Realizations of a young successful black man
- Thread starter SeveroDrgnfli
- Start date
SeveroDrgnfli
Ain't nobody tryin to get indicted.
Part 4: Dear Tragedy.
My soccer career is taking off. I'm playing in a pro am league that hosts international players. I was playing with nationally ranked players everyday. I knew I was one of the best players at my position because my team consistently placed second in my league and our games against the top team were always the best games of the season.
The team I coached was undefeated. The love of my life was pregnant was my first child. We planned our family and we made it happen. I was making 30 an hour working as a sports trainer for the club I paid for. I was renting an apartment with my girl for her two kids, and the child we were going to have.
I had the Benz, I had everthing. My business was so good I hired a PA and somebody else to handle accounts I didn't have time to handle.
I was preparing to have my first child and I was hustling hard trying to make a name for myself as a coach in case I didn't go pro.
When the love of my life got pregnant I decided I have to think long term. I changed my entire life for the family I was preparing to have.
That's when karma came back around. I had to bathe in my own blood to pay for my sins. I had to be crucified. I did it too big. I cut too many throats and stabbed too many backs. I had to pay for that.
I had no friends anymore. Brian had a GF. And after I took both of the girls he loved, obviously he didn't want to be friends with me, and honestly, I didn't want to be his friend either.
I didn't need him anymore. He was my little homie now. He couldn't handle it. He got fat and moved hella far away. He wasn't going anywhere in life. I was everywhere in life. And I did it on my own. My way. He witnessed it.
Part 5: Dear Tragedy Chapter 2 TBC
My soccer career is taking off. I'm playing in a pro am league that hosts international players. I was playing with nationally ranked players everyday. I knew I was one of the best players at my position because my team consistently placed second in my league and our games against the top team were always the best games of the season.
The team I coached was undefeated. The love of my life was pregnant was my first child. We planned our family and we made it happen. I was making 30 an hour working as a sports trainer for the club I paid for. I was renting an apartment with my girl for her two kids, and the child we were going to have.
I had the Benz, I had everthing. My business was so good I hired a PA and somebody else to handle accounts I didn't have time to handle.
I was preparing to have my first child and I was hustling hard trying to make a name for myself as a coach in case I didn't go pro.
When the love of my life got pregnant I decided I have to think long term. I changed my entire life for the family I was preparing to have.
That's when karma came back around. I had to bathe in my own blood to pay for my sins. I had to be crucified. I did it too big. I cut too many throats and stabbed too many backs. I had to pay for that.
I had no friends anymore. Brian had a GF. And after I took both of the girls he loved, obviously he didn't want to be friends with me, and honestly, I didn't want to be his friend either.
I didn't need him anymore. He was my little homie now. He couldn't handle it. He got fat and moved hella far away. He wasn't going anywhere in life. I was everywhere in life. And I did it on my own. My way. He witnessed it.
Part 5: Dear Tragedy Chapter 2 TBC
SeveroDrgnfli
Ain't nobody tryin to get indicted.
Dear Tragedy Chapter Two: Fast Cars, Knives, and Blood.
I'm living at my mom's house to help her with groceries and whatever she needed. My brother was a gangster ass nikka so he'd put hands on my mom sometimes. So I wasn't going to have that.
I was living with my girl at our apartment too. I didn't tell my mom anything about my life. I'd sneak out of bed at my girl's place and sneak into my mom's house so it looked like I woke up there.
Everybody knew my car in my hood. Real talk, kids would circle around my car when I'd wash it in the hood. I'd pay kids to watch my shyt. My car was my baby. I loved it more than any person. So I'm in the hood, my hood, talking business with a client. I come out from our meeting and my car had been keyed bumper to fukking bumper.
I was so mad I almost pocket checked everybody in the parking lot. I'm still mad about that. I'm on my way to visit my mom after that. I wore a tie everyday, tailored clothes too. I was fresh all day unless I was doing something soccer related.
