Rest In Peace Michael Lee Thomas, Jr. aka Louis Keyz

Keylos Santana aka Lenny Keyvitz aka Goldfangas lol

On July 5, 2015, my brother, Michael Lee Thomas, Jr., was murdered. He was 33 years old.

He was a poet.

He was a musician.

He was a chef.

He was a confidant.

He was a father.

He was a son.

He was a brother.

He was an uncle.

He was a friend.

He mattered.

He was gentle.

He was kind.

He was logical.

He was a dreamer.

He was generous.

He was thoughtful.

He was a genius.

He mattered.

I loved that man with all of my heart.

He was special.

He was a friend to those who didn’t have any.

He was an anchor for 3 sisters who were known to fly off the deep end.

He was a comedian.

He was a peacekeeper.

He mattered.

He mattered.

His life mattered, but he was still taken away.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over the pain that I feel. I don’t know if this hole in my heart will heal. I don’t know about much of anything these days.

But what you should know is that when you post #blacklivesmatter and #alllivesmatter they aren’t just cool hashtags to put up on your social media sites for shits and giggles.

There are names behind those hashtags. There are LIVES behind those hashtags. There are families and friends who are hurting behind those hashtags. Those hashtags mean something.

One of those names is Michael Lee Thomas, Jr.

Born on July 25, 1981, taken from us on July 5, 2015.

He mattered.

He still matters.

He will always matter to me.

Selma

I took The Kid to go see Selma today. I was extremely apprehensive about viewing it. Not because I thought he was too young or because I thought it would be too graphic. I think children, especially black children should learn about the history of our country and the struggle of our people as early as possible. 

Anyway, I was apprehensive because of Oprah. Me and Oprah ain't friends. I won't get into a long, drawn out story about why we fell out, just know that all of my reasons are valid. 

So we go to the theater. First perk is that The Kid got in free. I thought that was pretty awesome. I asked the young lady at the counter how long this awesomeness would last. Our conversation went like this:

Me: Free? Say what? How long will this be going on?
Girl at Counter: Oh, until January 16th.
The Kid: But...
Me: *side-eye* *whisper in harsh tones* Shut. Your. Mouth.
Me: Well, that's great. How much will my total be?
Girl at Counter: $6.95
Me: Many thanks. Have a blessed and wonderful day.
*we walk away quickly*
The Kid: Mama, I really don't feel right about this. The 16th was a week ago.
Me: Look Kid, if that heffa decided she wanted to go back in time to provide us a service who are we to stop her shine? You want popcorn don't you? An Icee? Well that ticket money can get you some gobstoppers or something.
The Kid: Oh? Okay. Never mind then.

Nothing like the promise of snacks to shatter a young child's moral code.

I'm going stop right here and tell you that if you haven't seen this movie there will be tears.

And not regular tears either. Honey, there will be some ugly crying. Super ugly. So, if you are trying to go on a first date to see it please reconsider and go with your girlfriends. They understand your ugly and new guy might not be so forgiving. 

I don't want to talk about the exact things that happened in the movie because I really want everyone to go see it and experience it themselves. It really is a must see despite Oprah.

What I will talk about are the emotions that I felt while viewing it. 

I felt outrage at the sheer ignorance and stupidity of some of the white people involved.

I felt confusion at the fact that people were so peaceful. I wanted to yell and scream and tell someone to mollywhop the entire fuck outta somebody. 

I felt regret that I haven't done more to further the goals and dreams of Martin Luther King, Jr.

I felt happiness that my child was interested in seeing this movie and could actually identify some of the major characters of the Civil Rights Movement.

But mostly and most intensely, I felt sadness.

Why?

Because I could see and feel how much things have not changed. 

Blacks have the right to vote, but we don't use that right like we are supposed to. If we did we'd have far less of George Wallace's interns in office.

Police officers still use their badges as an excuse to exert unyielding authority on the unarmed and not so dangerous. 

The government still would rather spend our tax dollars on wars and unrest overseas before dealing with the major problems at home in our country.

We are still segregated. Yes, we all have friends different races and ethnicities. We can eat at the same restaurants and drink from the same fountains. But honestly, when you go home what do you see? Is there a vast racial mix in your neighborhood? Your church? The places you go for fun?

The Civil Rights Movement was not even a lifetime ago. In fact, parents were about my son's age when all of this was going on. Maybe some of your parents were too. 

