Bi the way, I’m Curious…

About a lot of things. I’m curious about whether the medical field is something I see myself staying in for life. I’m curious about how and why smoking alleviates the symptoms of schizophrenia. I’m curious about white people hair and how it gives in to gravity unless enveloped by strong holding gel. I’m curious about black hair and how it fights gravity even when smothered in strong holding gel.

I am also a tad bit curious about how much money consulting specialists make. Recently, I have found myself daydreaming, curious, about my sexual orientation. I find myself curious…am I a straight up cis-gender heterosexual girl, as I have always considered myself to be?

Look, I have always been attracted to guys. I will always (unfortunately) be attracted to guys. Of that part, I am sure. What I am unsure of, is whether my attraction is exclusive to men.

I met a girl who, for all intents and purposes, should not have left a mark on me. Sure she was pretty, funny and a jol, but I had met tons of pretty fun girls. None, however, had moved me like she did. No girl had touched my soul the way she touched my soul. And no girl excited me like…

I had a dream about her last night. Just thinking about that dream I…

I am nowhere near close to calling myself anything other than heterosexual. I know the issues that arise with jumping from one identity box to the other. However, I am curious. I am curious about how being physical with a girl would be. I am curious about the dynamics of same-sex intimacy. I am curious about how my vagina would feel being touched by another. I am curious about the girl who turned me bi-curious.

Candle in the Dark

Can I set the scene? It is Easter weekend. I am in my room, on my three-seater couch, comfortable under a throw blanket, one cushion behind me, two more at my feet. A vanilla-scented candle is lit on my table, and a large coffee mug contains a hazelnut cappuccino.

This is it. This scene is what I always pictured when I was a student, fighting to finish my studies so I can finally get this, the couch.

I have it now. I should be happy. I should be content. I am not. I am hollow. I am alone and I am lonely. But this is not the point. The point is that now, I cannot bring myself to talk about why that is, why I am lonely. I cannot admit that I feel the least confident I have ever been. I miss the person I was before 2017 killed her. She was alone but remained self-assured. She was okay with her full self. She was never lonely. She knew her worth and would never imagine settling for anything less than the best. From herself or from others.

Now this me, this 2019 me, this post-failure me, this looking-for-crumbs me, I don’t recognize her. I don’t know her. She is broken. She is damaged. She thinks the entire world is happy and secure and she is not. She thinks she deserves nothing good. She has taken back the forgiveness she received for past transgressions and, is punishing herself for them. God, what happened?

The couch means nothing. It does nothing. The vanilla scented candle has not scent. I need to call a friend… I called a friend. The old adage rings true: a good friend is better than a brother. Made me feel ten times better just by listening.

(Written 20 April 2019)

My fifth “no more alcohol” declaration

After what happened last night, I realize that I may need to rethink alcohol drinking. Last night was malignant, for many reasons. I slept with someone I had zero intentions of ever even hugging. I cannot remember how it happened, when or why. All I know is, I was severely inebriated. That, my dear, is the main problem.

Other things I am mad about, albeit not as high up on the malignancy chart as an unplanned one night stand, are: having flashbacks at random times, remembering that I slept with him in the presence of the boy I was seeing (whew), and not being able to recall what exactly happened.

I can honestly do better. I should honestly do better. I hope to do better. So my goal is to reduce – to zero – my alcohol consumption, indefinitely. I say ‘indefinitely’ and not ‘forever’ because I learn from past mistakes. This would be my fifth time declaring that I am ‘never’ drinking alcohol again. It clearly does not work. So here is to ‘indefinitely’ living without alcohol.

While I’m at it, I should say my planned man-fast begins now. (I had begun mentally preparing myself for a year-long man-fast after the current situation-ship ends, preferrably in December). Not only do I need to re-align my values and be intentional with whom I allow into my heart…and vagina, I am emotionally exhausted, constipated. My heart needs a long strong detox. I have determined that I can get to know and befriend boys all I want, but it shall end at platonic relationships.

I always like to take experiences, good and bad, and make them learning opportunities. Like this one – for example, alcohol makes me think stupid ideas are great. So I’m learning to manage (scrap that – I’m learning to do without) alcohol. Drinking gives me selective amnesia, such that I remember only aspects of an experience. And I do not appreciate not knowing the full story. So I’m learning to love life in its entirety and, therefore, cutting out alcohol and its memory-cutting effects.