I pull up to my mom's. Everything is as it should be, normal. I'm talking to my mom in her room, my brother walks in. We were never on good terms. We pretended neither of us existed.
I'm ignoring this invisible nikka and I see a silver streak coming at the side of my face. My instincts kicked in and put my hand up. I blocked the knife aimed for my face with my hand. I'm bleeding a lot now. I was scared. I'm a small dude. My bro is a big nikka.
I grabbed his hand that had the knife, while I'm smearing blood all over my mom's house. I wrestled him into the hallway, bad idea, he picked me up and threw me into bathroom and I broke the toilet with my back. That's hard he tossed me. The toilet was broken.
I got up quickly because I felt no pain. I was fighting for my life and I knew it. He still had the knife. I'm focused on the knife. He tried to stab me again, this time I was ready.
As soon as I saw that knife go back I kicked him as hard I could, then I punched him, choked him, slipped behind him, got him in a body locked and hung on for my life.
He was dying I could tell. I wasn't letting go though. I wanted to kill him. It felt good. I wanted to feel him take his last breath in my arms.
He stumbles into my mom's room while I'm choking him. We collapse on my mom's bed. I'm telling him to drop the knife or I'm going to kill him. He finally dropped the knife. I let him breathe. And he attacked me again. This time I held his throat with my forearm. I put all my weight on his neck and punched and choked him until he stopped moving.
I remember telling my mom to help me. I remember knowing I was going to die. I'd never see my love or my kids again. I had so many thoughts while fighting for my life.
I see blood on the walls. Blood on the floor. Blood all over my clothes. Water all over my clothes. I was in so much pain. I didn't know what to do. I didn't trust my mom because she let somebody almost kill me. I remember looking her in the eyes while he got close to stabbing me in the neck.
I called my love and this other girl I know. They talked me through what I need to do. I did what I was told. I didn't know where else I was bleeding because my whole body hurt and there was blood everywhere.
Last thing I remember about that night is facing a blunt and passing out next to my love.
Part Six: Up All Night Doing Cocaine. Coming soon.
I'm living at my mom's house to help her with groceries and whatever she needed. My brother was a gangster ass nikka so he'd put hands on my mom sometimes. So I wasn't going to have that.
I was living with my girl at our apartment too. I didn't tell my mom anything about my life. I'd sneak out of bed at my girl's place and sneak into my mom's house so it looked like I woke up there.
Everybody knew my car in my hood. Real talk, kids would circle around my car when I'd wash it in the hood. I'd pay kids to watch my shyt. My car was my baby. I loved it more than any person. So I'm in the hood, my hood, talking business with a client. I come out from our meeting and my car had been keyed bumper to fukking bumper.
I was so mad I almost pocket checked everybody in the parking lot. I'm still mad about that. I'm on my way to visit my mom after that. I wore a tie everyday, tailored clothes too. I was fresh all day unless I was doing something soccer related.
I pull up to my mom's. Everything is as it should be, normal. I'm talking to my mom in her room, my brother walks in. We were never on good terms. We pretended neither of us existed.
I'm ignoring this invisible nikka and I see a silver streak coming at the side of my face. My instincts kicked in and put my hand up. I blocked the knife aimed for my face with my hand. I'm bleeding a lot now. I was scared. I'm a small dude. My bro is a big nikka.
I grabbed his hand that had the knife, while I'm smearing blood all over my mom's house. I wrestled him into the hallway, bad idea, he picked me up and threw me into bathroom and I broke the toilet with my back. That's hard he tossed me. The toilet was broken.
I got up quickly because I felt no pain. I was fighting for my life and I knew it. He still had the knife. I'm focused on the knife. He tried to stab me again, this time I was ready.
As soon as I saw that knife go back I kicked him as hard I could, then I punched him, choked him, slipped behind him, got him in a body locked and hung on for my life.
He was dying I could tell. I wasn't letting go though. I wanted to kill him. It felt good. I wanted to feel him take his last breath in my arms.