Knowing that my parents experienced some of the things that we were seeing on screen bothered my spirit in such a major way. Because what they struggled for, what they saw friends and neighbors get beaten for or die for... 

We are still fighting for.

That breaks my heart. 

So, I'm urging everyone who reads this; black, white and otherwise, to go see Selma. View the movie with an open mind and an open heart. Learn something. Whatever you learn, when you leave the theater, teach that to someone else.

We don't have the exact same fights that Martin Luther King, Jr. and the other members of SCLC and beyond had to battle, but we still have reasons to stand together and try to make a difference in our world. 

I have no idea what I'm going to do, but I know that I'm going to do something. I HAVE to do something. 

Watching Selma reminded me of that.

Let's Make a Deal

The Warden gave me an assignment to talk about deal breakers in my relationship. I don't want to hear her mouth because I don't have any razor blades left in my stash so I'm just gonna do this to keep her trap on shutdown.

Before I begin the discussion you should know that I have been with my husband since right before I turned 16. On June 22nd, we will have been together for 20 years. This means that I have been with him for over half my life. In fact, if I do the math, I'm pretty sure it's close to 2/3. 

Just keep that lovely factoid in the back of your mind while I go through this, okay?

Back in the day, I kept a deal breaker on tap. I mean why not? I had to have something to put the fear of God and me not dealing with him in him right? A dealbreaker, to me, was a training tool. Something written down in the "Big Book of Shit That Girlfriends Do". I had to make sure I was being the proper kind of boo... so I set some ground rules.

If he didn't call me right back? We breaking up.

If he didn't remember to open doors for me or just be an all around gentleman? We breaking up.

If he didn't get my order right at Wendy's? Oh hell no! We. Breaking.The entire.Fuck.Up.

And I was serious about that foolishness. I'm really not sure why he dealt with it. Well, if you've seen me you know why he dealt with it but... I'm just saying. I'm not sure many other men would have. 

Then again... you've seen me. They probably would have.

As we got older, we made more deals. We broke more deals. And then we made the most major deal that any two people can make. 

Marriage.

We said vows. Those are like the ultimate in contractual agreements. 

And wouldn't you know it, we broke some of those promises too.

Things that I said I would never tolerate, the things that I said would be the reason for me to call it quits, none of it mattered when push came to shove and I had to make a real life decision. 

Maybe I'm a punk. 

It's possible. 

Maybe I'm a sucker. 

That's Likely. 

More than anything though I think the answer would be that I am ridiculously, deeply, wholeheartedly in love with the man that I literally grew up with. 

I can't just up and leave him because he broke some arbitrary rule that I made up for my happiness and comfort. 

That's not true. I totally have a list. 

Tee's Big List of Deal Breakers

1. Ruin my credit. I've already done that once. I won't be living that less than stellar credit life again, especially not because of something somebody else did. I'll drop him like a bad habit if Experian and Equifax tell me to.
2. Limit my time with the people I love. And by people I love I mean Justin Timberlake, Robert Downey, Jr., Idris Elba, Willie Geist, Bryan Williams, or Joe Biden. He ever tells me that I have to choose between him and one of my boos? Sayonara sweetie, it's been really real.
3. Take my handbags away. Just know that if it happens you will see me on the news. 
4. Dishonesty. Not really down for lies in any way, shape, form, or fashion. I'm too old for that kind of stress. I don't have time to be playing Inch High Private Eye on your ass and trying to figure out what you really meant or what you've been doing. Just tell me the truth and let me figure out what I want to do with it. Unless you're telling me I look better than Beyonce', then I'm with it.

He hasn't even tried to break any of these rules. He knows better. 

Seriously, in the 20 years that we've been together we've been through just about every trial that a couple can go through. If I had stuck to the rules that I set when I was 16 I know I wouldn't be with him.

I'm not saying that I'd be alone. You've seen me right?

I'm just saying that I wouldn't be with the person that I know God made for me. 

After writing all of that, I'm not sure that I made a point. Actually, I'm pretty sure I didn't. Whatever. I hope whoever is reading this got something out of it. Good night. 

Serenity. Courage. Wisdom - Part 2

I got another tattoo yesterday. Three words on my left wrist: serenity, courage, wisdom. A while ago I wrote about why these three words mean so much to me. 

