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Read my blog, listen to my shows, read my books...then you'll know me. Thanks.

4.07.2005

Who I am Unedited...

Who are we unedited? Behind the mask, the facade, that we put on to hide our truth. Our insecurities, our vulnerabilities, our characters; who we are, what we think when no one else is around?

Plaque is building up again. Not on my teeth. Somewhere in my mind, where it often isn't. I've been boggled lately by the complexities in my life, that aren't relevant to a lot of people's struggles, but people can relate to me one way or another. One thing that I did decide today, I am going to stop talking about my issues with people. Except you the reader, it seems as if you're the only one with the unbiased opinion. Everyone else in my life, seems to know what's better for me than me. And it's fucking irritating. I especially hate those who "have all the answers," and I definitely hate the bitches that hold the key to life in their coochie.

A lot of things have been bothering me lately. I am not too happy with the direction my book is going in, I am mad that my mother allows that nigga to zap the zest out of her life. I miss my father. I've been dealing with that more so since I was 18. He died when I was 6 years old. His birthday was on Tuesday and he would have been 46. That has been a void in my life since I was 6. I just spend days thinking about how different my life would have been with Mr. Trent Jackson Sr. around. I want to be in love...Who doesn't. I'm just now coming to grips with my cousins death. It's really hitting me hard that she's gone...She died in January and it's a delayed reaction...And to think people actually try to talk you out of thinking that having a delayed reaction isn't apart of grieving, pickup a psych book bitch. And though my problems may seem insignificant to some, because some of yall hoes haven't experienced shit in life, but your parents divorce (not that's not some heavy stuff to deal with) doesn't mean what I go through isn't any less of an issue. I really hate when people try to tell you how to deal with your life, I really do. Bitch who certified you to be my therapist? I mean I've dealt and been through this far, I'll be okay, I just need my space.

I was thinking today, how my mom blamed herself for me being molested and what it must feel like as a parent to have to deal with that. I couldn't be a parent. I wouldn't make a good one, I could if I tried, but no...

I was thinking about how my Grandmother must have felt when she got murdered...by her own Grandson. Was she happy? What was the last thing she ate? Did she know I loved her?

What my Dad must have thought when he got murdered. Did he think about me? Was he ready to die? Was he happy? What kind of life did he lead? Does he know how much I would have liked to have had him as a father?

Why do we as people worry about the things that we can't control? Why do we sit and think about the what if's? Why do we let other people make us feel that we are less than? Why do we fall into the traps and games of people who want to see us down?

I felt like this when I turned 18, some years ago. I left Los Angeles soon after that, and found myself in a place of mental freedom. I was allowed to be myself without the constraints of family and friends. I could go to a new place and start over without the history of the story, our lives. I could deal with my issues, I mean really deal with them-and know how to not be in that space of "thinking." I think it's time for me to venture off again to find the person that once emerged from the tragedy. The same person that exists now, that is buried in plaque. He is peeking out, waving his hand, waiting for the signal, the sign, the lead; his strength to gain confidence, to get up and rise like the phoenix.

As I sit here and think about what I need right now to be productive and to make me happy-I know I need to make some massive changes. I know that I need to get out of Los Angeles and breathe some fresh air. Have a moment to myself without running into the past. In the grocery store, down Crenshaw, at the Cheesecake Factory. I what I need and fuck a bitch who tries to tell me that leaving isn't the solution. Would you tell that to a woman who was in an abusive relationship? I need to get rid of dead weight, these people who are against me and provide more negative energy disguised as "friendship" from the fuck around me. And finally: FOCUS. I've done it before. I can do it again and continue to do it.

So. I've got some moves to make. Am I the only one that's mad that Nikko got voted off American Idol? Fuck them bitches! If Scott Savols Michelin-marshmallow man lookin ass can stay up there along with that damn Anthony Federov then Nikko has every right to be up there. Thas aiight. He's gonna show y'all bitches, just like I'm gonna do. They can put that where? Back there!

Cop Faith Evans CD! She is the truth!

Shot Outs: Myself, Brandi Jade Thomas, Blogger#31905, T. Carter, and V. Smith
Fuck: Bitches who drink Haterade.

3 comments:

disgruntled said...

Go with your heart...

Anonymous said...

are you dead?

Trent Jackson said...

To Anonyma:

Is that your way of saying give me something new to read?