He stumbles into my mom's room while I'm choking him. We collapse on my mom's bed. I'm telling him to drop the knife or I'm going to kill him. He finally dropped the knife. I let him breathe. And he attacked me again. This time I held his throat with my forearm. I put all my weight on his neck and punched and choked him until he stopped moving.
I remember telling my mom to help me. I remember knowing I was going to die. I'd never see my love or my kids again. I had so many thoughts while fighting for my life.
I see blood on the walls. Blood on the floor. Blood all over my clothes. Water all over my clothes. I was in so much pain. I didn't know what to do. I didn't trust my mom because she let somebody almost kill me. I remember looking her in the eyes while he got close to stabbing me in the neck.
I called my love and this other girl I know. They talked me through what I need to do. I did what I was told. I didn't know where else I was bleeding because my whole body hurt and there was blood everywhere.
Last thing I remember about that night is facing a blunt and passing out next to my love.
Part Six: Up All Night Doing Cocaine. Coming soon.
Last edited:
SeveroDrgnfli
Ain't nobody tryin to get indicted.
Lol yep, you're skipping to the end of my story breh. Let the beat build homie.
Well I was murdered yesterday.
SeveroDrgnfli
Ain't nobody tryin to get indicted.
Part six: Up All Night Doing Cocaine.
I wake up next to my love. My body hurts. I'm paranoid. I keep replaying the incident in my head. My mom almost let me get murdered in my house by my brother. I would have died in the prime of my life. Half way to greatness.
I love my girlfriend. I want her to have my kids and I want to marry her. She's my best friend and the love of my life. She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Also the coolest girl I've ever met. She gets me. She loves me more than anyone on this planet. She's the only person who loves me on this planet.
I picked her over my family, my friends, and everything else. She is my world. We both had good jobs so we decided we'd try to have a kid. She got pregnant a couple times and it didn't hold.
Being an orphan and someone who's never had friends, family, or anybody care about me made that relationship mean so much. I felt valuable. I felt safe. I felt loved. I never felt that way before. I knew we'd be together forever no matter what.
I came home and I'm looking at my love she looks different. I knew something was up. She tells me she's sorry. I'm thinking she's being silly and I go to kiss her because I'm not mad and I hate to see her nervous. She looks at me with her beautiful brown eyes searching my black eyes for a sign. I have dead eyes so she got nothing.
I see a hickie on her neck that I didn't give her. She says it was a mistake. And I say it's okay because my first reaction was to not react.
Technically we're both still single because we never had the talk to establish our relationship. But I know what she did. She slept with her baby daddy, who abuses her in every way imaginable. He would beat her with objects. That's why I rescued her. I was either going to kill him or provide my love with everything she needed to feel secure with me, I did, and she still slept with this guy.
I underestimated the paternal bond and the bond of being someone's first love. I felt so stupid. All my homies told me a bytch is a bytch and to never catch feelings.
My heart is in stomach. She has no idea how much she hurt me. I changed my life for her and I thought she was changing too, but I was wrong. I lost all my trust in her, but she promised it'd never happen again, and she said she's going to take the legal steps to keep him away from her.
I believed her knowing it wasn't true because I wanted it to be true. I loved her so much I'd do anything for her. Even play myself.
I've been stabbed. Heart broken. Cheated out of 3 thousand dollars by working with a shady ass black man who talked all that afrocnstricity shyt to get me to work before I got paid. He never paid me.
I've been betrayed by everyone and everything. I got out maneuvered too. I was playing high risk games with my life and I lost all three games at once. My heart was broken. I lost my drive to play soccer. I couldn't trust anyone anymore.
My fall back plan was to get a cooking job and rent a room in secret and dip out on everybody. I rented a cheap room that I could afford even when I wasn't working a lot. No matter what I'd have somewhere to sleep that's mine.
