But hey, I survived.

I have been around my family for three whole days. I finally some alone time so I can write.

My mom told me Friday night that we were going to Virginia in the morning to help my grandmother and my two aunts to pack up and move to their new apartment. I was reluctant at first to go but I thought the exercise and free food would do me some justice. I did not, however, foresee that the fog would hit me so hard even after all that moving around and eating I’ve been doing. It probably hit so hard because I didn’t get the right amount of sleep. I should be doing yoga because my body feels so tense since I’m sleeping on the couch.

The only alone time I got what when I went to the bathroom. So I just had to suck it up and keep pretending. I definitely didn’t want to tell them about my depression because they’ll just shove bible quotes down my throat and I didn’t feel like hearing that. I hope one day I’ll be able to tell them. I hope I find the courage to do so before I publish a book about what I’m going through.

I kind of got mad at my boyfriend because the one time I tell him I really need him asap he doesn’t text back until five hours later because he’s hanging out with a friend. I was having suicidal thoughts and I was scared of being alone. I’ve never had them so intense before so I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t tell him about the thoughts though. I just told him I was ready to “give up on life.”

But now I’m confused. Am I asking too much from him? Am I being too needy? Am I being selfish? I don’t know but he apologized like a thousand times and promised to be there for me more. But I still don’t know if I should just try to manage without him because I know its unrealistic to expect him to be there 24/7. But he wants to try. So I’ll let him try. Maybe he should come to therapy with me next time so he can learn how to help me manage.

My mom suggested that she and dad come to one of my therapy sessions. While I do think it a good idea the very thought of being interrogated by them in such a small room terrifies me. I don’t know if I can handle it yet. But I know its important that I try talking to them so they can understand how I feel.

The past few days have been so stressful. But at least I’m still alive. Since I survived this I can get through another few days of family gatherings.

Black Queer Creative

Hello World, I think it’s time to reintroduce myself. My name is Aurea Fae and I am an African-American, Bisexual, Writer, Poet, and an Artist. It has taken me far too long to realize what I was born to do. Things got in the way, distracted me, held me down and I just let it happen. But not anymore.

For years I have been battling Depression and Anxiety “alone.” For years I allowed them to hold me back from achieving anything I want in my life. I kept it all inside and that has to come to a stop now. For years I let them talk me out of even trying something new. But not anymore.

All my life I lied to my parents out of fear they wouldn’t be proud of me. Or fear that I would disappoint them by not doing what they want me to do. By not being the daughter they wanted me to be. I have kept too many secrets from them. For fear that they wouldn’t even care or wouldn’t believe me. But not anymore.

For far too long I have been dishonest with myself. Listening to self-doubts. Believing that I have no purpose in life. And settling for whatever I can get. But not anymore.

Today is the day where everything changes. My mindset, my goals, my plans. Everything. I understand it won’t happen overnight. I will continue my battle Depression and Anxiety. I will get frustrated with my parents when I try to explain to them Who I am, What I want to do in life and How I need them to help me. I will have to face my fears head on. I will struggle to trust myself and my strength. I will have to find my voice and shout.

I will fall many times. I will get back up, dust myself off and keep moving forward out of this long dark tunnel.

Making Progress

I am learning so much about self-publishing and I haven’t spent a dime. I’m so proud of myself for making so much progress the past week. It has been a tough few months for me since I lost my job. I stopped going out, stopped applying for jobs, survived basically off tea and junk food. The fog was so heavy I thought it would never let up. But here I sit typing away and enjoying my day.

Since I have surpassed 30 followers on this blog I will be updating you all on my progress of The Fog – A Collection of Poetry About My Depression. I have already posted some of the poetry I’ll put in the collection but of course I won’t post everything. I will be self-publishing it under the pen name Aurea Fae instead of Tentai Furea. It’s a long story. I might tell in in another post. Also, I’ll be publishing this and possible future collections under the Fictitious Business Name A Light in the Dark.

There is still much for me to learn about being a writer and self-published author. But for once in my life, I don’t feel discouraged at this task. I’m actually enjoying the journey.

