Sleeping With The Homie

12

Lashawn

I fucked up. Fucked up really bad. So bad that now that I have time to sit down and think about it, what was I thinking?

The last thing I should've done, after Isaiah found out that Josh be secretly making tapes of niggas, was make him feel even worse. He was probably looking for comfort. Looking for something kind to hear, looking for a warm embrace. I, as his best friend, should've been able to give him that.

In the moment, I thought I was thinking rationally. Thought my feelings were valid, that Isaiah is mine and if he has to get his heart broken to realize that shit, then so be it. If I have to threaten him to get that through his head, so be it.

My feelings for Isaiah are valid, but other than that, he's right. What gave me the right to sabotage things with Josh? What gave me the right to act like his boyfriend without proving that I'm boyfriend material? My feelings don't give me those rights, Isaiah does and after what happened Friday, I won't ever get a taste of those.

I hurt him. I hurt him more emotionally than I was physically trying to and it was my physicality that brought back unhealed trauma for Isaiah. That's why he lashed out.

And now that I think about it, me being aggressive and overly possessive is due to unhealed trauma as well. I was born to a hot mess of a couple. My parents were in high school at the time when they had me. My dad was in a gang and my mom was a smart kid that got caught up in the wrong crowd while trying to find a thrill in her life.

As I grew up, my dad raised me more than my mom did. Yea, my mom fed me, bought me clothes, and took me to school, but her parenting ended there. My dad frequently took me to the park and played basketball with me, making me fall in love with the sport. If I didn't understand my homework, he would always drop whatever he was doing and pull up a seat at the dinner table to help me. He was there for all of my award ceremonies despite what he had going on in his personal life. My dad was trying to, and I quote, "raise me to not be the same fuck-up" he was.

Although my dad was a good father despite his circumstances, he was a terrible boyfriend. That's where he and my mom differed. When my dad got home, he had a cooked meal along with hugs and kisses waiting for him. When he needed money, he didn't have to ask twice if he asked my mom. When my dad needed someone to get him out of jail, my mom was there. My mom put so much of her love and effort into holding my dad down, that she didn't have any left to spare when it came to me.

At some point, she no longer had any left to spare for my dad either. It got tiring being awoken out of her sleep to him leaving due to gang relations, having to end dates early because he had some business to deal with, or having to constantly move around because of drive-bys in the neighborhood.

When she finally found the strength to leave, my dad wouldn't let her. He didn't know if he could ever find a woman like that again, the type to hold him down through whatever, and he wasn't gonna risk finding out. So he choked her, pulled a gun out on her, basically threatening her into staying with him.

My mom stayed, not because she was a dumbass with a death wish, but because she burned bridges with everyone she loved getting involved with my dad. She had nowhere else to go. No one else to turn to. When I left Brooklyn, she was still with him, and I bet she is still with him now, if she's not dead already.

When I left for college, I cut all ties with my parents. Despite the sacrifices that were made and no matter how hard my dad tried, I hated them. I hated my mom for putting a man over her child. I hated my dad for putting a gang over us. I hated them for constantly having to change neighborhoods, therefore making me change schools, leaving me no time to make friends. I hated them for having to learn how to shoot a gun in the first place. I hated them so bad that I wanted them to die for giving me such a shitty life.