I'd been going back and forth about getting a new tattoo for several months now. So why yesterday instead of 3 months ago? Well, yesterday a friend of mine and I were talking about it so I decided to do it. But that conversation (which was EPIC by the way) is not the only reason why I pulled the trigger.

My anxiety came back. 

For months I've been good. So good that I even stopped carrying my meds around in my purse. I didn't need my 911 pack anymore because I hadn't been dealing with any symptoms. No panic attacks. No insane heart palpitations. No tears.  

But some stuff I thought I got rid of came back and combined itself with some new stress and... BOOM. That elephant was sitting on my chest again. 

I had to remind myself that I cannot change the behaviors of others. I can only change how I react to their behavior. I had to remember that everything is not worth getting riled up and angry about. Some things just aren't worth the fight. 

My peace of mind is far more important than trying to right someones wrongs.

That's what this tattoo means to me. It's a constant reminder that I am more important than whatever the struggle I am going through at the time. I may not be able to control what other people do, but I can control how I react to them.

Serenity. Courage. Wisdom. 

No a tattoo didn't give me those things. It didn't miraculously make my anxiety go away either. I certainly wasn't expecting that. But in some ways I do feel better. 

It's like I have a permanent security blanket. And constant comfort is kind of what I need right now. 

Random Thoughts From My Sick Bed

Well, that 30 Day Challenge was and epic failure. I can't even give a valid excuse for why I didn't complete it. I just didn't. I guess you can call me lazy. I don't mind that judgment. I am lazy. I'm the laziest person you know. If I have to pick between sitting very still and exerting no energy and doing something productive... doing nothing wins every damn time. 

Anyway, these days I've been suffering from an upper respiratory infection. I'm not sure what causes this kind of condition, but I'm going to blame it on the people that I work with. Not because I think they are contagious. Just because I like blaming stuff on them. Co-workers are the best scapegoats for when shit goes wrong in your life. You can blame them all day long and they will be none the wiser.

I'm supposed to be resting right now. But that's the gotcha gotcha. When somebody tells me to rest, I'll find every reason not too. So I guess that makes me the most stubborn lazy person you know. You can judge me for that too. 

I hate being sick. Being sick messes with my sunny disposition. When I'm sick I get mean. I gripe, I snap, I cuss, I kick (only once, and that nurse was being rough so...) So the odds of you getting cussed (that's country for cursed y'all) all the way out are pretty high. Don't take it personally. It's just a caustic combination of hormones, meds, germs, and me. Some folks would call that a Kavorkian-like cocktail. I call it "shut the hell up and leave me alone before I hurt your feelings and we all end up in tears." 

My husband and my son are used to my shenanigans when I'm unwell. In fact I haven't seen either one of them in about 72 hours. They are avoiding me. This makes me sad. Not really, they'll pay for it later. Knowing that makes me happy.

I'm not evil. I'm just sick. 

I'm all stopped up. I'm mouth breathing like Biggie Smalls. I can't hear. I'm dizzy. I'm sneezing. This is not a time in my life that makes me feel like smiling. It's all because of my coworkers. 

If I'm mean to you, blame them. If I flip you the bird for smiling, blame them. If I cut you off in traffic, blame them. If I trip your loud, obnoxious kid in the grocery store... blame me. That's all me. 

I'm starving. I'm probably the only sick person in the world that gets hungry instead of losing her appetite. I've been eating chips, salsa, pizza, candy... It's a problem. But this always happens. I get sick and I gain weight. I eat more when I'm ill than I ever do when I'm feeling okay. So I guess this means I'm the hungriest, stubborn, lazy person you know. 

Whatever. 

Well, that's about all I have today. My mind is all over the place. I didn't even share the most random things I came up with. You would really think I'm crazy if I did.

When this fog clears I'll read this and probably give a big ole WTF, like you are now. 

Until then I'm gonna stay hopped up on meds, OJ, and apple Jolly Rancher sticks. And maybe a 5 Guys burger and some fries...

30 Day Blog Challenge: Day 6 - The Hardest Thing You've Ever Experienced

The hardest thing I've ever experienced is marriage. Staying married is hard work. I really don't think folks realize that. That is all. 

I'm Not "Right"...But It's OK

Last week my book club discussed a book called "The Secret That She Kept".  The main character of the book was a successful Black lawyer who suffered from bipolar disorder.  I enjoyed this book, not only because it was well written, but because the topic hit pretty close to home for me.

