God and Wine

We put seat fillers in the places and spaces that God has reserved for someone or something else. Impatiently, we try to fit cubical objects into cylindrical spaces; discontentedly, we clog the arteries of our dreams and desires with fatty waste that is, at minimum, unnecessary, and at most, life-threatening. We are impatient with our dreams and goals, and our seat fillers--the drug abuse, that man or woman that ain't good for us, that career of convenience we chose over a life of passion--set us back instead of pushing us forward.  God wants to push us forward, to have a faith that is content with the empty seats in our auditoriums--a faith that, in the midst of emptiness, is full and fervent.  Lately, I've been identifying the seat fillers in my life in a desperate attempt to save myself from myself. I've cried out to God, "forgive me for not waiting for and anticipating the people and the places you have been preparing for me, for not trusting that my g

(Circa 5:30 am) Today's a new day. I'm 3 days sober and determined to make 2015 a stellar year, even if it kills me. I deserve it.  (Hours later) ...feeling a little bipolar today. There were great moments when I smiled  and other moments when I fought back tears. It amazes me how some people want to fix your "problem" so quickly without actually trying to understand what it is. 

12.21.2014 *Don't expect a new post every day. This writing spree is mostly therapeutic and posting publicly allows me to partially free myself from my pain.  This is day two of this journey. I cried myself to sleep last night. I was angry and sad and tired and thirsty, and those sleeping pills just weren't cutting it. I wondered about the silence of those around me. When I was younger, I used to communicate with those strange people we call “friends” almost daily. As I age, the phone calls are almost non-existent. The texts come less frequently. I look through my phone log and the person I've communicated with the most these past couple of weeks is someone I’m annoyed with right now. What is this age thing? Everyone’s with their lovers, parents, and children, and I'm lamenting while sipping hot tea. I’m angry at my friends for not checking in. I often wonder how they’d react if I just disappeared—fell off the face of the earth. I’m trying that deactivating Fac

12.20.2014 Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Or whatever. These past two mornings, I've spent some much needed time with God—my God who I've neglected and rejected with the lame excuses of busyness and exhaustion. In the past 24 hours alone, I've come to the realization that I’d much rather be dead than to continue living this falsified, inebriated life that I pretend to enjoy. In my conversations with God, some things have been reaffirmed: for one, 2014 has been a most tumultuous year. The highs were high and counterfeit; the lows were real and perpetual. I've yet to escape the demons that I thought I’d fought off months ago. The flames of hell might have died down for a while but when they reignite, they rise with a vengeance. On this cold, gray morning, I stand in the pit of hell, frozen. My anxiety is running rampant in the pit of my stomach and I’m convinced hell is more like sharp cuts of an icicle than that of a raging fire. My feet are frost-

I’m staring at this blank word document trying to sum up enough energy to put some words on this page that make sense. Mostly, I'm just venting about my disposition because, at minimum, it's therapeutic. As I begin this, I only have a few more hours to write before I have to put on a mask of makeup and dance my way onto the stage, smiling while singing while sweating, and spreading loads of holiday cheer. My goal is to let my adrenaline push me through this show so that I can get home to reunite with my bottle of Cabernet and sulk about my mental and emotional state of being. We’re in the thick of another holiday season, and once again, I hate my life. During this time of year, I often feel like that kid who watches the other kids play outside from inside her living room window. Another holiday party picture is posted to Instagram. Another Christmas engagement is announced. Another “Santa brought us a baby this year” status update. And though I share in your joy (yes YOU wit

I didn't sleep well last night and many other nights in the past couple of weeks. I've tried to pinpoint the anxieties and "handle them" like Olivia Pope. Recently, however, I started to feel as if one of my anxieties, in particular, was connected to the constant streaming of news (and opinions) related to the unfortunate events of the Mike Brown murder and the trial that followed, the Eric Garner murder and the non-indictment of the cop who choked him to death, and the #BlackLivesMatter movement happening across the country. Additionally, we (most Black people who aren't uncle Toms) are coming off of the heels of the Trayvon Martin murder and the non-conviction of his killer, still reeling from the Sean Bell case of 2006, with the skeletal remains of the Amadou Diallo case of 1999 in our mental graveyards. Add on 12-year old Tamir Rice and the innocent Akai Gurley, among many others, and we are left pondering the already crumbling state of a country that has a