I decided I was done with soccer. Being cheated out a lot of money by the director of my club didn't sit well with me. I was going to beat his ass on sight, but that'd ruin my reputation, and I didn't know how to handle this legally. So I decided to walk away from soccer. I had been fukked over at a pro try out and I had been stolen from. Soccer broke my heart. My love broke my heart. My mom broke my heart.
I spiraled into paranoia and depression. I shut down and went into survival mode. I got heavy into drugs in Oakland. I was young, rich, cool, and heartless in the town. I smoked weed all day because I didn't have to work. I'd have my employees cover my gigs while I tried to overdose in Oakland. I used to never do drugs because I cared about my future. But I had no future, so fukk it.
I tried cocaine on a trip to Portland. I ended up high on blow and weed roaming around Portland in a suit, I still dressed like a nanny while living like a scum bag. Fast forward to now.
I'm living in this house smoking weed all day and drinking from time to time. My roommates were suicide kings too. They were drunk all the time. And on Xanax. They did acid, blow, and whatever else they could get. One day I finally gave in and started doing blow with them. We all wanted to die so we became drug buddies.
I really like cocaine. When I do a lot I feel good again. I feel confident. My coke habit got out of control in three days. I went from doing bumps to scar face lines and dragon tails in three days. I was buying whole grams and facing them in a few hours. I'd get so high I'd be up for days doing blow. I'd put it in my eyes. On my gums. On my tongue. And I snort it.
I remember I'd get so high I'd feel my heart beat speed up or slow down. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. Then I'd do a lot more blow. I didn't give a fukk about dying. Because nobody gave a fukk about me. I felt like I felt before I stepped off the porch.
I'm doing coke all day everyday except days I have to work. I decided I couldn't be a nanny anymore because I didn't want to be reminded of my whole life. I cut out on all my clients, got whatever job would hire me to do something simple, and moved to a city where I was nobody. I'd still baby sit to make extra money.
I dunno if these decisions were driven by me being suicidal, on drugs, heart broken, or paranoid. I wasn't thinking. I was just doing.
My coke habit went from recreational. To one gram. To three grams in two weeks. To three grams in two days. I wasn't stopping either. I'd get so high I'd pass out outside. I'd be in my house doing blow for five days straight. I didn't eat. I had no idea what time or day it was. I refused to answer my phone for months.
I had text messages and phone calls asking me if I'm dead. All that shyt. It made me angry and made me hit the coke harder because I knew they were pretending. Nobody cared when I almost died. And she didn't care when she slept with her BD. I didn't believe anyone cared now.
Part 7: There's Voices In My Head, Coming Soon...
I wake up next to my love. My body hurts. I'm paranoid. I keep replaying the incident in my head. My mom almost let me get murdered in my house by my brother. I would have died in the prime of my life. Half way to greatness.
I love my girlfriend. I want her to have my kids and I want to marry her. She's my best friend and the love of my life. She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Also the coolest girl I've ever met. She gets me. She loves me more than anyone on this planet. She's the only person who loves me on this planet.
I picked her over my family, my friends, and everything else. She is my world. We both had good jobs so we decided we'd try to have a kid. She got pregnant a couple times and it didn't hold.
Being an orphan and someone who's never had friends, family, or anybody care about me made that relationship mean so much. I felt valuable. I felt safe. I felt loved. I never felt that way before. I knew we'd be together forever no matter what.
I came home and I'm looking at my love she looks different. I knew something was up. She tells me she's sorry. I'm thinking she's being silly and I go to kiss her because I'm not mad and I hate to see her nervous. She looks at me with her beautiful brown eyes searching my black eyes for a sign. I have dead eyes so she got nothing.
I see a hickie on her neck that I didn't give her. She says it was a mistake. And I say it's okay because my first reaction was to not react.
Technically we're both still single because we never had the talk to establish our relationship. But I know what she did. She slept with her baby daddy, who abuses her in every way imaginable. He would beat her with objects. That's why I rescued her. I was either going to kill him or provide my love with everything she needed to feel secure with me, I did, and she still slept with this guy.