After our discussion I decided to write about my struggles with anxiety and depression. Then I got scared and changed my mind.  This is not a subject that I'm completely comfortable talking about with others.  I was always taught to keep "family business in the family" and to "keep some secrets for ya'self" so I figured my fear was the atmosphere's way of telling me to shut the hell up.  But, talking about this has been on my heart and mind for a while now, so I've decided to put my fear aside and have a conversation with you all (although one-sided). If you don't mind.

Several years ago, I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and major depressive disorder.  Hindsight being 20/20, I now know that I've dealt with both (especially anxiety) for most of my life.  However, the way that my illnesses manifest led me to believe that it was just my personality.  I just thought it was how I was.

Getting a diagnosis didn't change anything though.  I didn't receive any treatment.  I acted like it never happened.  To me, accepting my diagnosis meant that I would be green lighting folks to call me crazy.  And while people have been calling me crazy for years, I didn't want that to be due to a legitimate mental illness.  I knew I wasn't "quite right", but again, I thought it was just my personality.  I was in denial about it for a very long time.  And because I didn't feel bad all the time, denying what was really going on was easy.  Denial kept me in a bad place for a very long time.

About four years ago, I decided that I had to get over myself and seek help.  I experienced an onslaught of life changing events that had me feeling like I was drowning in quicksand.  That's the only way I can describe my depression, quicksand.  When it gets bad, the more I move, the more I feel like I'm going under.    Anyway, all of these things made me feel like I was spinning out of control.  Because I am an anal retentive control freak who feels the need to be able to control EVERYTHING, being out of control made me feel like I was dying.  Not having control made me extremely sad and anxious, so my illnesses escalated.  I tried to work through these feelings on my own for a while.  I FINALLY realized that overcoming them would not be something I could do on my own. I needed help. So I sought out a therapist and talked about my issues with my family physician.

Doing that was the single best decision that I have ever made.  It literally saved my life.

So, I said all of that to say that I'm writing this post for the people who are out there who are feeling the heavy darkness of depression or the chest crushing pressure of anxiety. I understand. 

I have a mental illness.  My brain doesn't fire the same way that "normal" brains do.  I will never be 100%, at least not when I'm not on meds.  I'm not ashamed to share that I have to talk to someone to help me clear my head or that I have to take a pill (or two) to make sure my brain fires the way that it should. 

OK, full disclosure, I'm not ashamed anymore.  Remember I told you that I'm anal.  I like for things to go as planned.  Deviation from the plan causes problems for me.  Being diagnosed with a mental illness is a HUGE deviation.  I worked hard to be perceived as the perfect daughter, the perfect friend, the perfect student, the perfect girlfriend.  Depression and anxiety prevented me from completing my checklists for life.  I couldn't control my own feelings.  Because of that I was ashamed.  Shame led to denial.  For years I denied my illness and kept the fact that I even had a diagnosis to myself.  I didn't tell anyone.  More than anything, I didn't want people to look at me differently.  I didn't want to be judged, coddled, avoided, or called crazy (people still call me crazy, but for different reasons that I'm completely comfy with).  Shame is also part of the reason why it took me so long to seek treatment.  

I'm pretty sure some of you are wondering why I'm even saying anything now.  I know for sure that someone is thinking that I'm sharing too much.  I'm honestly not completely sure.  I just wanted to talk about it.  I felt like if I was going to live my life honestly, I had to be honest with myself and with others about the things that I struggle with on a daily basis.  Depression and anxiety happen to be a couple of those things.

Years of prayer and therapy have gotten me to a place where I can freely talk about my issues without fear of what other people think about me.  I know now that I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.  I'm not alone.  Knowing that I don't have to deal with this on my own brings me comfort.  So I guess I'm trying to bring comfort to someone out there that is feeling like they are all alone with their struggle. 

You are NOT alone.  Don't let the dark, murky feelings, scary feeling that you may be feeling overwhelm you.  Don't make any rash decisions because you are feeling low.  Don't let your fears keep you from doing things that will likely bring you joy. Don't let these things make you feel like you have no hope.  Some solutions are permanent, those are not the right decisions to make. 

Remember that. 

Understand that mental illness has no specific demographic.  All mentally ill people are not poor or homeless and walking the streets talking to themselves.  Mental illness can be an urban raised, suburban living, college educated, black sorority girl with high blood pressure and a fetish for vintage handbags.