I learnt that you have to be honest – with yourself and with people around you. If I were honest with myself, I would realize that I did what I did because I subconsciously wanted to ruin my chances with the guy I actually liked. I knew it was not long term. I knew it would not last. I knew I would get hurt. So I subconsciously took matters into my own hands.
This is entirely in retrospect because I had not thought of this before the fact. I am in fact still infuriated because I have no idea what led to us crossing the line from acquaintances to sexual partners. It had never been an option for me.

Nevertheless it happened, and safe to say my chances with the boy I liked are dead. If not because he dumps me, then because my era of relationships and sex is temporarily ending, for my year-long fast.

(Written in 2018)

*Update: we ended up dating, after my year-long man-fast. It did not work out, however, it has been my best relationship thus far. Safe to say I shan’t be quitting alcohol again anytime soon.

Eat Pray Love…it’s time

My life, right now, is somewhat of a mess. All of it. I have no idea how I got to this place. All I know is, this was not the plan.

My health – all of it – is at junk status. My body, mind, heart and spirit seem to all be in cahoots. All are withering like six-day old dozen roses.

I weigh in at my heaviest and, my BMI status labels me obese. I have not listened to my body, have not fed it for optimal performance. I have instead glazed it with caramelized popcorn, greased it with spicy wings (with blue cheese sauce – the only way to consume wings if you ask me), and sparkled it with speckled eggs (egg-shaped magic). I’ve had to take iron supplements to revive my haemoglobin level, after symptomatic anaemia all but sent me to hospital. My major confidant has become the 750ml red bottle of Pinotage… If bodies could shame their keepers, mine would cry the loudest.

I failed my first block of my final year undergraduate degree. A Golden Key invitee, four years in a row, and still I failed. I failed what was meant to be the best year of my university life. Now graduation is postponed and I lag behind my peers.

God. Even thinking that name feels blasphemous. I have gone so far off the track that calling this higher being, in whom I used to trust for my life in its entirety, feels ten kinds of wrong. These days, the urge to pray is so overpowered by the feeling of an impending lightning strike that I do not even entertain the thought. That I feel like a hypocrite may have something to do with thinking I might be smote. “What, you do not believe in me anymore, but you come running to me when it’s convenient?” is what I imagine God’s response to my prayers to be. So I don’t. I don’t pray. I simply let others do the praying. I have no right to ask for anything if I don’t like the big guy now do I?

And my lowest low of the year – being a mistress. I have absolutely no idea how I have the audacity to be complicit in the very thing I called out my friend for, all of last year. She was a mistress, and fell in love with the cheater. We spent hours, each week or so, talking about how wrong it all was. Then, at the first opportunity, I become my friend. How audacious. I do not even like the boy. I’m using him, breaking a relationship for my own selfish desires.
I almost had my sexual debut. Almost, I say, because the power-girl in me will not allow it to have been my first sexual experience. I did not cum. So it doesn’t count, period!
This, with a man in a relationship. A relationship with a girl I knew, a girl I advised him to go after, a girl who should be looking up to me, a girl who deserved more than what she had been handed.
I first got with him to get over a person I was infatuated with. Then it was because I was lonely. Then it was because I wanted to. Regardless of his relationship status, or his blatant feelings for me. It was all just about me.

So, I decided, it may be time to turn my life around. I am actively participating in my own version of the Eat, Pray, Love experience. I am working on myself, my body, my heart, my spirit. I am changing. I am finally getting the help I need, in attempts to become a better, healthier, more selfless, and smarter black girl.

(Written in 2017, in a trying and different time)

About me…

Welcome to my journal. No seriously, welcome to my innermost thoughts, writings, journal entries, experiences and what have you.

I go by many a name. The government knows me as Mathitha. I am a young, black, cis-heteronormative (sometimes queer-envious) woman. A medical doctor by profession. A feminist. A womanist.
I love travel, although I am yet to have an international travel experience (call me patriotic please).
I navigate the world as a smart, dark-skinned, plus size (call me fat, or thick), raised-by-a-single-woman (cue daddy issues) woman. So put on my lenses and navigate this world through my eyes.

Grab a cup of coffee (or a glass of GnT) and enjoy the read. Share the blog with others and I do hope you learn a thing or two, or at least get a chuckle, from the words of my journal.