I underestimated the paternal bond and the bond of being someone's first love. I felt so stupid. All my homies told me a bytch is a bytch and to never catch feelings.
My heart is in stomach. She has no idea how much she hurt me. I changed my life for her and I thought she was changing too, but I was wrong. I lost all my trust in her, but she promised it'd never happen again, and she said she's going to take the legal steps to keep him away from her.
I believed her knowing it wasn't true because I wanted it to be true. I loved her so much I'd do anything for her. Even play myself.
I've been stabbed. Heart broken. Cheated out of 3 thousand dollars by working with a shady ass black man who talked all that afrocnstricity shyt to get me to work before I got paid. He never paid me.
I've been betrayed by everyone and everything. I got out maneuvered too. I was playing high risk games with my life and I lost all three games at once. My heart was broken. I lost my drive to play soccer. I couldn't trust anyone anymore.
My fall back plan was to get a cooking job and rent a room in secret and dip out on everybody. I rented a cheap room that I could afford even when I wasn't working a lot. No matter what I'd have somewhere to sleep that's mine.
I decided I was done with soccer. Being cheated out a lot of money by the director of my club didn't sit well with me. I was going to beat his ass on sight, but that'd ruin my reputation, and I didn't know how to handle this legally. So I decided to walk away from soccer. I had been fukked over at a pro try out and I had been stolen from. Soccer broke my heart. My love broke my heart. My mom broke my heart.
I spiraled into paranoia and depression. I shut down and went into survival mode. I got heavy into drugs in Oakland. I was young, rich, cool, and heartless in the town. I smoked weed all day because I didn't have to work. I'd have my employees cover my gigs while I tried to overdose in Oakland. I used to never do drugs because I cared about my future. But I had no future, so fukk it.
I tried cocaine on a trip to Portland. I ended up high on blow and weed roaming around Portland in a suit, I still dressed like a nanny while living like a scum bag. Fast forward to now.
I'm living in this house smoking weed all day and drinking from time to time. My roommates were suicide kings too. They were drunk all the time. And on Xanax. They did acid, blow, and whatever else they could get. One day I finally gave in and started doing blow with them. We all wanted to die so we became drug buddies.
I really like cocaine. When I do a lot I feel good again. I feel confident. My coke habit got out of control in three days. I went from doing bumps to scar face lines and dragon tails in three days. I was buying whole grams and facing them in a few hours. I'd get so high I'd be up for days doing blow. I'd put it in my eyes. On my gums. On my tongue. And I snort it.
I remember I'd get so high I'd feel my heart beat speed up or slow down. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. Then I'd do a lot more blow. I didn't give a fukk about dying. Because nobody gave a fukk about me. I felt like I felt before I stepped off the porch.
I'm doing coke all day everyday except days I have to work. I decided I couldn't be a nanny anymore because I didn't want to be reminded of my whole life. I cut out on all my clients, got whatever job would hire me to do something simple, and moved to a city where I was nobody. I'd still baby sit to make extra money.
I dunno if these decisions were driven by me being suicidal, on drugs, heart broken, or paranoid. I wasn't thinking. I was just doing.
My coke habit went from recreational. To one gram. To three grams in two weeks. To three grams in two days. I wasn't stopping either. I'd get so high I'd pass out outside. I'd be in my house doing blow for five days straight. I didn't eat. I had no idea what time or day it was. I refused to answer my phone for months.
I had text messages and phone calls asking me if I'm dead. All that shyt. It made me angry and made me hit the coke harder because I knew they were pretending. Nobody cared when I almost died. And she didn't care when she slept with her BD. I didn't believe anyone cared now.
Part 7: There's Voices In My Head, Coming Soon...
Last edited:
SeveroDrgnfli
Ain't nobody tryin to get indicted.
Part 7: There's Voices In My Head
I'm going to skip a lot of my drugged out period. It's not something I want to promote. I did a lot of foul shyt I'm not proud of. I went full savage with girls and drugs.
I'm not addicted to cocaine, I just want to die. All the while learning a lot about food and the business of it. It was hard for me because I never worked in a proffesional high volume kitchen. I sucked. I had to focus and train.
I slowly found love again. I was falling in love with food. I love preparing dishes, plating food, and serving it. Hell, I even like doing dishes and cleaning the gutters. Kitchen people are my people. We're all crazy, A type personalities, and highly skilled, but broken in some way.
My kitchen crew became my family. I got to work with people 20 and 30 years older than me. They've survived everything I've experienced and they were happy. They didn't make a lot of money. They got treated like shyt. They had to work very hard everyday at work. And they were happy. Most of them didn't have cars or nice clothes. But they were the funniest, coolest, strongest, people I've ever met.
They all helped rebuild me. I had some bad nights and some good days. They were the voices in my head when I was weak. They'd make me laugh and make me strong.
My one and only friend told me to love hurts and the sooner I move on the sooner I'd feel better. She made me have a routine everyday. She wouldn't allow me to slip back into doing drugs. She'd call me out on my drug use and forced me to care about my appearance and health again.
Slowly but surely I started feeling good again. I was learning so much about food everyday. I was looking good again. I was cleaning my room everyday, getting my haircut every two weeks, and working hard as much as possible.
I started developing business ideas. And kind of starting them. It reminded me of who I really am. I'm a hustler and a creative.
I love creative business models and being the face of a business. I love singing love songs and making girls smile whenever I want. I love love, I love beauty, I love working hard, I love getting my hands dirty. I love cooking the most though. And I no longer love soccer and cocaine.
The Finale: Realizations Of A Young Successful Black Man, coming soon.
I'm going to skip a lot of my drugged out period. It's not something I want to promote. I did a lot of foul shyt I'm not proud of. I went full savage with girls and drugs.
I'm not addicted to cocaine, I just want to die. All the while learning a lot about food and the business of it. It was hard for me because I never worked in a proffesional high volume kitchen. I sucked. I had to focus and train.
I slowly found love again. I was falling in love with food. I love preparing dishes, plating food, and serving it. Hell, I even like doing dishes and cleaning the gutters. Kitchen people are my people. We're all crazy, A type personalities, and highly skilled, but broken in some way.
My kitchen crew became my family. I got to work with people 20 and 30 years older than me. They've survived everything I've experienced and they were happy. They didn't make a lot of money. They got treated like shyt. They had to work very hard everyday at work. And they were happy. Most of them didn't have cars or nice clothes. But they were the funniest, coolest, strongest, people I've ever met.
They all helped rebuild me. I had some bad nights and some good days. They were the voices in my head when I was weak. They'd make me laugh and make me strong.
My one and only friend told me to love hurts and the sooner I move on the sooner I'd feel better. She made me have a routine everyday. She wouldn't allow me to slip back into doing drugs. She'd call me out on my drug use and forced me to care about my appearance and health again.
Slowly but surely I started feeling good again. I was learning so much about food everyday. I was looking good again. I was cleaning my room everyday, getting my haircut every two weeks, and working hard as much as possible.
I started developing business ideas. And kind of starting them. It reminded me of who I really am. I'm a hustler and a creative.
I love creative business models and being the face of a business. I love singing love songs and making girls smile whenever I want. I love love, I love beauty, I love working hard, I love getting my hands dirty. I love cooking the most though. And I no longer love soccer and cocaine.
The Finale: Realizations Of A Young Successful Black Man, coming soon.
SeveroDrgnfli
Ain't nobody tryin to get indicted.
Realizations Of A Young Black Man:
Realizations about ego: it's healthy to be confident and humble. Confidence without humility isn't real. It's a thin shield people can see through and it was used against me. My false sense of confidence was a factor in my destruction and failure.