It can affect anyone.

And anyone can recover.  Although it's a life changer, it doesn't have to change your life for the worst.  Seek help.  Find a therapist or clergyman that can help you.  Talk to you physician and see if medications could help.  Exercise, journal, blog...do something that will help you relax and bring you some joy.

A diagnosis of a mental illness is not a great thing.  I'll be honest about that.  If I had my choice, I definitely wouldn't choose to deal with the struggles of depression and anxiety.  But, that's not the path that God has laid out for my life.  I've come to the realization that it's not something that can be ignored.  It won't go away on it's own.  I'm in this fight for what might be forever.  And I've decided as long as I fight this battle in a healthy way I will be okay.  I hope that someone reading this comes to that realization too.

Enough IS Enough

Amen.

I saw this posted on PostSecret this morning. It really struck a chord with me. The idea of knowing that I am "enough" is a constant struggle for me. After seeing this secret, I immediately knew that I should write about it, but I couldn't really find the words.

It has taken me almost 14 hours to come up with the following paragraphs...

Like many females, I have struggled with maintaining my self-esteem. I have been in situations that led me to compare myself to other people. I questioned why my skin wasn't the right color. Why my hair isn't straight enough. Why my legs aren't long enough. I wondered what made other women more desirable or likable than me. I have looked to men to validate me. I have looked for permission from others to accept myself (or who I thought I was) .

Over the years, I have accepted and allowed a lot of things for no other reason than because I thought I deserved it. I thought that because I didn't measure up, what I was getting was the perfect portion for me. Only recently have I realized that I haven't been getting my fair share. That I deserve so much MORE. But I've also realized that I will never get more until I accept the fact that I that there is room inside me for what's in store.

So every day, beginning as soon as I open my eyes, I start saying positive affirmations like the one on PostSecret. Slowly, but surely, I am beginning to believe the words that I say. I'm not completely there yet. And honestly, I don't know if I will ever be 100%, but my goal is to get as close to that as I can.

I have the power. I have to believe that. I may never be the tallest, skinniest, or even the prettiest girl in the room. But I will always be the best me that I can be.

And that is more than enough.

Indifference

The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference... - Elie Wiesel

IDC

Indifference. It's certainly an odd emotion. In layman's terms indifference is pretty much the point when you just don't give a shit. Just about anything that is remotely associated with whatever it is that you previously cared about you give approximately 0 damns about now.

What's odd is that it usually surprises you. You don't know that you don't care until you realize that instead of blowing your top, you're shrugging your shoulders, taking a sip of tea, and giving a big ole blank stare.

I know you've experienced it.

The point where instead of losing your mind when you find out your boo is doing things they shouldn't, you just shake you head and bid them adieu. No tears because you are hurt, just tears because you can't believe you wasted so much time dealing with a person like that.

That project at work that was sooooo important that you were losing sleep. But people keep undermining your ideas and management keeps making asinine decisions so it's affecting your productivity. Instead of flipping tables in meetings, you just let them have their way and don't even smirk at their failures.

Most people would say that this is not a good emotion. They would say that a person that just doesn't care or doesn't feel any emotion about things isn't really taking advantage of the human experience. I disagree. I think that indifference is an essential emotion. It is as important as happiness, sadness, and anger. Some things are not worth wasting heartfelt emotions like hate (although, I don't believe in hate...just extreme dislike) on. Some people aren't worth dedicating important moments of your life to.

I choose to assign happiness to things that really and truly matter. I choose to assign anger and sadness to those things too. Indifference is the black hole where all the unimportant crap dwells. They are assigned side-eyes, blank stares, and head shakes. Because honestly, most of those things are really even important enough for words.

Honestly, indifference is my goal for a lot of things. This doesn't mean that I want to live my life without feeling happiness, sadness, or anger. I'm not apathetic. What it means, to me at least, is that I don't want to dwell on tomfoolery and shenanigans that other people can bring into my life. I've found that most of the things that make me sad or angry are because of other people's decisions.

Indifference is about taking the control that those people have over you away. It's not apathy by any means. An apathetic person doesn't care about anything. A person who is indifferent about some things cares enough about themselves to not care about things that don't matter.

Take back the control that you've given others. Defy them by not caring about what they do or say. Don't let them ruin your day or take up any extra moments in your life.

And remember, nothing makes a hater feel more stupid than hitting them with one of these: