not your fault, unless of course you are the abuser, then it is your fault.

Ladies, if that guy is abusing you, and abuse doesn't have to be physical, mental abuse hurts just as much but is much more damaging, it is NOT YOUR FAULT. Again, IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. One more time, IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT.

He's a loser. He is most likely not going to change and you know what else? He's not sorry. Those are crocodile tears. He's doing exactly what he knows you want to hear so that he can maintain control.

I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that it's easy to leave. I stayed 2 1/2 years before being married to the bum for 6. I am still dealing with the after effects of the abuse. It's is hard, no doubt but how much fun would being dead be. I already felt mentally and emotionally dead, the only thing left for him was to take my life and that would've have been my fault too, in his opinion.

I know how it feels to wake up in the morning and not recognize yourself in the mirror. I woke up and not only did I not recognize myself, I couldn't have even told you how I ended up there.
I know how it feels to be hopeless, isolated, lost, lonely, and scared. I know what it feels like walking around on those eggshells, trying to control my behavior so I wouldn't get hit or yelled at. I feel you. I know how it feels to be dead on the inside, to the point of thinking that not even God was listening to me. But He was, and He created a way out for me. And He is listening to you too.

Too many of us are losing our lives to these losers, too many of us believe the load of crap they dish out.

If he has a pattern of hitting previous wives and girlfriends, guess what, he IS going to hit you too. You are not special and you cannot change him. GET OUT!

If he doesn't have a healthy relationship with his mother, chances are he IS not going to have a healthy relationship with you either. You are not special and you cannot change him. GET OUT!

If he is unsettled in his life, out of control, can't hold a job and always blaming others for his misfortunes, he IS going to blame you too. You are not special and you cannot change him. GET OUT!

Change comes from the individual person, not because YOU were special enough to cause it. You are not special and you cannot change him. LEAVE THE LOSER!

And one thing about these guys, the rarely hit other guys, only females. The are weak and looking to be in control of something, which usually means their mate, which usually means YOU.

My ex-husband still looks for ways to manipulate and control me. It's just how sad he is. He doesn't want me to tell my present husband about our conversations. Why? Manipulation and Control. Simple. It's hard, but it would've been harder to stay. He'd have either killed me or I'd have killed myself and I wasn't ready to die.

If you know that someone is being abused, speak up. The last these thing these abusers want is for their victim to know that they do have help and people that care about them.

And when you do get out, don't fall for the "let's go to counseling line." He doesn't mean counseling in the sense to get help, he's looking for another place to lay blame on you and get the counselor to agree. Don't fall for the "I was drunk", "I blacked out", "I don't remember", because I guarantee he remembers what set him off, and he'll only be to happy to tell you what you did or didn't do, in other words, lay the blame at your feet.

I write this because I have been through it. Get out and get help. I can breathe again, I can laugh and I can make and trust my own decisions. I wish the same for you.

Introduction

I started taking the idea of blogging seriously as I began my journey of transitioning my chemically treated African American hair to my natural kinky stuff.

I found that as I did more research on just how to wear my hair it took me down paths that I never thought to go down before. I had to sort out my feelings about natural hair. As easy as that may sound, for African Americans our hair is so much more than the coverings on our heads. I'd been chemically altering my hair for more than 20 years and I was a little girl that last time I saw my natural hair.

The initial decision was really very easy. I was completely tired of chemical relaxers. I was tired of buying them, I was tired of the time it took to apply them and condition my hair afterward, but most of all I was tired of the continued thinning of my hair in the back of my head. Over the years that particular spot on my scalp fluctuated from a few inches to 1/2 and inch. It was consistently being overprocessed. As I always applied my own relaxers, without help and without knowledge, I just continued to process it and process it. I finally decided that enough is enough and haven't used one since late 2007.

But as my hair started to grow, I had to deal with other things, not the least of which was my own attitudes toward my own hair. Even though I was born in the '70s and I remember my mother and everyone else around wearing afros, the political and social consciousness of it was never apparent to me. I mean, I sat and listened to the adults play spades while Earth, Wind, & Fire's musically social messages played in the background but I was much too much young to understand what the lyrics were trying to teach me and the adults ust loved the music. I preferred Parliament and Funkadelic, as I do to this day, but those social messages were lost on me. As I grew threw the '70s, everybody was wearing afros or braids, and I didn't have anything else to contrast what I was seeing. Some had great, thick afros. Some had wonderful cornrows flowing down their back with beautiful colored beads on the ends. I rarely saw "permed hair." That issue wouldn't raise its ugly head until later on in elementary and middle school.

I just plain didn't know what to do with my hair as it grew and the new growth met the chemically relaxed hair. I didn't have the slightest clue on how to keep my hair moisturized like I did with the perm. Soooo, I hit the Internet running, but not very fast, I must say. My sister eventually got tired of looking at my dried out "Angela Davis" and cornrowed by hair. I wore my hair like that for the majority of these last two years. Because my hair was braided, and my sister is a wonderful braider, I didn't have to look at my natural curls, unless of course, it was time to take the braids out, wash, condition, and get ready for the next beautiful, braided style my sister would come up with.

But braiding takes time, taking braids out takes time, and it was time that I was getting tired of spending. I wasn't very regular about covering my braids up at night before I went to sleep. After a couple of weeks of sleeping on my braids, they'd start to look frizzy and frayed. This time when I hit the Internet, it was in search of how to wear my natural curls without having to get braids. I found the cutest ideas, but I found something else too: a social commentary on the attitudes toward African American hair. By non African Americans and African Americans ourselves. At first glance, I wasn't interested in such deep topics, as I was only looking for some different ways to wear my hair. And I found one I love, two strand twists. Easy to do, easy to maintain, this was my new "do." Enter the attitudes.

My first attempt at twisting my hair resulted in large twists and I wrapped me a scarf around it and hit the streets. Well, I wasn't prepared for the reactions that I got to my hair. Hostile stares, looks of curiousity, etc. What sealed the deal was an incident at the grocery store. I was talking to one of the checkers, you know the one who watches over the self check out lanes and she took one look at my hair and refused to look directly at me again. I'd offended her not with my words, I'd simply picked up the wrong hot dog buns, but with my hair. My hair was making a statement, a statement that I was totally unaware of. I walked out completely affirmed in my decision to go natural. And I went back to the Internet, this time with renewed interest in the social commentaries about hair.

This blog is my experience of being an African American woman in America. My views on hair, our experience, skin color, and a lot of my general weirdness thrown in for fun.

So I hope that it is enjoyed, that it helps, and that it amuses. Anything that I may type that is offensive to others, I apologize in advance but I also encourage anyone offended to look within themselves and puzzle out why it was offensive.