My past gave me life. Friends, family, the arts, struggles, pain. And I’ve been holding on too it. Holding on to who I was like it can’t get better. I’ve been on life support for years, but breathing on my own.
I’m not sure you understand. For where I was in my life, I needed what I had.
My mother prayed all the time and raised us to the best of her ability. I needed to see her trust in God and steps of faith. It kept me sane. Now, I don’t need to know that my moms praying all day and having visions she wants to tell her kids. Why do I need to know? I just want my mommy. Not the preacher, evangelist, minister, clergy or whatever title she gives herself.
My fathers actions kept me in my room. Kept me talking to God so I could know Him for myself. Because I was in my room, shared with a sibling 11 years younger, I had to be creative.
Worked out everyday… Drew everyday… Looked outside my window everyday to see if my neighbor was ballin. What he did, I practiced. Listened to music, but every time my mom came in she would ask, “Is that Christian?” I made up my own songs while listening to music I recorded on my tape player. While I listened to music, I danced. Just moved. I didn’t have a mirror to see what I looked like, but feeling the beat was something I couldn’t help.
I held on to all these things and more for life support. Reminiscing on how I started and how I got better over time. My mind stays there, but I can do better! I haven’t seen what I can really do because I’ve used my past as life support.
The people who know me don’t really know me, because I’ve never been around people for long periods of time. We moved too much. The only thing they’ve seen is this quiet preacher’s daughter who takes care of her siblings. They’ve kept me on life support, and I don’t need them be what they’ve been to me (in my mind) anymore. If I come off life support, I won’t care what they think of me, so I can put everything into who I really am.