Realizations on friendship: never switch up on your day ones. Yes I loved those girls with all my heart, but love comes and goes, and no matter how real it feels it'll never be more real than the people who stuck by me since day one when I wasn't shyt.
I shouldn't have put the people I love before myself. I should have focused on fulfilling my dreams and being secure and happy rather than trying to solve everyone's problems. I was a child acting as an adult. I wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared to be in those positions.
Realizations about family: My mom did more harm than good. Parents are supposed to protect their kids. Nobody protected me. And I ended up being hurt very badly in every way imaginable. Yes I'm accountable for my decisions, but I was a fukking baby out in the world doing the most following other lost kids. Kids shouldn't raise kids. Kids needs guidance and adults at all times.
I forgive my mom. And I've been rebuilding our relationship one day at a time. I had to see a therapist and work through my personal issues. But I'm healthy now and I can see things clearly now.
Realizations on health: being healthy to me means I'm being honest about my feelings to myself and other people. I fight for my feelings and recognize it's okay to feel how I'm feeling but it's not okay to harm myself or other people because of how I feel.
Being skinny doesn't mean I'm healthy or beautiful. When I weighed 140 something I had no fat on my body and I felt ugly. That's why I stunted so hard. I'm 155 now and I've got a little belly. I fee genuinely beautiful because I'm happy and I look forward to tomorrow and today.
I do whatever makes me happy. I bike or skate everyday. Sometimes I dress bummy. Some days I dress high class. If it makes me smile I'm doing it.
I accept myself for all the bad and good I am. I pray everyday for the world. I only ask God to allow me to be an instrument of love and I ask everyday for forgiveness for living my life like a wild fire. I destroyed so much.
Now there's nothing left of me. I'm grateful for any good I'm allowed to experience and I accept all the bad as punishment for being a demon for most of my life.
To Be Continued...
Realizations about ego: it's healthy to be confident and humble. Confidence without humility isn't real. It's a thin shield people can see through and it was used against me. My false sense of confidence was a factor in my destruction and failure.
Realizations on friendship: never switch up on your day ones. Yes I loved those girls with all my heart, but love comes and goes, and no matter how real it feels it'll never be more real than the people who stuck by me since day one when I wasn't shyt.
I shouldn't have put the people I love before myself. I should have focused on fulfilling my dreams and being secure and happy rather than trying to solve everyone's problems. I was a child acting as an adult. I wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared to be in those positions.
Realizations about family: My mom did more harm than good. Parents are supposed to protect their kids. Nobody protected me. And I ended up being hurt very badly in every way imaginable. Yes I'm accountable for my decisions, but I was a fukking baby out in the world doing the most following other lost kids. Kids shouldn't raise kids. Kids needs guidance and adults at all times.
I forgive my mom. And I've been rebuilding our relationship one day at a time. I had to see a therapist and work through my personal issues. But I'm healthy now and I can see things clearly now.
Realizations on health: being healthy to me means I'm being honest about my feelings to myself and other people. I fight for my feelings and recognize it's okay to feel how I'm feeling but it's not okay to harm myself or other people because of how I feel.
Being skinny doesn't mean I'm healthy or beautiful. When I weighed 140 something I had no fat on my body and I felt ugly. That's why I stunted so hard. I'm 155 now and I've got a little belly. I fee genuinely beautiful because I'm happy and I look forward to tomorrow and today.
I do whatever makes me happy. I bike or skate everyday. Sometimes I dress bummy. Some days I dress high class. If it makes me smile I'm doing it.
I accept myself for all the bad and good I am. I pray everyday for the world. I only ask God to allow me to be an instrument of love and I ask everyday for forgiveness for living my life like a wild fire. I destroyed so much.
Now there's nothing left of me. I'm grateful for any good I'm allowed to experience and I accept all the bad as punishment for being a demon for most of my life.
To Be Continued...
newworldafro
DeeperThanRapBiggerThanHH
OP sounds like Rain Main meets Pablo....