Even on my dark days, I still feel beautiful

Is it weird for me to still love how I look even when I’m depressed? I steal a glance or two of myself in the mirror and think “well at least I’m still beautiful.” That’s the power of self-love. Also the power of my boyfriend’s love. I can’t give myself all the credit, he has a part to play in my self-acceptance. We’ve been together since 2014 and he managed to make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. He tells me almost everyday that I am beautiful and he loves me. But with depression, you would think that I would hate my looks while I’m depressed.

I didn’t always love the way I looked of course. Like every human being. I hated my dark skin and “nappy” hair. I hated how big my nose looked on my small face. I hated that my eyes were dark brown. I wanted them to be hazel or green. I hated (still kind of don’t like) how thin (underweight) I am. I’ve always enjoyed being short though. I hate cooking while being short. It turns into a workout. I wasn’t like most girls growing up. I wasn’t obsessed with using makeup to “enhance” my beauty. I did cover up my “nappy” hair using weaves and chemicals. But that was the only thing I did to change my appearance so I can at least like something about myself.

I hated that I didn’t look like a “normal black girl.” I had (still have) no curves, small breasts, and a small butt. I was obsessed over this and often googled “how to grow boobs” or “how to make my butt bigger.” I was always comparing my growth to the woman and girls in my family and thought “there must be something wrong with me.” Plus I use to stuff my bra. But that was in middle school and I stopped after watching that episode of “As Told By Ginger.” I did not want to be embarrassed like that so I stopped as quickly as I started.

Like most people I grew up with people telling me I’m beautiful the way I am. Also like most people I didn’t start believing it until my sophomore or junior year of high school. I stopped wearing weaves and learned tried to learn how to take care of my natural hair. I’m still learning but my depression makes me “lazy.” It was a slow acceptance of my own beauty but I am glad that it’s almost complete.

I love my eyes, the color, the shape. Yeah, they aren’t unique but they are mine. I no longer think my nose is too big. In fact, it’s the perfect size for my face. I am obsessed with my dark skin now. I love how it glows under the sun. I love how thin I am but I do think I should put on more weight so I can be healthier. I love my small breast. I don’t have to wear bras or worry about back pain. And I love my natural hair. I need to take care of it. It’s currently breaking off and dry because I don’t do anything to it. In order for my to accept my natural beauty, I need to take better care of my hair and weight.

This probably won’t cure my depression but it might make it easier to deal with. I can not imagine going to the mirror and hating myself through and through. Not able to see the beauty in me. I am grateful that I have accepted looks thus far.

Purpose: Why is finding it so hard for me?

It’s something we all look for or have looked for at least once in our lives. Some of us might have found it while a good portion of us are still searching. Some say it’s something that comes to you when you least expect it. Others say it’s given to you at birth from a higher power. Some others have said that there is no divine reason for anything and we are simply here to live, reproduce and die.

I am not sure which of these theories I wish to believe. Perhaps I shouldn’t believe in any of them. Perhaps I should stop thinking and search so hard for something so intangible. But growing up with Anxiety and Depression forces me to think long into the night about the meaning of life. I fear that I may be searching for the purpose of my existence for years without any answers.

I know I may be over thinking things. A fatal flaw from existential angst. I can’t help but be envious of those who have found their purpose. I know it didn’t come easy for a lot of them. And I know that I should probably be patient and let it fall in my lap. But there’s something itching for me to find it now. Presumably, my depression weighing me down with thoughts large enough to fill the room and suffocate me until I finally collapse into a restless slumber. At least that’s what it feels like to me.

Then I wake the next morning, or sometimes evening, and think about all the things I must do to be a functioning member of society. And I never do them. Because I don’t believe my purpose it to be a “functioning member of society.” Whatever that means.

Perhaps I will never truly find my purpose for existing. Perhaps it will come later when I least expect it. Perhaps I will find it in my passions; Writing and Art. As soon as I get over the anxiety of being a writer and an artist full time.